Locked Out

I had quite the excitement this morning. Craig and Piper are in Austin. So it's just me with Brooks and Fussy Pants. The one thing I have trouble with when Craig is gone is giving up my morning runs. Running is even more essential when he's not here. When I run it gets my brain working properly. I think like a normal, happy, sane person. Three very important qualities even when your husband is home. In order to get my morning fix, I hired a babysitter to come over super crazy early. Her family goes to our church. She's absolutely adorable and always very happy. The kids don't know her too well.. but I thought since I was leaving so early the kids may not even wake up. I had a fabulous run. It was nice and cool. Very little humidity. I wasn't worried about the kids. I kept telling myself, 'what's the worst that can happen.' That may have been my kiss of death. When I left this morning, I locked all the doors and told this sweet young sitter I would use a key that was hidden outside to let myself in (the last time she came over, she had trouble unlocking the door). When I returned home from my run, I went to the little hiding spot where I kept the key. It wasn't there. You've got to be kidding me. No big deal, I thought. We can figure this out. I gently tapped on the backdoor hoping the sitter would hear me. Nothing. I knocked a little louder. Again, nothing. I couldn't see any movement, I couldn't hear anything. Maybe she fell asleep I thought. So I went to the front door. I knocked again. Still nothing. I said her name.. told her it was me.. no response. So I started yelling her name.. telling her it was me.. no answer. Well, I'm just going to have to ring the doorbell. The doorbell rings.. the dog goes crazy.. no sign of the sitter. I ring the doorbell again and again and again.. the dog is going bananas at this point. A couple of seconds later I see Brooks come down the stairs.. still looking half asleep.. trying to figure out what in the world is going on. 'Brooks!' I yell. 'Go upstairs to mommy and daddy's room (that's where Presley sleeps) and get the babysitter!' He starts crying. Hard. Clearly he has no idea what's going on and he's scared. About this time, I notice my neighbor outside watering his plants. I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a little off my rocker anyway, so this was total confirmation for him. I go back to the backdoor.. Brooks sees me there and he's still crying. I'm trying to calm him down and beg him to go upstairs to get the babysitter. 'NO!' he tells me (don't you just love two year olds). Finally the babysitters dad shows up (he had planned to pick her up to take her to school). He is in law enforcement. So my neighbor who already thinks I'm wack-o is outside, hears me screaming, then sees a man dressed in police gear show up at my door. Lord only knows what was going through his mind. Thankfully the dad is able to call his daughter on her cell phone to come downstairs and unlock the door. I told him I was a little concerned about her being able to unlock the door since she had trouble with it last time. But then I thought, considering his profession, he'll be able to break in no problem. The sitter comes downstairs, unlocks the door easily and we're able to get inside. She explained Presley was screaming and she was trying to get her to fall asleep. She had the door closed to our bedroom and because the white noise CD was on, she didn't hear anything. Makes sense. Everything is fine now. Then her dad who is cool as a cucumber goes, 'Same time tomorrow?' I said, 'Sure.' Thinking to myself, 'what's the worst that can happen.'

Trying to Catch Some Zzz's

It just dawned on me that maybe Little Miss Fussy Pants wants to lay down. We've had her propped up in the swingless swing for several months now. She was in the bassinet for about a week or two until she caught a cold. I put her back in the swing so she could sleep at an elevated position. But she just isn't the best sleeper and we can't figure out why. My husband thought maybe she's cold at night so we put her in a onesie with sleeves. That didn't seem to help. We tried turning her music on when she wakes up in the middle of the night. No dice there either. She wakes up every single hour from about 3 or 4a.m. on. She doesn't always take the best naps. What is the deal. Mama needs sleep. Seriously. So tonight I thought, I have nothing to lose. I zipped her up in her little sleep sack (yes, total side note.. she also outgrew the miracle blanket) and put her in her bassinet. Which by the way, she barely fits in anymore. I suppose bassinets are not designed for 5 month olds. So far, so good. I just went in there and I could hear her snoring. Few things are cuter or sweeter than a baby snoring. So maybe this is the answer. Maybe she's like, 'come on people, just get me a flippin' bed. I want to sleep too. That swing is driving me nuts.' She could also just be really worn out from crying for two hours straight today. I suppose time will tell. Let's just hope it will not tell me at 3 or 4 in the morning.

