All She Wants

Heather and I had two major discussions well before Finley was born.

Both were pretty much about the same thing and both can be summed up like this: I am a sap. My daughter will have me wrapped around her finger. I won’t be able to say no. We were talking about discipline and how much of a Daddy’s girl Finley would be.

To be fair, most of those statements are true. But as we got closer to the birth of our daughter, I resolved not to be a pushover. And I held true to my resolution – mainly because the first year or so, there’s not much going on in the way of discipline. It really doesn’t kick in until they figure out how to say “no.” And even then, it’s all about distraction. If you can quickly get their mind off of whatever it was they were whining about, then they forget and move on to the next thing. The problem is, at about two, they start figuring out that trick.

Which brings us to a particular two-and-a-half-year-old and her constant desire for food, drink, toys, and any other thing that happens to land in her line of sight. The distraction game only lasts so long and you find yourself either saying “no” or bargaining for some future and/or non-existent alternative. Mostly you’re bargaining.

Depending on the mood of the child, this can be a fairly reasonable discussion, or as we have seen lately, an exhausting, drag out, knock down battle. It’s not so bad when the battles are at home. If things escalate to tantrum levels, you can always call a time out and send them to their room. But when you’re out in public, say at a grocery store, then the current outing come to a sudden halt.

Which is why it is very important to gauge your child’s mood and fatigue level well before heading on these outings or you’ll be running for the exit of Target with a screaming, kicking girl in your arms, while Momma tries to check out.

Which brings me back to the original discussion, which was my resolve to not be a pushover. I actually think I’m doing fairly well. The good thing is that most of the things she whines and cries for are relatively small in nature – not much more than the occasional lollipop or toy. And in those cases you really have to pick your battles and think through your strategy.

You have to decide if getting her the lollipop she is crying for is worth the five to ten minutes of silence or if it is just setting a precedence of giving in that she will latch on to for the next several weeks. The answer really depends on how many people are within earshot of her screams or how quick of a run it is to your car.

But really, these are fairly easy decisions. Not letting her have candy or a toy is pretty straightforward and you can bargain treats and toys waiting for us at home. What makes the overall process difficult is when she’s not acting like a devil spawn and actually being the nice, sweet girl you’ve come to know and love.

It really is amazing how she can go from tears and cries one second to hugs and kisses the next. The great part is that she hasn’t figured out quite yet that this can be a tactic. She is honestly being sweet and nice and not trying to leverage anything out of me… yet.

I think at this point it comes down to the fact that the act of performing her tragedy wears her out and when she is done with the drama, she wants a shoulder to lay on. Nothing is better than when she walks up with her sad little eyes and says “I want to hold you.” It’s like snuggling recharges her batteries and after a few minutes she’s ready to play with blocks.

Of course it’s just a matter of time before she realizes that she can work the tears AND the hugs to get what she’s after. THAT’S when I’m not sure my resolve will hold up. Right now, being smarter than a two-year old is an advantage. The smarter she gets, the dumber I get and the more of a sucker I become. I know, deep down, I won’t give her everything she wants. I’ll give her just enough to keep me on her snuggle list.

Oh Boy

There’s been a bit of a development in the land of Finley over the past few weeks.

And it wasn’t until I witnessed it first-hand, that I saw how serious it was. You see, now that Heather has a full-time teaching job, we’ve gone back to our old morning routine.

It’s the one where Heather gets up a bit earlier to make her longer commute north and I get up with Finley and get her ready for school, then take her to school. It’s been several months since I’ve had to do this duty and I’ve noticed things have changed at Finley’s daycare.

As is the system with most daycare centers, the kids move up into different rooms or different parts of rooms, depending on their age. Finley spent just under a year in the infant room and was able to move into the 1-year old room once she reached one and could survive without a binky. She advanced to the 2-year old room just about a year later and once she gets closer to three and is set in the ways of the potty, she can move to the “A” room, where the bigger kids are.

And as she has made transitions, so have the kids around her. This is how they keep the kid-to-teacher ratio as manageable as possible. But when I dropped her off this morning, I noticed there was another ratio that was a little out of whack. Finley is the only girl in her class.

And here’s how I notice what’s going on. We walk in and head over to the 2-year old side of the room… They have this little door that separates the ones from the twos. As soon as they see us coming, the boys start rushing over to see who can open the door for Finley. Yes. Very courteous – AND CURIOUS – for a two-year old boy.

Of course, Finley is a bit shy – or maybe coy – as we walk in. As I get her a bowl of cereal, the blonde boy – Grady – informs me that Finley can sit next to him and have breakfast. I’m sure she can, dude.

Luckily the teacher does her best to move the growing crowd of short stalkers onto something else while Finley has her cereal, but I do look back a couple of times as I leave.

Now, I’d like to think that the reality of the past ten minutes was that Finley is just one of the “guys” in the room and they act this way whenever anybody new comes in the room. Who knows, they may just be after her food. But I’ll never actually believe that.

