The Smartest Monkey

It seems like every week, Finley shows us something new. Sometimes it’s a new word or phrase or just the way she uses inflexion in her speech. Other times she has learned a song or some sort of physical accomplishment. 

No matter what it is, it usually catches us by surprise and gets us laughing. And that can be good and bad. Because if she sees us laughing, then she thinks it’s okay to do it over and over again.

And that’s fine for things that are positive – like songs and niceties – but not so fine for things like hitting or some of the crazier things she does. For instance, every once in a while she gets into a hopping mode. She jumps and jumps and thinks it’s so funny. And then – out of nowhere – she’ll jump up, kick her legs out and land directly on her bottom. I’m talking about leaping and landing on her butt.

The first time you see it, it’s pretty darn funny. But you have to try to keep from laughing because you don’t want her to keep doing it and potentially hurt herself. And she knows that it’s funny. Because she keeps doing it. At this point, it’s probably not so bad because of all the padding in her diaper. Plus there’s the fact that she doesn’t have a long way to drop. I just wonder what our downstairs neighbor thinks.

She’ll surprise us with little tricks like this, now and again. She’s got a great bit where she thinks she’s doing a somersault, when she just has her hands and feet and head on the floor… and that’s it. She still likes to climb all over the couch and use the arm as a balance beam. And she’ll even climb on to the dining room table like the queen of the hill, until we ask her to get down. But this weekend, we got the biggest surprise so far from our little stunt toddler.

I have to set this story up by reminding everyone that Finley is now two years old and very good at being two years old. That is, she likes to throw food, books and tantrums equally. And in this day and age where corporal punishment is forbidden, we have introduced the “time out” to the mix. In our case, the time out means she has to go into her room and sit in her chair for a few minutes with the door closed. Usually this leads to a pounding on the door with her little fists as she cries for justice. But Saturday, there was a little too much quiet, even just a few seconds after closing the door.

This particular time out was instituted by Heather, and when she went to check on it being a little too quiet she found that Finley was no longer in her chair. In fact, she was in her crib.

Heather called me over and told me that she didn’t put Finley there. Sure enough, there was the munchkin sitting in her crib with her little grin saying, “I’m in my crib, Daddy.” So either our little girl has wings or she climbed the three feet up the side and dropped in. I figured there was really only one way to find out.

I plucked her out and put her on the floor. “Show Daddy how you got into your crib.” And she did. The little monkey put one foot in between the slats, grabbed the other slats with her hands and hoisted herself up so she almost, but not quite, had her belly over the edge of the rail. A couple of kicks later, she let gravity do the rest and plopped head-first into the crib. She even did a little tuck and side roll to keep from hurting her head.

This tells us a couple of things. First, she is quite a clever little monkey. And secondly, it looks like it’s time to buy a toddler bed. Of course the problem with that is, we worry she’ll never get to sleep from getting out of bed all the time. But it’s much safer than having her climb on the furniture.

The thing about it – and I always try to find a positive – is that she figured it all out. She got it in her head that to get into the crib, she had to climb. And to climb she had to get a foot hold and a hand hold. And to get UP she had to create leverage. It probably wasn’t as complicated as that in her thinking process, but it’s impressive to me. And don’t’ forget the lack of fear. She just did it, without hesitation.

Of course, that means I’ll be going around the house making sure it’s more and more difficult for her to climb everything. But I like the fact that she came up with a plan and executed it. That’s one smart monkey. As long as she is smart enough to play it safe, this Poppa Ape says keep it up. Well, at least until the Momma Ape catches you!

Just the Two of Us

So, I’m tired. I’m not complaining, I’m just stating a fact. I am tired. 

I know I’m not in the shape I once was, all those years ago, playing soccer every day and running when I wasn’t playing soccer. Far from it. And there’s nothing better to remind you just how out of shape you are than to be alone with a 2-year old for a week.

And it’s not just that I’m physically tired. I’m mentally tired. My conversations as of late have been limited to some version of explaining what I am doing at every moment or some sort of warning or command.