Thumbs Up

Perseverance over defeat.  Fall down seven times, get up eight.  These are two awesome quotes that are boldly written on one of my favorite running shirts.  I love wearing it.  It inspires me the second I put it on.  I wore it running this morning.  It seemed like it was going to be a great morning for a run.  I had my inspirational shirt on.  The weather was nice and cool.  It just felt like a good morning to run.  However, about a block into it I wanted to stop.  I don't know why, I just didn't feel it this morning.  I kept telling myself, 'give it a mile, you'll get into it.'  But that wasn't working.  I wanted to stop.  I wanted to go back home and curl up in bed (however, I knew that wasn't going to happen since Fussy Pants was screaming her head off when I left).  So I walked a block.  As I was approaching a busy street, I told myself to get after it.  There's no way I wanted to be caught walking on a busy street.  So I turned up my i-pod a little louder and tried once again.  The past few days have been particularly difficult at our house.  My poor husband is having this weird stomach issue.  Piper isn't feeling well.  Brooks is definitely testing the waters.  And Fussy Pants has been just that.  Fussy.  So I knew if I didn't run this morning, my day would stink.  Running makes me a better person.  For about 40 minutes I am not a mom, wife, cook, babysitter, maid, dishwasher or triage nurse.  I am a runner.  But this morning I did not feel like a runner.  I felt like a mom who had just had a kid plodding along trying to shed her baby weight.  So I started to pray.  I prayed for a sign that I could make it.  Make it through what, I wasn't sure.  Make it through the run.  Make it through the day.  I just wanted to make it.  That's when I saw this couple walking with their two dogs.  They looked a little blue collar.  She was fairly overweight.  She had brown hair pulled back with a grey tank top on.  I'm not sure she had all her teeth.  He was wearing a black, loosely fitted tank top with tattoos on his arm.  He had on jeans and workmen boots.  He reminded me of Sgt. Dan in the movie Forest Gump.  He was limping.  It was evident that he had been in some type of accident.  I thought maybe he was a war veteran.  As I approached them, I could see him looking at my shirt.  Reading it.  'Perseverance over defeat' it said.  I smiled and said hello.  He looked at me, looked at my shirt again and gave me a thumbs up.  This may sound crazy, but that thumbs up turned it around for me.  It was like we had a connection.  He was saying 'heck yeah!' to my shirt.  To me.  It was so inspiring.  It was evident that he had persevered over something.  If he could do it, so could I.  His little thumbs up motivated me to have a pretty good run this morning.  It was the sign I needed.  I feel like I've been doing a lot of falling lately.  Fall down seven times, get up eight.  I'm back up now.  Thumbs up.

Hush Little Babies

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever sleep again.  It's been at least nine months since I've slept through an entire night.  When I was preggers, I couldn't sleep unless I took Tylenol PM.  And now with Fussy Pants, I'm up about twice a night.  One of our good friends is an anchor for ABC's World News Now which is on from 3a.m. - 5a.m.  It's fun to watch him.  However, it's not that fun.  I would certainly pass it up for a good night's sleep.  Piper and Brooks have now decided the middle of the night is a wonderful opportunity to spend some quality time with me as well.  Last night it was Brooks.  At 2:00a.m.  He climbed out of his crib and was walking around yelling (yes, yelling at 2:00a.m.), "I WANT MILK!"  When I refused to give it to him (I could not give into that insane-o behavior even if he is only two), he flipped out.  Massively.  He already had a sippy cup full of water.  I was not giving him milk.  Especially not when he's yelling at 2:00 in the morning.  Thankfully Craig stepped in.  Otherwise I may be in a looney bin right now.  Two nights ago Piper came tip-toeing into our room around 4:00a.m.  Her stomach hurt.  That was legitimate.  I can't fault her for that one.  She laid down with me and kept squirming around.  I asked her if she wanted to go back to her bed.  'Will you lay with me mommy?'  I so badly wanted to say no.  I should've said no.  It would've protected my sanity to some small degree but she was sick.  And I felt bad.  'Ok.'  I told her.  She proceeded to do donkey kicks across my legs until about 6:00a.m.  That's when I had to leave her room because Presley started crying again.  I've been praying that Presley would sleep through the night but apparently I need to start expanding those prayers to include Piper and Brooks.  So here goes, 'Please God, will you pleeease let every single living creature big and small, black (we have a black dog) and white sleep through the night tonight?!  Did I mention, please?'  Gotta run, starting to nod off.  V tired.  Did you hear me God...

