Who's the Boss?

According to my very scientific method of keeping track of these blogs, this particular entry is number 80. And as much as I enjoy writing these parental insights, I’m beginning to wonder if I have repeated myself in the previous 79 entries. If I have, I apologize. There are only so many ideas I can keep in my brain anymore. So, if I think I have a particularly clever anecdote and I don’t remember putting it down, I’m hoping you all are like me and don’t remember reading it!

With that said, it has recently come to my attention that my role in this whole “family” thing isn’t quite what I was led to believe. But then again, I’m basing my view of the average family on television from the 70s and 80s, so I guess I can’t complain too much. But even after realizing we probably won’t be traveling around in a multi-colored bus playing rock and roll as a family or living on the Love Boat, I have also come to realize that I – as the father and husband – am not really in charge around here.

Technically, I lost any hope or claim to that mantle during the wedding vows, but as little Miss Finley Ella has gotten bigger and developed more of a personality, I’m not even a close second.

It’s true that I get a few hours a week to go on a bike ride or go golfing, but for the most part, I’m on Finley Time. And that secretly means I’m on Finley and Mommy time. Because Mommy pretty much makes all the decisions and it all centers around Finley’s schedule. Well, that’s not entirely true. I get to choose when I get to do the dishes (kind of) and I have free reign over packing the car. But for the most part, the household is run by a 17-month old girl.

Mornings start out pretty much the same… I hear a high-pitched squeal of excitement as Mommy plops the daughter onto our bed and Finley comes crawling across the sheets like Michael Phelps. But instead of reaching for the timing pad at the end of the pool, she’s searching for my face to let me know that it is time to get up.

I eventually make my way to the couch in the living room as some sort of way-too-cheery morning fare blares on the tube. Usually it involves Mickey Mouse or the Wiggles, but it’s just background noise as the Princess of Cute holds court, waiting for Mommy to finish getting ready.

If I’m lucky, she’ll be sucking away on a sippee cup full of juice or munching on a handful of organic cereal. Then she’ll decide to bring a stack of books over for me to read to her – which at this time in the morning is really just her thumbing through the pages as I groggily come to life.

Soon, the little whirlwind has her shoes and as I help her put them on, I get a whiff of her hair. And that’s what wakes me up. Well, that and a very slobbery kiss as Finley and Mommy head out the door to daycare. Suddenly it’s very quiet… and very lonely. But that all changes in about eight hours.

You can hear her working her way up the stairs – with Mommy’s help, of course. She’ll either be giggling or counting the steps in her own language. And once the door flies open, she struts into her domain looking around to make sure everything is to her liking. On good days, I’ll get open arms and lift her for a real quick kiss. On other days, she’ll head straight to her high chair and start pulling it out all on her own. She wants dinner, and I’m just in the way.

Depending on her mood, dinner can be quick and easy or drawn out and difficult. A mess is guaranteed with both versions. And depending on the night, she’ll have a bath before she gets into her jammies and is ready to create havoc in the living room.

These days, she’s letting us know – in her own language – if we’re in the way or if she needs help. Tonight, she actually shook her finger at me and said “No, no Daddy” when I did something she didn’t like.

But for the most part, she’s a very good kid who just wants to discover as much as she can before bedtime. She’ll even give in a bit when it’s time for “nigh-nigh.” And I always get a big smooch as she heads to sleep.

And as she starts to wind down from what was most certainly a very busy day, I’m left to survey the battlefield that is the living room. Dolls and cars are scattered across the ground like soldiers and tanks. There’s just no smoking rubble… well, not yet, anyway.

Heather informs me that we’ll be eating OUR dinner in a few minutes – even when the kid is sleeping, I’m still on her schedule – and I get a few moments to breathe.

And it’s here that I realize I have no control. I am not, nor will I probably ever be, in charge. And I think to myself, “Thank goodness for that!” Because between the organization of the Momma and the busy life of the daughter, I’m just glad I fit in, somewhere. I’d just mess things up anyway. Besides, all I want is a few sloppy kisses and to smell baby hair. Sounds like a good deal to me!