Let me back up a bit. How is it – you may ask – that I have been blessed to be alone with Finley for a whole week? Where is the Momma? Well, unfortunately, a family emergency pulled Heather back to Pennsylvania for a few days that turned into a few more days when her plane got cancelled. So, instead of coming back this afternoon, she won’t be back until LATE Tuesday evening. She left last Wednesday.

This all means that I was in charge. Well, as in charge as I can be over Finderella. She pretty much runs the show. I’m just here for support and cleanup. But, I had to take on all the parental duties for a full week. And we’re both somewhat sane after all of this, so it wasn’t too bad.

The first thing I can tell you – and I KNOW it’s not really news to most people – there is a lot to do when you fly solo. Talk about multi-tasking. You have to stay ahead of everything in this game. Which means personal time is limited to the time the kid is asleep (if you’re not cleaning).

As I look back at this past week, I realize that taking care of a 2-year old is really a two-part job. It’s one part traffic cop and one part disaster cleanup. It’s funny how you can have a fairly clean room until Finley – who has somehow transformed into the Tasmanian Devil – walks through. I can always find her by following her trail of debris.

I learned very quickly the drill to making things work efficiently. It came down to a two-word phrase: “Give up.” Seriously. I can say that I want to be a perfect parent and hold firm to not giving in and letting her have her way. But the reality is, a happy girl is a happy dad.

Of course, there are certain things you have to be firm on. But unless you want to spend 30 minutes trying to calm down a hysterical lunatic, just give her the chocolate (Yes, I’m talking about Finley not Heather).

Ultimately it comes down to how patient you are with her and how patient she is with you. I can tell you right now, 2-year olds don’t understand patience, so it’s really about how patient YOU can be. The key is to keep them entertained as much as you can. Because when boredom hits, that’s when they find something to get into. And you have to spend their nap time scrubbing ink out of a patch of carpet. Not that it happened to me. It’s just an example.

But there is a big bright side to all of this. YOU are their life. For the past week, she has relied upon me to get her up, get her dressed, get her fed, get her to school, pick her up, bathe her, play with her, and put her to bed. That’s a pretty awesome responsibility.

And as daunting as it sounds, it’s all worth it when she randomly kisses me or sings to me or gives me a great big hug before bedtime. Because even though she doesn’t really know how or when to say it, she’s saying “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you for taking care of me and I’m sorry if I’ve been impatient. I’m just two. And that’s how it works.”

And my big hug back says “My pleasure. I’m your Daddy. And that’s how it works.” And when I sneak into her room to check on her and she’s asleep with a smile on her face, I can take solace in the fact that I did something right. But it still doesn’t mean I don’t want Momma to come home soon! Until then, I’ve got it covered. Now where did I put that stain remover?

She Drives Me Crazy

I’ve decided that two year olds are insane.

 I don’t mean it in a bad way… I just think that they must have so much going on in those little brains that sometimes they just can’t process it all normally.  But then again, maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the one going crazy. Because it seems like that at times, everything that worked and made her happy yesterday is making her a raving lunatic today.

Case in point… this morning. For the past week or so, Heather has been getting up and out of the house to go to school before Finley and I wake up. I usually get up a few minutes ahead of the munchkin and we have a little routine. She asks where Momma is, I explain she’s at school. She thinks about it for a moment, decides that’s okay with her and I pick her up and get her dressed. Pretty good routine. Nothing too difficult. Until today.

Today, I walk into her bedroom to find our little Houdini halfway out of her pajamas and in a foul mood. That should have been sign number one. Sign number two was that she wasn’t interested in where Momma was. She obviously had some ulterior motive on her mind. One that I was about to discover once I put her on the changing table.

For some reason, Finley decided that on this morning, she didn’t want to wear a diaper. And not just a diaper. She wanted nothing to do with clothes, either. And of course, to make me aware of this fact, she decided she wouldn’t just tell me… No. She decided to wriggle and writhe and fight and scream and cry anytime I came close to putting anything on. I still have no idea why.