Ode to The Swing

It stopped.  The swing.  It stopped (panic sets in immediately).  Maybe it's the batteries.  Quick.  Change batteries.  No, it's not the batteries.  The music works fine but the swing doesn't... swing.  What do we do?  Stay calm.  This is basically a word for word conversation between my husband and I when we discovered the swing, the swing that has allowed us to survive the past few months.. died.  Several weeks ago we thought we were done with the swing.  Presley had seemingly transitioned into her bassinet.  But we were forced to put her back in it when she caught a cold.  She needed to sleep at an elevated position.  I had originally refused to turn the swing on so she wouldn't get used to that constant motion again.  But, one thing led to another and in a few moments of weakness, we flipped the switch.  We turned it on.  Repeatedly.  She was swinging again.  How it happened, I don't know.  We were desperate I suppose.  My husband offered to drop everything to rush out to Target, Walmart, Baby's R Us.. where ever he could go to find another swing just like it.  No, I tell him.  We have to move on.  But it's not that easy.  It was our safety net.  And now it's gone.  Just ripped away.  So once again, she's sleeping swaddled in her 'miracle blanket' strapped into the swing that won't swing.  Those little eyes looking up at us, wondering whether we'll turn it on.  'Please?'  I can just hear her saying.  'Sorry my little sweetie.  The swing is broken.'  I tell her.  Maybe it's for the best.  Maybe this is what we needed.  Maybe this will force us to break all ties with the swing.  There won't be the temptation now.  There's no going back.  We're done with it.  We need to accept it.  As night falls the bassinet awaits once again.  Once again I will be forced to make that difficult decision.  Do I or don't I.  Do I have the courage to try it again.  To give it another shot.  To try the bassinet.  I suppose it's inevitable.  She can't sleep in the swing forever, right?  However, I wonder if there's a swing repair man.            

The Drug Search

Zantac.  Could this be the answer to our colic prayers?  Could sweet little Fussy Pants not in fact be colicky, but instead be inflicted with acid reflux?  It appears the answer may be 'yes'.  After talking with several other moms who have acid reflux babies, Presley's symptoms are strikingly similar.  The constant crying, inability to lay flat on her back without going berserk and all the spit ups.  She spits up so much somedays it's like she has the stomach flu.  It's just like a jet stream pouring out of her mouth.  It's so bad on certain days that it reminds me of that scene from Stand By Me where that little boy starts throwing up his blueberry pie.  It just keeps coming and coming and you wonder when on earth he's going to stop.  Ok, so Presley clearly hasn't eaten blueberry pie and she hasn't made anyone else throw up like in the movie, but the force is incredibly similar.  If she doesn't end up drenching her own outfit, she does mine.  Last week at her four month checkup, I pleaded my case for Zantac.  I was prepared to throw myself at the pediatricians feet so we could at least let us try it.  Much to my surprise, the pediatrician was more than willing to prescribe it.  In fact, she went full throttle and gave us the max dose possible.  One week she told us.  In one week we'll know whether this will be a 'miracle' drug for our little Miss Fussy Pants.  So a week has come and gone.  We've noticed less spitting up, but the constant crying continues.  My dreams of having a generally happy, content baby have once again been squashed.  But, I refuse to let optimism die.  We just started her on rice cereal.  We were/are hoping the combination will do the trick.  That this beautiful baby girl with sparkling bright blue eyes will wake up and become and angel baby.  Ok, as heavenly as that sounds, I'm also a bit of a realist.  I'm calling her pediatrician again tomorrow.  I've heard Prevacid may be good...  

