The Art of the Stall

I’m not sure when the shift happened.

I’m not sure if it was about a year ago or even a year and a half ago. Some people would argue that it happened the day she was born, but somehow, someway, everything started revolving around Finley. Okay, so it started the day she was born.

We can’t really do much of anything without her consent or at least her cooperation. Sleeping, eating, and relaxing… all dependent upon the little miss. But it’s not so much the act of her sleeping or eating or playing or bathing… it’s getting to do these things. Because, as you probably know, whatever she is doing at this very moment is the most important thing in the history of time, space, and the universe.

In her mind, the blocks she is playing with will suddenly cease to exist, ruining her newly created tower, if she were to leave right now. The Wiggles will never again sing about their big red car if she goes and brushes her teeth. And those are the easier concerns to decipher.

As her mind has evolved and she has absorbed some of her devilish ways from her Momma, she has started to become more creative with her stalling techniques. The first time we noticed this was when she started inserting the word “need” into her sentences. “But I NEED to close the bedroom door.” “I NEED to put my juice in the fridge.” And, if one denied her of these life-threatening deeds, the stall would be lengthened as the drama queen fell to the floor in a flurry of tears and wails.

Then she started playing the “education” card. There are nights when she can’t go to bed unless she finds the “right” book. We have to read her a book before bedtime, which is fine, but when she’s looking through the Finley Library of Congress, it starts to drag and drag. The ironic thing is that it usually ends up being the same book every night, anyway.

Now, the art of the stall has taken on a new, more powerful shape… She is playing on our heartstrings. Yes, she’s increased her cuteness factor.

Last night, Momma was out at a concert and I had Daddy duty. I was able to get her to commit to two books and put the blocks down. And once I got her into her bed, I could see the wheels turning in her head as she searched for some way to keep me there, longer. And just as I turned to leave, she sprung it on me… “I want to see your blue eyes.”

I’m still not sure where it that sprung from, but it got me. Sure enough, I turned back and leaned in over her while her little blue eyes searched mine. But then she broke the spell as turned to leave, again. “I want to see your blue eyes.” I don’t think so, kid. Not twice. Okay, maybe one more time, but this time it’s time for bed.

I’m not sure how many more versions of the stall I will see from Finley in the coming years. I’m not sure I want to know. There will be some that will be pretty easy to see through and others that will get me, hook, line, and sinker. But I won’t mind, really. Especially since all she really wants to do is see my blue eyes.

Slow Down, Sister

I haven’t decided whether or not it’s the natural tendency of a

two-year old or just my particular two-year old, but Finley has only one gear… fast. From the moment she wakes up in the morning and her feet touch the ground, she’s off like the Road Runner. Except there’s no little cloud of smoke or spinning sign that says “poof!” And we, as the Wiley E. Coyote parents, are left to figure out ways to slow her down.

It’s no wonder she sleeps 9 to 10 hours a night, when she’s burning out her fuse during the day. And it’s not just the rate of speed of DOING things but how many things she wants to DO.

You have to understand that we have a small place and 10 minutes of hurricane Finley results in toys and toy parts being scattered throughout the condo, some never to be seen again for months. So, we take her outside, to parks and she runs and runs and swings and slides and bounces. Does that wind her down? Not really.

For the most part, I can accept all this crazy energy and lack of attention span… She’s a toddler, after all. But there’s one little area of her personality that I wish she would take a little slower. It may be a small thing and it’s actually pretty funny.

At our house, there are several names Finley calls us by. There’s the standard Mommy and Daddy, but we also have Momma Mia and Poppa Pia or Daddy Poppa. But lately she’s taken to calling for us in a new way. I first heard it when she wanted to show Heather something and called to her… “Ummm, Mom? Look at this.” Then she started calling me “Dad.” I’m fine with Daddy and Poppa, but it seems a little early for “Dad.”

To me, “Dad” is used when your kids are too cool for Daddy. When they stop holding your hand in public or walk a little ahead or behind on the sidewalk. “Dad” is for teens who draw it out to “Daaaad” when they want the keys to the car or are afraid you’re embarrassing them in front of their friends. And as much as I will enjoy that, I’m not ready for that, now.

I like “Daddy” and “Poppa.” I like the little girl who runs in the door when she gets home from daycare and hugs my leg and says “Daddy!” I like the I like the little voice that says it. It just sounds so weird when that little voice says, “Dad.”

So, she can run around till the carpet is bare and she can dump a whole basket of toys on the living room floor then hop on the couch like a bunny rabbit. But it’s just a bit early to leave “Daddy” behind. I’m not ready to be “Dad” just yet. Actually, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to be “Dad.” She can call me “Daddy” into her 30s, right?

My Girl Wants to Potty All the Time

As many of you parents know,

incentives are a good way to get a kid to follow through with a task. An old fashioned reward system can do wonders to help get a chore done or a vegetable eaten. Toilet training is no exception.

At our house, it’s all about the big prize. In this case, it’s a bike (or a trike in her case, but she likes to call it a bike). We’ve set up a system so that whenever Finley can successfully go to the potty, she gets a sticker. And once her special little chart is full of stickers, she can get a bike. Pretty straight forward and easy for her to grasp. In fact, it’s working like a charm… well, sort of.

