Yes, I know Hell Week is a week of Navy SEAL training in which I'd never last more than 45 seconds. I'll apologize now to all the SEALs reading this blog, I'm about to use the term to describe spending extra time with my kids.
We are now almost 24 hours into Hell Week. Everyone still is alive and accounted for. But, this is just the first phase. Allison left for a work trip to Seattle yesterday. Despite explaining to Paige and Lucy we were driving mommy to her co-worker's house for them to carpool, once the moment of truth came, Paige reacted as if Allison was about to embark on a four-week trip to the depths of the Amazon. Screaming, crying and wailing, "MY MOMMY!" as we attempted to pull out of the co-worker's driveway was not the reaction I hoped for or expected. I guess you develop a realistic sense of time somewhere between age two and six, because Lucy barely could be bothered by the change in our family dynamic. I guess it's hard for her to care as she rolls her eyes at everything.
I decided last night would be a good movie night because the kids love eating dinner with their little trays in front of the TV once in awhile and I like having 90 minutes to not answer a barrage of questions starting with, "Can I..." I tossed Peter Pan into the DVD player (by the way, I noticed Disney didn't utilize the blatantly racist scenes from the movie to promote its DVD re-release - I was caught way off guard for that one), eventually fought bedtime and the first day was in the books.
Of course, Paige being Paige, she stirred 11 different times last night, including an epic screaming fit for her "Twinkle Twinkle" pacifier despite having 15 other pacifiers in her toddler bed. Yes, 15, as instructed by our sleep specialist many months ago (of course she has a sleep specialist). Our day started at 5:20 a.m., I convinced her to go back to sleep just long enough for me to drift off and wake up 30 minutes later to screaming. After turning on her light and mumbling, "Play toys. Read books. Quiet," I stumbled back to bed only to snap back into action when the words, "Daddy, I'm pooping!" came from down the hallway. And there was my little girl, half her body in the hallway and half in her room, butt in the air and a grimace on her face.
Now, we await the remainder of Hell Week. Allison jets off to Hawaii next. Yeah, freaking Hawaii for work (two days ago she was looking at the weather on her phone and had the gall to say, "Oh, look, 80 and sunny for my entire trip."). Leaves at the ass-crack of dawn on Wednesday and returns after bedtime on Saturday. That means no one to do Paige's hair in the morning. That means no one to send Lucy back into her room to change her clothes when she picks out a shirt/skirt combo that only matches in Punky Brewster's world. That means no one to relieve me of parenting duties at 5 p.m. when I'm seconds away from snapping. That means no one to help cover the overnight shift if I happen to drink one too many IPAs.
But, right now, at this very moment, Paige is napping and Lucy is reading, so life is good. Hold on, I shit you not, Lucy just walked into the room holding the game, "Pretty Pretty Princess." She's setting it up now as I type. Please excuse me as I attempt to earn my two ear rings, bracelet, necklace, ring and crown before Lucy does. Hell Week is full of surprises.