So, I did my best to get her dressed. What is usually a fairly simple and cooperative affair turned into a battle royale, worthy of WWE pay-per-view standards. I had size and strength on my side, but she had elusiveness and scrappiness on hers. In the end, power won out, but not before she managed to have a complete and utter breakdown and fit that took her several minutes to recover from. I was exhausted, too!

Of course, just a few minutes after that, she was as happy as can be, ready to go to school and inflict her brand of craziness on the people we pay to deal with it. You can bet that tomorrow morning, I’ll be a little more aware of to expect from my bipolar baby. Which brings me to tonight. If this morning wasn’t a preview of what to expect in the teen years, then tonight was most definitely a glimpse of what we can expect in about 14 years.

For Easter this year, Finley’s Nana (Heather’s mom) gave our little princess a car. Okay, so technically it’s supposed to be a bus and it’s not for the highway, but it’s a car. A four-wheeled, self-powered vehicle to transport our kid. I have to say that at least it runs on batteries and not gas, so we’re saving the planet, anyway.

But to our amazement, our little Danica Patrick just hopped right in and zoomed around the condo without much damage to the furniture. I’m sure she knows a little about steering from tricycles and such, but to be able to control acceleration AND steering at the same time was pretty impressive. Take a look, below.

The next thing is to figure out how long it will take her to learn how to drive her fake little car while talking on her fake cell phone. On the bright side, maybe if she gets good at this, she’ll actually have a fairly easy time getting her real driver’s license. THAT I can wait 14 years for.

In the meantime, I’ll do my best to keep the attitude from this morning from mixing with the driving of this evening. I’m not sure I want to see mini road rage in my living room.

Drama Queen

I’m thinking about calling our place “The Actor’s Studio.” 

Not because I can imitate Will Ferrell imitating James Lipton, but because in my house we have three accomplished performers in their own right. I have to admit that when it comes to funny, crazy, and what Heather would call “stupid” performances, I take the lead. I’m the character actor of the family. Heather is definitely full of drama and can switch from sweet and innocent to brat mode fairly quickly. Her mother will agree with me. But when it comes to full-on tragedy and despair, no one compares to the two-year old.

It’s easy to guess that since Heather and I are the parents, our little one might be inclined to put on a little bit of a show whenever possible. And at the magic age of two, she has decided that a little drama seems to fit her best.

Apparently she has been studying the Stanislavski method of acting, where she takes on the emotions of her characters, who – in most cases – are either experiencing the end of the world or some sort of tragic loss. This would include throwing her head back in a cry of anguish and may or may not lead to a fit of writhing on the floor.

In some cases, this may include hitting something that deserves to feel her pain. And most of the time “No Daddy” or “No Momma,” is associated. All in all, it’s quite a performance. If we’re lucky, there will be two or three performances a day, centered around the fact that she can’t have something she apparently needs desperately.

I have to admit that the first few times I witnessed these tirades, I was a little worried that she was in real pain or would end up hurting herself. But as they have become more and more frequent, they turn out to be more and more entertaining. This is good and bad, because I think she’s starting to realize that we’re not falling for it, so she may either start doing less or turn them up a notch. Probably the latter.

I the long run, though, it turns out that all of this drama is a learning experience. The main thing is that she is (hopefully) learning that she can’t always have thing her way, no matter how much she screams and cries for it. Now, how long it will take her to figure it out is anybody’s guess, but we have to start somewhere, right?

And from what everyone keeps telling us, this is only the beginning. I guess the three’s are worse. Not that I can see what could be worse, but it probably has something to do with their mastery of language and what wonderful things that could bring to the drama.

In the meantime, we’ll continue to watch our little actress as she flails and falls to the ground in mock pain and help her up as she calms down. Maybe, in the not-too-distant future, she’ll thank us in some speech when she gets a little statue. That’s if she doesn’t flail on the ground if she doesn’t win the award.