Of course with all great plans there are a few minor glitches, we didn’t seem to count on. The good news is that she is doing a great job of letting us know when she has to pee and is getting to the potty on time and doing her thing. She gets very excited when she goes and is very helpful with the disposal and clean up.

On the other hand, it seems like she’s more intent on the stickers than she is about accomplishing the peeing. Just this evening, she went pee three times in a two-hour span. It’s good that she lets us know, but racking up five to seven stickers in a day is not really the lesson we’re trying to teach, here.

And there are the times she wants to get a sticker so badly that she thinks she can go pee and ends up sitting on the pot for five to ten minutes with no results. She’s also been known to try and sneak a second sticker from the sticker sheet when she’s collecting her reward.

Sure, it’s good to have her be excited, but it needs to be about what she’s done, not what she’s going to get. The problem is, I’m not sure a two-year old will comprehend the educational value as opposed to the prize value.

The conversation, I imagine, would go something like this:

Daddy
“Finley, it’s nice that you really want the bike, but you need to work on going pee-pee and poopy all the time.”

Finley

“I need a pink bike.”

Daddy

“Yes, I know. But, let’s try to see if we can go pee-pee and poopy like a big girl.”

Finley

“Or a blue bike.”

The ultimate goal – as with any sort of toilet training – is to get her to understand the importance of going on her own. And even though we are burning through stickers, she’s getting into the good habit we’re trying to teach. We’re just going to have to work on a transition from ultimate prize gathering to pride in personal accomplishment. Especially after the bike arrives. Either that, or we’ll need to get a bigger chart.

Play Ball

It turns out that sometimes… just sometimes, I can be right. There are rare occasions when I have an idea or a plan that actually works out to be correct and or/true. Case in point: I have had this thing about taking Finley to the ballpark since day one. I’m of the camp that kids that can’t sit in their seat and watch a ballgame, probably shouldn’t go.
My thinking is that if I’m going to spend the money for seats, I’m not going to chase her around the ballpark or go to some in-stadium playground. Plus, there are a few other things to consider. Like foul balls, other fans, and to worry about. Which is why, the best place to introduce Finley to baseball is at a minor league park.
Things are a little more laid back when you’re away from “the show.” The fans aren’t as intense, the stadium is a bit smaller, and they really cater to kids. So, with Heather’s relatives in town for a visit, we packed up the fam and headed to Everett Memorial Stadium, the home of the AquaSox.
The AquaSox are the Single-A farm club of the Mariners and when I wasn’t teaching Finley how to say “Batta, batta batta… SA-WING batta!” or “Pitcher has a rubber arm!” I was chasing her around the grass field behind the stadium or helping her into the bouncy house near the concessions stands. She cheered and clapped for a home run or the occasional good play and even got to run around the bases after the game.

But the highlight of the day for the Finster was not anything on the field it was the bright green mascot of the AquaSox, Webbly. At first, she was mildly intrigued. And when he first passed by us, she was frightened. But somewhere, as she watched him more and more, she became obsessed. First she just wanted to see him and was constantly asking where he was. Then she wanted to give him a high five. Then she wanted to give him a hug. Of course, every time we took her to him, she’d freeze up and get scared. But that didn’t stop her fascination. Even when we got home, she kept asking where the froggy was.
But the point is that all of this chasing of the frog, the climbing over the seats, the yelling, and the all-around being a two-year old wouldn’t have flown at Safeco Field. So, save this blog. Keep it in your bookmarks. Daddy was right. It won’t be too much longer before we take her to Safeco. I’ll explain how the great game is played, what to watch for, and eventually how to keep score. Until then, we might have to go see a few more minor league games… and let her chase frogs.

Cruise Control

It’s interesting how the definition of “vacation” changes after you have a kid. We just got back from an Alaskan cruise and I’m not sure I was really away. Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating a bit. We DID get on a big boat and we DID float to Alaska on it. And we WERE gone for a week.
It turns out that a cruise vacation with a two-year old consists more of following and re-directing a rambling toddler around, on, and through decks of a floating hotel. The bonus being that they are so excited from everything the boat has to offer, that they (or she, in this example) like to get up a bit earlier than they do at home. Like 5:00 and 6:00am. On the bright side, early mornings are a great time to explore a cruise ship.
Actually, it wasn’t all that bad. We were fortunate enough to have my family on the cruise and everyone pitched in on entertaining and being entertained by Finley. My brother had the brilliant idea of having a gift bag waiting for Finley in his stateroom… every day. “I need to go to Uncle Dan’s room,” became her favorite phrase.
And we may have been on Norwegian Cruise Lines, but we may as well have been on “Princess” cruises, with the way she was treated by the staff. It seems like everyone knew her name… from the room stewards, to the wait staff – everywhere she went – she was treated like royalty.
All in all, it was a great trip. We got to see some amazing scenery and enjoy some beautiful weather. It may not have been as relaxing as we wanted it to be, but Finley got to spend some quality time with family – some of whom she doesn’t get to see too often. I’m guessing that this will be the way things go until she’s fairly self-sufficient or even not until she’s out of the house. I can imagine we’ll have to cater to her and put ourselves second for vacations to come. But then again, that’s what we’re doing even when it’s not vacation!
If we learned anything, it’s that the more family we can have with us, the better chance we have to get free babysitting and sneak away. Even if it’s for a few hours, it’s vacation.