National Lampoon's Colorado Vacation

Vacations in our family tend to be a bit dicey.  I have on occasion, referred to my husband as Clark.  As in Clark Grizwald from National Lampoon's Vacation.  Something always happens when we travel.  I have gotten to the point that now I just hope whatever 'it' is, it doesn't result in someone losing life or limb.  We just returned from a vacation in Boulder, Colorado.  An annual trip for my entire family.  There are 13 of us who make this long trek.  We visit my uncle, celebrate my daughter's birthday and escape the crazy Kansas heat and humidity.  Nearly half of the group is six and under.  We rarely have a dull moment.  Someone is bound to be throwing a fit, sitting in timeout, tormenting someone, screaming, not feeling good, on and on.  But somehow, we always return home on speaking terms, at least so far.  This year Craig and I decided to take his company car.  He gets a certain amount taken out of his paycheck each month so we can drive it unlimited.  We thought with gas prices being so high, it just made sense.  But were we really willing to sacrifice a few extra dollars (ok, more like several hundred) for sanity?  I didn't really have a say in the matter.  We were taking his car.  He drives a Chevy Impala.  Not the roomiest vehicle for three little people crammed in the back seat.  Not to mention the trunk space.  Due to the fact that we had to take Presley's swing, we were limited on what we were allowed to pack.  Two outfits per person, travel size containers only and only enough snacks to get us there (a bit risky in my opinion since snacks are often wonderful bribes).  I felt a bit like we were flying since we had such tight restrictions.  Fortunately, my husband did not inspect our bags since I snuck a few extra clothes on board.  On the way there, we battled a faulty DVD player (a HUGE lifeline), snacks that weren't good enough and a screaming baby.  We stopped every two hours.  One of the stops included a 'hike' around an abandoned gas station looking for hippos, mice and a treasure chest.  But finally after an eight hour trip that turned into a 12, we made it.  We hiked down Dream Canyon with all the kids.  It was not an easy hike.  My sister got lost with Brooks and Maggie (the two year olds).  However, she knew help would soon find her since Brooks was screaming bloody murder.  She was right.  On another hike Piper and my nephew Jack chased each other around with deer poop.  They were detoxed the second we got 'home'.  We rode horses through beautiful aspens and meadows.  Presley got to ride too.  She rode in the Baby Bijorn with the trail guide.  The guide said she was the first baby that's never fallen asleep (shocker!).  She held the reigns the entire time and cried when the guide had to pry them out of her hands.  On Piper's birthday, half of the frosting slid off her cake since we didn't refrigerate it.  However, watching nearly every episode of Ace of Cakes clearly paid off for my husband since he was able to fix it (Geof rules!).  Then just before we sang happy birthday to Piper, Jack accidentally hammered the cake with his little wooden gun.  Piper was upset that the cake didn't have Tinker Bell on it and made us promise her next cake would have Tinker Bell's picture on it, but it could not spell Tinker Bell, she said.  Only her picture.  My goodness, the demands of a four year old.  We had a few leftover cupcakes from the party (thank goodness since the cake clearly wasn't cutting it!).  Early the next morning, Brooks somehow climbed out of his pack and play without waking Piper (she was in the bed next to him), snuck downstairs without waking us, climbed up to the table and proceeded to eat a bite out of every single cupcake.  He came upstairs with a huge grin.  Proudly showing us the chocolate ring around his mouth and his gooey fingers.  We bought these cupcakes for $3 a piece at a trendy 'cupcakery' in Boulder.  One of them had chocolate frosting with bacon sprinkled on it.  So I rationalized it was somewhat of an acceptable breakfast for him.  The journey home was less eventful.  Less screaming, fewer problems with the DVD player, better snacks, not as many stops.  Our trip was certainly filled with little dramas here and there but all in all it was a fabulous get away.  Even for the Grizwald's.    

Are You There God? It's Me, Jamie.

