The Ultimate Question

One thing I’ve learned in my “Daducation” is the truth behind 

the saying that a child’s mind is like a sponge. As much as we try to teach her words and actions and feelings, she inevitably comes up with something we didn’t teach her. We can pretty much agree she’s picked most of these things up at daycare.

But she’s learning much more than just words and phrases. We’re beginning to notice that as Finley’s vocabulary grows, she pays attention to how we react to certain words or the way she uses them. She knows that if it makes us smile or laugh, then she’s got something she can use over and over as entertainment… after a while it turns out to be more for her entertainment than ours. I’m sure you understand.

Of course of all the words that fly in and around her head and get processed in her little brain, there are a few that mark major turning points in the development of the child and test the patience of the parent. She’s already discovered a couple of the more famous ones. She’s well aware of the power of “no” and “again.” Now she’s moved on to the next great word of toddler-hood. That ultimate question of questions… She’s beginning to ask “why.”

This is arguably the most notorious of the words toddlers can learn and repeat over and over and over again. I think it’s because of what this word does to the parents more than what it does for the kid. Especially in the early stages. I’m not sure Finley knows why she’s asking why or even if she understands the reasons or explanations when we give them. But we give them anyway… for now.

I’m also not sure why we even bother to give explanations. Most of the time she’s off to do something else before I’m finished explaining. I guess I think it’s my parental duty to pass on great amounts of knowledge when prompted. Then again, explaining why she shouldn’t beat her doll’s head against the table isn’t quite sacred knowledge passed down from family to family.

Then there’s the danger of the endless loop of reasoning. It hasn’t happened just yet, but I can imagine each answer leading to another question of why that could go on forever.

“Why” at this stage in her life is really more of a stalling tactic. It usually pops up when we’d like her to do something like pick up or go to bed. Of course, when “why” accompanies some sort of directive we ultimately wind up with the grand old parental answer that I’ve been waiting to use since the days I asked “why.” “Because I said so.” These famous four words of finality have echoed throughout the ages as the verbal version of putting one’s foot down and I now have the power to wield them (Other phrases I’m waiting to use include “Not under my roof” and “You’re not wearing that”).

Ultimately, I’m glad she is beginning to ask “why.” To me it’s the beginning of a desire for knowledge (once she gets past the stalling phase) we all have. And as much as I’m happy to be her font of knowledge, I don’t know everything (don’t tell her that), which is a good thing.

For now, I will continue to try and answer her questions the best I can. I even plan to make stuff up just to see if she’s paying attention. I can only hope that she’ll eventually decide to test the old man and find it all out for herself. I look forward to the point where she has to discover the answers on her own or even the times when we get the opportunity to discover the answers together. But until that happens, I’ll keep practicing different ways to say “Because I said so.”  

The Tale of a Tail

There’s no doubt that parenthood introduces you to things 

you’ve never seen or done before. Some folks have no idea what to do with a diaper until their own kid shows up. Many of us have no idea how to swaddle a baby, but have to learn. And I can’t even begin to understand what it means to nurse. But, like anything that comes when the baby does, you learn... you learn quick… and you get better at it as the days go by.

Now, I’m not complaining, really, but there’s a little added degree of difficulty to learn some of these things when you’re the father of a girl. I mean, at the most basic level, shirts go on over the head, pants go on BEFORE shoes and socks go on before that last bit. That’s all fine and dandy… until we get to the things that literally separate the girls from the boys.

So far in my brief tenure as Finley’s dad, I have put dresses on backward and even mistaken a shirt for a dress (The whole buttons-in-the-back thing really throws me off – I don’t think I own ANYTHING with buttons in the back). But recently, it has been brought to my attention that I must add another skill to my repertoire that I have been dreading.

As many of you know, Heather is in the process of getting her teaching certificate and has been student teaching a few days a week. Well, this week she not only moves to teach five days a week, but is actually in charge of the class for the next month and a half. This means she has to leave extra early in the mornings. This means I am the sole parent and have been left in charge of waking, dressing and getting the munchkin to daycare.