Olympic Dreams

A few things tend to happen when you stay up late to watch the Olympics; 

you find yourself beginning to actually understand the gymnastics scoring system, you find yourself beginning to actually understand Béla Károlyi, and you fall asleep with floor routine music on your brain. All of which can lead to some very strange dreams.
We flash-forward to 2024, where a 17-year old Finley Ella Dickey is preparing to begin the women’s individual all-around on the balance beam. Her parents are in the stands acting like raving lunatics with every move she makes. Some high-pitched former male gymnast is describing her next move and everyone holds their breath as she dismounts and sticks her landing.
She moves to the uneven bars… It’s not her strongest event, being that she’s not long and lanky like the other athletes. She’s pretty much got the same build she’s got now – just imagine she’s a bigger version of her current self... Short but powerful. As she gets ready, mom can’t believe how much chalk she’s putting on her hands and is wondering what combination of spray-n-wash and detergent will get those chalk stains out of her shiny suit. It’s a fairly clean routine, but those pesky Chinese 10-year olds seem to always do better.

We head to the vault, where Finley has a slight advantage. 

Years of Dad throwing her in the air and tossing her onto the bed has prepared her for this moment. She runs down the path (not unlike she runs now) and yells “YAYYYY!” as she hits the springboard, pushes off of the vault table and does several twists and flips, pigtails flying in the air, then lands solidly on her feet. It’s a great vault and she leads the competition with one event left.

It comes down to the floor exercise and everyone is pleased that she has selected a Beatles song and probably even gets a few more points for her routine because it’s not some over-dramatic soap opera music like every one else plays. It’s a very solid routine and she comes perilously close to stepping out of bounds but, thankfully, mom wasn’t able to clip her toenails while she slept so she could dig into the mat and stay safe.
We all watch nervously as the last 8-year old Chinese girl does her floor routine and it looks like it might be a close finish until she faints mid-routine because they haven’t fed her for three days.

The cameras all zoom in on Finley as she hugs her coach and looks around for her parents who have completely lost it and are crying like idiots. During the medal ceremony, the whole arena stands to hear not the national anthem, but a special rendition of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” that Finley claps to and sings along with. When it’s all done she yells “Bye Bye!” to everyone and looks at her medal, which is actually a gold pacifier around her neck. She couldn’t be any happier.

Then I wake up and go look at her asleep in her crib. My little gymnast is happily sleeping away, with no worries at all. We have quite a long time before any sort of athletics or academics start to creep in with their pressures.

 I hope she finds something in either area that she’s passionate about. Who knows? We may have a little gymnast on our hands or we may have a future doctor. And even if neither come to fruition, I’ll be cheering her on all the way… even if it’s not from the stands at the Olympics.

Animal Kingdom

One of the things I’ve been looking forward to do as a daddy is to take Finley to the zoo. I love going to the zoo. I even had a membership to the Woodland Park Zoo at one time. It’s just a great way to spend the day.

Right after Finley had her first birthday, we joined some cousins for a trip to the Pt. Defiance Zoo in Tacoma. Unfortunately, she was a bit too small to really get an idea of what was going on. Plus, her attention span was a bit shorter than it is, now.
So, a few months and another set of cousins later, Finley made her first trek to Woodland Park, last week. It was an almost perfect day… Good weather, good company but one thing was missing… DADDY! In a small bit of irony, I was chained to my desk at work, while they all got to go free. But that’s okay. There will be plenty more trips to the zoo.

Meanwhile, Finley and her cousins, Halle and Braeden, hit the zoo with full force. Mommy reported that Finley loved every bit of it… well, the parts she was awake for! It is a pretty exciting day when you go to the zoo. You can’t blame the little one if she runs out of gas and needs to hibernate with the bears.

