Well, here goes nothing ...

Vivienne's name means "life" or "lively," and it was appropriately chosen.  The past few nights she really has had a problem settling.  Also, of late, we have had a hard time keeping track of her pacies (pacifiers/dummies), her equivalent of Jonathan's beloved Baby Giraffe.  Well, tonight, after all the stores were closed, we really, really couldn't come up with one, so daddy (who does the "big" kids' bedtime routine) came in and asked if maybe tonight should be the night so we could get her off them before David figured out what they were and wanted one, too.  (His current bedtime favorites are Foxy Mommy and Foxy Baby, a wonderfully cuddly IKEA duo.)  Then daddy said, "Do you have a gift for her?  I know you always have something."  Ah, the man knows me well.  I have had a Belle Toddler Princess stashed away through two Christmases and a birthday.  Last year Vivienne wasn't old enough to really be interested in dolls, and her birthday coincided with her strong love of Jonathan's baby doll so really she needed her own.  (OK, I needed her to have her own so I could stop refereeing who got "Baby.")  Then, right before Christmas I found Elsa AND Anna at Costco for about the price one princess doll was elsewhere, so we hopped on the Frozen bandwagon.  (OK, we were already on it.)  So there was Belle, sitting in my closet, waiting for her dramatic moment.  Well, tonight was her night.

When we got into her room, both Jonathan and Vivienne wanted to show us all Vivienne's shelf where they had lined up Elsa, Anna, and her mini-Belle figurine among other things.  I took this as a sign that maybe we were on the right track with her gift.

Then we talked to Vivienne.  "OK, Vivienne.  You are a big girl, so no more pacies."

"I not a big gi-irl.  I just a small gi-irl."  (In her toddler/half-British/Chinese accent, "girl" definitely has a diphthong.)

"Yes, but if you give up pacies, you get a present."

"I want a present."

"So this means no more pacies."

"OK.  Where's my present?"

"Mommy will go get it."

At this point, I retired to go wrap her present because I thought that would make it more legitimately present-esque in her eyes, therefore adding weight to our future arguments when she asked for a paci at a later date.  (We'll see how that goes.)  I told daddy to go talk it up some more.  Through the door I heard them.

"So Vivienne.  You're getting a present.  You know what this means, right?  No more ..."

"Nappies."  (We've been trying to prepare her for that change as well.)

"Well, you can keep your nappies just a little bit longer.  No more ..."

"Pacies!"

When I brought the present out (in the shiniest, glitteriest, most legitimizing paper I could find) Jonathan was dancing around just as much as she was and it was all we could do to keep him from "helping" all the wrapping paper off.  Vivienne's face lit up and she squealed, "Belle.  I love it."

She looks happy enough with it, right?

Of course, the next few hours were all in and out .. of bed, each other's beds, mommy's room, you name it.  Even Jonathan was complaining that she wouldn't let him sleep, but finally he, at least, was down for the count.  Still, she would bounce up every so often.

The last time she came in, I threatened her back to bed.  "But you didn't stay a long time.  You didn't sing to me."

"OK, but just one song."

"Three songs."

"Vivienne, how many songs?"

"Four songs."

"OK," I compromised. "I'll sing 'Jesus Loves Me' and 'Twinkle, Twinkle,' so two songs."

"Don't sing scary songs."

Well, I thought we would be safe with my choices, so I launched into them, after, of course, getting her a sheet instead of a blanket (because the weather has definitely been getting warmer and muggier) and negotiating the status of her socks.  I launched into several verses of "Jesus Love Me."  Before the chorus on the third or fourth verse, she piped up, "Now 'Peppa Pig.'"  Well, despite its constant iPad play around here, I really couldn't think of anything beyond, "Peppa Pig, Peppa Pig" (is there more to it than that?) so I suggested "Rocket" (a.k.a. "Little Einsteins") and she said, "OK."  But when I started it she said, "No, 'Jesus Loves Me' first.'"  So back to the last two verses, then into a fairly acceptable version of "Rocket," (though she corrected me at least once and I am never sure which part comes when).  Of course, she didn't forget "Twinkle, Twinkle," so we went with that, followed by my second verse (which I made up when she was a baby David's age learning to sleep in a crib by herself -- my survival skills kicking in so I wouldn't die of boredom):

"Scurry, scurry, little mouse,
How I hope that you're in my house,
Up above my little bed.
Won't you come and dance on my head.
Scurry, scurry, little mouse,
How I hope that you're in my house."  (Complete with the appropriate scurrying tickles and giggles, of course.)

And that, at least, seemed to convince her that it really, really, REALLY was bedtime -- at least, I haven't had any more little visits during the time it's taken me to write this down and finish cutting out her next dress.

So, here goes nothing ...

Pretty sure, though, we're going to encounter a few screaming bouts and a bit of co-sleeping when she wakes up in the middle of the night looking for her paci, but we have convinced her (for tonight at least) to go to bed without it, so I am counting it as, well, not yet a win, but at least a point.