No big deal, really. I’ve been doing it a couple of days a week, anyway. But now, I’m full-time and full throttle. It really is no problem to get the girl up and get her dressed. It’s the part that comes directly after she’s dressed that is not in my training. It’s my duty to now do her hair in the mornings.

I had been getting away with just brushing it all down and handing her off to the daycare gals to put up in some sort of pony and/or pig tail configuration. I have been informed that I must learn how to achieve said tails on my own.

Now, I have to admit that I’m not completely unaware of how this all works. It wasn’t that long ago that I had a ponytail, myself. But things are different when you are doing it yourself in a mirror with your own hands and your head isn’t moving around like a dervish. Add to that the fact that I worry about pulling her hair or hurting her and it’s a recipe for a hairdo only Oscar the Grouch would appreciate.

So, this being Monday, I had to give it a try. Luckily for me, Finley’s fashion designer (the Momma) is a big fan of the high pony (or the “fountain,” as I call it) so all I really need to do is gather a bunch of hair to the middle and tie it down. Easier said than done.

Attempt number one winds up falling backward in a limp pile because I didn’t gather enough hair. Attempt number two is aborted about halfway in because I lost the hair band. And attempt number three is off to the side a bit.

For her part, Finley stays still – probably wondering what the heck Daddy is trying to do. Finally, on the fourth try, I achieve a passable high pony tail. I could have probably done a better job with her bangs, but I’m not even going there, just yet. Baby steps, is my motto.

Of course, when Finley came home from daycare, her hair had obviously been redone. It doesn’t bother me. Let the pros do the deed.  I’m just a beginner. But I know I’ll get better at it. Just like everything. We have to try and fail and try again. It’s just a bit awkward because it’s not something the male half of the species is designed to understand. We were too busy working on how to swing a bat or playing with trucks while the girls were dressing the dolls.  But now it’s my turn to learn how to dress the doll.

And I’ll get better at it over time. It’s just not what I imagined I’d be doing in the mornings in my 40s. But you know what? I don’t think I’d rather be doing anything else.

So bring on the hair bands and the berets and the ribbons. I’m ready for them. In a few years, I may not be the best at braiding my daughter’s hair, but I bet I’ll be better than a lot of dads out there. Okay, now where’s that doll so I can practice?

Terrible

It seems like every time I sit down to write this blog, 

I’m trying to figure out how best to describe all the crazy, wonderful things Finley has done over the past week. Whether it was some funny thing she’s done or said, I paint a picture of a happy, smiling cherub floating on clouds. And it’s the truth, for the most part.

But as our little angel crept closer and closer toward the 2-year mark, we began to notice a change come over. It’s something we had been waiting for, actually. Something we have been very lucky not to have had to deal with until now.

It turns out our little princess is quite the tantrum thrower. Whether or not she had been bottling this pent up pint-sized frustration from day one, we can’t be sure. But these days, it doesn’t take much to set her off. And when she blows, it is not pretty.

Most of the tirades are based on one basic principle; she wants to do everything herself… on her own terms. Of course, when you’re two years old, many standard laws of physics and experience don’t cooperate with your desires.

For instance, she has this thing about shoes. She LOVES shoes. Loves to find them, hold them, and put them on. But when a pair of shoes won’t quite go on correctly or are not big enough to fit her feet while she’s wearing her pajamas, the world is apparently coming to an end. It turns out – as is the case with most kids her age – that frustration hits very quickly… Frustration from not being able to do something they want AND frustration that they can’t explain what it is they want.

And don’t even try to help. Oh no. Even though I could just reach down and adjust a shoe so that it can go on much easier, if I get near that space, I get a ration of “NO!” and the tantrum meter goes up a few notches.

When she wants things the way she wants them, that’s the way it has to be. Now, I know she’s just a toddler, and this is a typical stage they go through, but she sure reminds me of somebody else who likes to have things done her way. I’m not naming any names at the risk of sleeping on the couch, tonight, but I think you understand.