God knows exactly what we need, when we need it.  I got a call from a friend last week that left me feeling hurt, puzzled and a bit blown away.  Not 20 seconds after I hung up the phone with her, one of the happiest people I know called.  God knew I needed to hear her joy and positive attitude.  She made me feel so much better and I didn't even tell her what had happened.  It was just hearing her joy and feeling her friendship that made such a difference.  God knew.  A month or so ago I was having a really rough day.  The kids were acting like crazy people, I felt under appreciated, I was basically a complete grump.  I knew I needed to exercise.  It helps me clear my head.  It's therapy.  That day I decided to ride my bike.  The first ten minutes on Pimp Juice (that's what I named my bike.  It's after that Nelly song that was popular a few years ago about a tricked out car.  I'm so cool.  ha!) I was still so grumpy.  I was telling myself some very positive things like, 'I don't want to be out here.  I'm going to have a terrible ride.  I just want to throw the covers over my head.  This totally stinks.'  So, I started talking to God about it.  I wanted him to hear just how bad my life was.  About how difficult things really are for me (whatever Jamie!).  It was a full blown pity party.  After a few minutes of venting, God started to bring me peace.  The pity party was winding down.  Not two seconds later, I caught something out of the corner of my eye.  It looked like a page out of the Bible.  'It couldn't be' I thought.  This is a very busy street, there's no way.  So I kept going.  I dismissed it.  But of course curiosity got the best of me.  I had to go back.  And there it was.  A page ripped out of Ecclesiastes just laying there in the grass.  I can't remember the exact verse but it was about the angels rejoicing and singing in heaven.  A great reminder that this earth is not perfect or fair.  We're not promised that this life will be easy.  Our real treasure is in heaven.  I left the page there on the grass.  I thought someone else might need it as much as I did at that moment.  I'm so glad I went on that bike ride.  His timing is perfect.  I have had countless other experiences where God's presence was so evident it's eerie.  For example, the time I had to spend the day with a difficult boss.  I prayed that God would give me a clear sign He was with me.  I was at Kinko's at the time.  When I walked out of the store, I saw a tiny little silver cross right by the door.  I had a great day that day even with my not-so-happy-about-life negative nelly boss.  My mom tells me she thinks I have some special connection to God.  That's so not true.  We all have the connection.  We all have an open phone line to Him.  It's a matter of using it.  It's a matter of listening, of waiting, of being observant, of having faith.  He knows.  He will show Himself in His perfect time.  If only, we ask. 

Of That Which Brings Us Joy

It's so interesting what brings people joy. For my neighbors it's their dogs. They don't have actual children, so their dogs are their babies. For the people across the street it's their garden. It's stunning. For me (other than my family), it's my writing. An outlet for me to laugh at my crazy life. For my husband it's watching the Texas Longhorns play football or his fantasy football league. Not really sure what to say about that. And for my mom, it's her band. She plays the clarinet in a band. It's totally hysterical. At least it was at first. Now, I'm really proud of her. She absolutely loves it. She's played in two free concerts in the park. We've been to both. I guess you could say we're kind of groupies. My kids get to dance in front of dozens of people who are well into their 80's. It brings Piper joy because she thinks she is the star of the show. It brings Brooksie joy because he gets to eat an entire box of popcorn. It brings me joy because I know how much it means to my mom to have us there. To support her doing something she really loves. She started crying the first time we saw her play. She told me it's not very often a grandmother could do what she got to do that night. It was very touching. I'm so glad she's found something that brings her such joy. Who would've thought in a million years it would be playing the clarinet in a band. But that's not the point. The point is, she loves it. And you can tell. The announcer said tonight their band is one of the oldest, if not the oldest remaining industrial bands in the country. I have no idea what that means, the industrial part anyway. But it made me proud. It made me proud to see my mom apart of such amazing history. They play a lot of marching band songs, patriotic songs.. songs that are a rich part of our country. Many 'older' people come up after the show and tell me how much fun they have watching my kids. My kids bring them joy. Wow. One lady said she appreciated me taking my kids to the concert so they're exposed to this kind of music. That made me feel good. I never thought watching my mom play the clarinet in a band could bring me joy too. But it does. Sometimes joy comes in ways and in places you least expect. But the important thing is to find your joy. Even if it's playing the clarinet in a band.

Memories of 'The Greatest Night Ever'