But, to be honest, every day to her is like a trip to the zoo. She is a big fan of dogs and we can’t go very far without her squealing “doggy!” She knows kitties and duckys and can almost but not quite make the noise of a cow. She has trouble with the OOOO sound. She’s getting better, though. At first she was saying “Meeeeeee.” In fact, she’s becoming a big fan of “Old MacDonald.” She can’t quite keep up, but she loves listening to us make all the animal noises.

One her current favorite books is a book of animals, of course. I do my best to give the most accurate noises as Finley points out an animal. Heather just rolls her eyes, but I’m pretty sure Finley enjoys it.

But animals in a book are one thing. Seeing these creatures live and in person is another. I expect that as she gets older and begins talking, she’ll have several thousand questions about the animals as we walk through the zoo. And that’s good. It’s supposed to be all about learning, anyway. I’m hoping that as we see these animals and talk about them she can begin to realize that we, as humans, are just one piece of this great big puzzle of species.

I’m also pretty sure that, as she grows and becomes more aware of animals, that she’ll be just like her old man and want to keep some as pets. I had my share of hamsters and a rabbit or two. I might have had a fish and I most certainly had dogs. Of course the good and the bad of all of this is how attached we can all become to these pets. Which means that when they go away, there can be some very difficult but important things to discuss.

It’s interesting that for many kids, their first introduction to death is through their pets. As traumatic as it can be, it’s also an opportunity to reinforce concepts of love and family and courage. All of which are there to help us get through tough times like those.

So, can a simple trip to the zoo really spark all these feelings and heavy discussions? The answer is a whole-hearted “yes.” Because in the animal kingdom, life and death are the certain things… It’s how we deal with it that makes us human. It may be a lot to think I can explain all of this to my little girl, some day. But I’ll do my best to let her know that we can help each other cope with the bad and discover the good.

Play Now

It wasn’t too long ago that I was watching in amazement as my little girl was lying on her back, reaching up to bat at a small toy hanging from her play mat. 

She couldn’t even roll over at that time, but the look in her eye showed me that she understood what she was doing. She was playing.

It’s no surprise that as her motor skills developed, her playing became more sophisticated – and vice versa. Whether she was crawling to a ball or taking those first few steps to reach some other toy, her desire and curiosity ultimately led her to develop muscles and coordination so she could reach, pick up, grasp and even more accurately direct those things into her mouth. And along the way, she was having fun, too.

Nowadays, a typical routine is for her to walk over to the bookshelf, pull out every single book, pick through the pile and bring over the one she wants us to read. 

She may even decide to read it herself, turning every page very carefully and reading in her own language. Sometimes she’ll grab one of her many cars and either push it around the condo or ride on it a few feet.  But all of that is pretty tame, really.

I like to refer to Finley as a “stunt baby” because she purposely takes dives and falls, climbs whatever she can and pretty much does her best to mess up any type of hairdo mommy has put together.

No night is complete without seeing her running as fast as she can and crashing into a toy or one of us. She likes to flop onto her little couch or dive into the little fabric playhouse we got for her or dump all the toys out of her toy bucket and climb in to it and tip it over. And like any good athlete, she only really stops to grab a drink.

Of course all of this running and jumping doesn’t just wear HER out… Mommy and daddy are getting plenty of exercise these days, too. Whether Mommy is chasing the munchkin around the dining table or Daddy is lifting the stunt baby up and down and up and down, the whole family is getting into the Finley Fitness craze.

We’re also starting to get into another area that is more than just physical. Imagination play is beginning. It’s in the very early stages, but she’s really good at seeing more than one way to play with a toy or an object. We’re helping her discover that something like a laundry basket can be a car, a boat, a drum, a stage or even a place to hide. And she loves it. 

In fact, I often wonder why she has toys when she has the most fun with the laundry basket or even a plain old box. But then again, as she gets older, flashing lights and other cool toys will probably replace boxes and bins.

At this point, I’m not only glad she’s energetic and driven, I’m glad she lets us be a part of it. After all, until a brother or sister comes along, we’re the playmates. And that’s fine with me. I think I can handle playing with my daughter for a while… maybe even the rest of her life (or the point where she gets embarrassed, which will probably be sooner).