Of course, it’s not just limited to the trials and tribulations of shoes. There are several different incarnations of the devil child that can appear at any given moment. There’s the “I want out of the crib, I don’t want out of the crib” Finley; the “Baby doll has to go into her stroller this way and not that way” Finley; the “I want to walk down the stairs, I want you to carry me down the stairs” Finley; the “I don’t want to eat, I want to eat” Finley (which is closely related to the “I want to eat this, not that” Finley.

It’s important to note that all of these versions of our child can and will work in any order and in any given degree of tantrum level.

All in all, I’m actually fine with this. If I didn’t think this was coming, I would be fooling myself. The really weird part is how quickly she can turn it on and off. One minute she’s flailing on the floor in a pool of tears because I asked her to put her coat on and the next she’s wanting me to hold her and play with her (I’m actually not sure if this is a toddler thing or a female thing… I’ll get back to you on that).

The good thing in all of this is that we are getting used to it and learning how to diffuse the bomb before too much collateral damage happens. I also think that as she is able to develop better communication that will help (at least I hope so). In the end it’s all about patience and anticipating – as best as we can – when a tantrum decides to rear its ugly head.

Of course, we will probably never be experts at this, but if we can help minimize the freak out, we’ve done our job. The key thing is to remember that she’s not a bad kid, she’s just a kid and these are just the beginnings of the growing pains we’ll be sharing with her as she passes through her toddler years. And that’s fine with me. I can deal with this… because in ten years, as she enters her teens, I’ll be hiding in the basement.

Two

There are certain times in your life when you realize things 

aren’t what they used to be. A moment of clarity or awareness that is not necessarily a bad thing, but more of a realization that you’re not the person you were months or even years before.

This moment of clarity struck me as I was driving to Fred Meyer at 7pm on a Wednesday to purchase Dora the Explorer wrapping paper. “Yes,” I told myself. “Things have definitely changed.”

It was just about five years ago that I was living alone in my own little bachelor pad, not far from downtown Seattle, worried about pretty much nothing but myself. I didn’t have to tell anyone where I was going or what I was doing. I didn’t have to put the seat down and I certainly didn’t have to get up in the middle of the night to help someone else go back to sleep. As exciting and manly as that sounds, there’s one big problem… I was alone.

The fact is, even though I was wandering around a large department store looking for gift wrap emblazoned with the greatest Hispanic voyager since Coronado, I was happy to do it. In fact, I didn’t even think twice about it. You see, on Wednesday Finley will be two years old. And that’s a pretty cool thing.

It seems like this time last year, I was expounding on how much she had developed in 12 months. And at the risk of repeating myself, these past 12 months have been pretty amazing as well.

Last March, she was only about a month or so into the whole walking thing and now she sprints around the house like a mad woman, jumping onto the couch or into our arms with a giggle.

Last March, she could say “Momma” and “Daddy” and maybe a few other things. Now, she’s putting sentences together and let’s us know what she wants, when she wants it.

She’s also developing a personality… She scolds me when she doesn’t want me to mess with her books or toys and can turn on the charm when she wants something. She can be silly and funny and an instant later, turn on the drama and the waterworks if she doesn’t get her way.

She can be grumpy and cranky and bratty but turn around and be loving and kind. She always tries to share whatever she has with us… whether it’s toys or food or kisses, she can be very thoughtful.

The bottom line is that she’s a toddler. And all of the emotions and ways to express herself – right or wrong – are going to come out. It’s our job to help her find her voice (hopefully a fairly quiet one) and help her understand how to make the proper choices. I know that seems a little heavy for a two-year old to deal with – and it is – but it’s all about the basics. She can and will figure out the tougher things as she gets older. We’re just here to point her in the right direction.

I’m excited to see what the next year brings. I know the biggest thing will be how she'll continue improving her communication skills, which will help us understand what she needs.