Last night was one I won't soon forget. We were having a girl's night. It was me, Miss Fussy Pants and three four year old girls (Piper turns four in a week so I'm rounding up). I told Piper she could have some friends over to play on the waterslide and make cupcakes with her Disney 'no bake' oven. It sounded so fun. So harmless. We would make memories that would last a lifetime. The girls would think back on that night with such nostalgia. 'Remember that fun summer night at Piper's house. That was the best,' they would say for years to come. Well, it started with the three of them having a screaming match to see who could scream the loudest and the longest with the highest pitch possible. I was trying to 'grin and bear it' knowing that's what little girls do. All the while reminding myself, we're making memories here Jamie. So I endured that for about 20 minutes. My head nearly exploded and I'm sure my neighbor who was outside watering his plants felt the same (he basically ran inside and wasn't seen or heard from again). After the screaming match ended in a tie (there was no way one was going to outdo the other), they played on the waterslide. I took lots of good 'party pics' so the girls would have a picture to go with their fabulous memory of the greatest summer night ever (or at least when they were four years old). Then it was time for cupcakes. We've tried this Disney 'no bake' cupcake thing once before. I knew it was a bit risky. The first time we tried it, it didn't go so well. It's one of those little ovens that allegedly bakes with ice. About the time we were getting ready to cut open the cake mix, Miss Fussy Pants starts crying and the girls start fighting over who gets to pour the mix, stir, open the oven, etc. What? This wasn't what I had envisioned. These were supposed to be happy memories. After consoling Miss Fussy Pants (the girls helped), we were back on the cupcakes. I followed the directions to a 't'. I allowed each girl to have a 'very important' job. And...... the cupcakes flopped. Wait a minute here. This is not going as planned. But where there's a will, there's a way. We had to give it another shot. I was determined to salvage this night. I was desperate to make those cupcakes amazing. Well, the second time around Miss Fussy Pants was screaming harder and instead of grabbing the cake mix, I grabbed the frosting mix (the packaging looks identical and given the situation it could've happened to even the greatest domestic goddess, which I am not.). They clearly did not turn out the second time around either. At that point I realized 'the greatest night ever' would certainly not be tonight. At least not how I envisioned it. So I let the girls watch 102 Dalmations for a few minutes, popped a bag of popcorn, split up the first batch of cupcakes (they were more like little dough balls) and we headed outside. The dough balls didn't look so bad since I slathered them with frosting and put a bunch of sprinkles on them (everything looks better with frosting and sprinkles). I turned the music on outside so they could dance (we have a speaker that looks like a rock and Piper calls it the singing rock) and suddenly the party took a different turn. We all started movin' and groovin'.. I was teaching the girls how to do the 'monkey' and they were teaching me some very interesting moves that only a four year old girl could dream up. A bit later both of their dads showed up right on time (when they dropped them off I jokingly said, 'Not a second past eight!' But I was so not joking and thank goodness they knew it.) And I was sort of sad to see them go. But Piper was exceptionally tired. She was crying that the light wasn't on in the bathroom, she had a splinter in her foot, etc. When I was putting her to bed she thanked me for a fun night and asked me if we could do it again. But next time, she said, "I want bigger cupcakes." Now that's a funny memory. A memory I hadn't planned on. Ya know, I think it really was a great night.

Silence is Golden

Nap time is sacred around our house. It's my one or two (and on a good day three!) hours of peace and calm. However, getting my kids to nap is so exhausting it makes me want to nap. Brooks HAS to climb into his crib himself. If you even attempt to lift him into his crib you've just set yourself back about 15 minutes because he flips out. He runs around his room and yells repeatedly, "No I do it! No I do it!" Once he's in his crib, which usually takes him about 5 minutes, he goes wild. He jumps up and down cheering, "I did it!" You try and act so excited for the little guy.. even though you're so tired and he's only done it about a thousand times before. The real trick is getting him to actually lay down. Typically he refuses and has a death grip on the rails of his crib. If you try and physically lay him down he pops right back up. And if you just leave the room with him standing there, watch out. He yells at the top of his lungs, "MOOOMMMMM!!" Which then wakes up Presley and then you've got a whole other mess on your hands. So lately I've started acting like a complete spaz when he lays down. I tell him, "put your head on the pillow and I'll cheer for you." Once he does I go bananas. I wave my arms in the air and swing my head around like I'm at a rock concert or something, "YOU DID IT!" I try to yell in a very quiet, yet very excited voice. He thinks it's the greatest thing he's ever seen. I feel like a total moron but it works (it's amazing the things you do for a little peace and quiet). After I've completed my victory dance for him, I sing Twinkle Twinkle and follow it up with a prayer (which by the way, instead of calling them prayers he calls them 'Dear God'. Sooo cute.). There are many days that I have to sing it at a much accelerated rate because Presley is screaming her head off. Sometimes I worry he'll think that's how fast the song is supposed be. Fortunately, Piper is pretty good about going to bed. If you tell her all the fun things you're going to do after naps (fun is so relative. We're talking simple things like printing Caillou coloring pages) she'll usually go down pretty well. But, that's when she takes center stage in her world. She usually spends about 15 or 20 minutes singing in her bed. And when I say sing, I mean belting it out. She puts on a full concert. So after about 30 minutes of hearing my little song bird, and occasionally hearing Brooksie chatter to himself.. it's usually quiet. I don't like any noise. I don't like any commotion. I don't like any movement from anyone other than me. Even the dog has to go to the basement. It's my one chance during the day to just catch my breath. To remind myself I'm not crazy. To just 'be'. Silence is golden... shhhh.