I’m also glad that we’ll finally be leaving the age of months behind us. Yes, we can refer to her as 2 years old instead of 18 months or 20 months. Too much math for me, thanks.

So, as I reach the party section of the store and amaze myself at my knowledge of kids cartoon characters and correctly spot the backpack-sporting girl and her monkey with the rain boots, I can feel glad in the fact that as much as my little girl has learned in the past two years, I’ve learned quite a bit, myself. The bulk of which relates to the fact that standing in line at night at a checkout stand with Dora the Explorer gift wrap is a much better life than living alone in an apartment.

I’ll Tumble For Ya

There’s this thing that happens to you when you are witness to the birth of your child. 

 A thought crosses your mind that you would do ANYTHING to keep her safe. Of course, when you think that thought, you don't really think you’d ever have to follow through with it. At least you hope you never have to. This past Friday, I not only learned that I WOULD do anything to keep Finley safe, I learned that when the time comes, you don’t even have to think about it.

We had a little after-work get together with our company at a local roller rink. A chance for families to hit the hard wood and skate away the end of the week. We decided to give it a shot and after a few minutes of watching all of the other kids on the floor, Finley agreed to put on some skates.

After we strapped on the wheels we guided her out to the rink. I must say, she took to it rather well. She was a little scared at first – which was to be expected – but it didn’t take her long to get the hang of it and get a little more comfortable.

Of course, at her age, she’s really just walking more than gliding, but the fact that she was out there as other kids zoomed by was just fine with her. In fact, she got to the point where she didn’t want us to hold her hands… she wanted to go on her own. One of us was right there in case she lost her balance, but we really didn’t need to worry… she was doing just fine.

After one or two times around we took a little rest, and then it was back out on the wood. This time, I had my skates on and was guiding her around on the outside edge of the rink, where the slow folks go. She wanted none of it. She loved seeing all the kids go speeding by and wanted to go toward the middle – the fast lane, as it were. And as she kept angling toward the center, I’d keep steering her back toward the outside. After a bit of my redirection, she began to get frustrated and fighting me. But I had to put my skate down and get her back to the safe, outside lane. Finally I decided to scoop her up and take her to the wall. That was my first mistake.

Picking her up wasn’t such a good idea because not only was she kicking and screaming to go where SHE wanted to go, but it also threw me off balance a bit. I didn’t have her up very high, just a few inches off the ground. And as we were reaching the safety of the slow lane, she finally flailed enough to send us both to the ground.

A few months ago, I got a small taste of what it means to keep her safe when she started to take a tumble down the stairs outside or condo. As I said in the blog after that happened, sometimes things happen so fast you just react. And that’s what happened, here.

Obviously, she was a bit closer to the ground than I was and didn’t have far to go and in the long run she just sprawled a bit and didn’t get hurt. She was crying, mainly because she was mad at me for keeping from the center. As for me, well, that was a different story.

I realized right away that unless I did something, I was going to land right on top of her. I could just imagine breaking her little hand or arm. My first instinct was to push her away from me, which I did. This was how she ended up sprawling on the floor. But as the momentum of the fall continued to take me toward her, the only thing I could think to do was to make a sort of protective shield around her and basically force my hands and knees to take the brunt of the impact and roll away over her. Sounds like a fairly athletic move, doesn’t it? Maybe in slow motion.

In the split-second it took to figure this out and execute, I’m sure I looked pretty uncoordinated. But, it worked. I missed her completely, taking most of the fall with my right knee and arm. We weren’t going THAT fast, but even at a slow pace, gravity can cause pain.

One bruised knee later, I can look back on this little adventure and laugh. But it makes me think that I really would give up my body to keep her safe. Sure, I wasn’t diving in front of a bullet or stopping a train, but I like to think that in my own way, I was Finley’s superhero for a quick instant. I may not have a medal on my chest but I do have a little bruise on my knee that doesn’t hurt as much as it probably could.