The real concern we have is whether or not Finley is becoming a little more aggressive, living in the land of boys. She does seem to hit a little more than before… especially since we seemed to tone that down a bit. I’m not saying that boys are all about pushing and biting and hitting, but she has been pushed and bitten and hit during daycare in the past few weeks… by boys.

Hopefully, she can learn to hold her own in the testosterone zone and build some self confidence. But, we still want her to be our little girl. There’s a fine line, for sure. I just hope a girl or two can move up or in and even things out a bit.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to put her hair in a ponytail and make sure I’m the only boy she kisses as I leave her at daycare in the morning. And, I’ll make sure to let each of the rest of the boy band know I’m watching them. Yes, I am.

All's Fair

It’s funny how everything seemed SO MUCH bigger when we were little.

Actually, things ARE bigger, but there are certain memories of certain things that were probably exaggerated because of the excitement surrounding them.

Things like the fair. My memory of the fair is all around the biggest rides in the universe and the best food one could ever eat. Cotton candy and big, tasty burgers. Visiting the fair for the first time with Finley, I could see how my imagination had been a little creative. Over the course of 30 or so years since I last freely enjoyed a fair, rides have changed, food has change, and yes, the prices have changed.

We decided to challenge the weather and head out for a late-afternoon at the Evergreen State Fair, just up the road in Monroe. Parking cost as much as admission but Finley got in for free. We had planned to check out the animal exhibits and a few of the kiddy rides and perhaps sample some fair fare. And smack dab in the middle of the entrance was the first thing to catch Finley’s eye. The pony rides.

Six bucks to strap her into a toddler-sized saddle and have her go round and round a ten-foot ring... Of course, we could pay an extra twelve dollars for a photograph of the munchkin on board “Whisper” (Fifteen for a keychain).

She absolutely loved it. Well, I should say she loved it when it was over. Since it was her first pony ride, there was a bit of excitement about actually being on a pony, mixed with the terror of actually being on a pony. She didn’t get upset; she just had this look that I imagined her thinking, “I think this is fun. When does this end?”

A short walk later, we found ourselves in the middle of kiddy ride central, land of the one dollar tickets. The average ride took three tickets and I immediately decided a quarter for a horse outside Fred Meyer wasn’t so bad, after all.

There was also a height requirement. Luckily, Finley had sprouted a few inches lately and with her pony tails in the proper location, she should be able to pass the 36-inch rule. Then again, none of the quality folks running the rides seemed to care to check, anyway.

We basically stuck to two rides… The cars and the merry-go-round. They were both – basic terms – the same ride. Except one was horses and the other was cars. The steering wheels seemed to hold more fascination, so that’s where we ended up most of the time. Of course, she would remind us each time as she zipped past us that she was off to work and that she would see us later.

Then it was off to find out what was available in the food department. It turns out, what I remember of fair food has exploded to include many more cultures and appetites. From tacos and pizza to piroshkies and deep-fried Oreos. All of which – my adult mind has decided – probably leave the same feeling in your gut as every other edible item there. Finley had the pizza and I was glad we had already done a round of rides. But it wasn’t until after dinner that we would stumble upon the most memorable moment of Finley’s first fair.

We wandered over to the animal barns and had some glimpses of all kinds of rabbits and birds and even spent some time in the petting zoo, almost not being afraid of baby goats, cows, turkeys, and pigs. Next door, though, there was judging going on. In a large pen about half the size of a football field, were about two dozen bulls being poked and prodded and shown for ribbons of every size and color. Of course, Finley was mesmerized by the sheer size of the beasts. In her mind - I’m sure - those were the biggest dogs she’d ever seen. But, what made our trip to the fair was what one, and then a couple of cows decided to do as she watched.

As I think about it, I’m actually kind of surprised we didn’t see something like this earlier in the day, but, cows make pies and bulls make big cow pies. And for a two year old, seeing a few bulls go doody, not only blows the mind, it’s fodder for talk for the next few hours.

Even after another trip around the race car ride and after being locked in daddy’s race car for the ride home, she was happily reminding us about how the cow went poopy. I tried to play it off as a lesson and explain to her how the cow wasn’t going to get a bike because he didn’t go poopy in the potty. I don’t think she really cared.

So, as she looks back on her first fair, I’m sure her mind will exaggerate the size of the pony, the speed of the race car ride and the amount of poop from the world’s largest cow. I’m also sure this is only the beginning of the child fascination with gross things. I know there are years ahead of us where bugs, and gooey games and toys will fill the house. Which is fine with me. Heather, on the other hand, I’m not so sure. She’s much, much, much (did I say much) more of a neat freak than I am and I’m betting that when that time comes, I’ll be forced to both clean everything up and take everything outside.

I’ll be the one to teach Finley how to bait the hook and clean the fish and all the other tom boy things. Fine with me.

Because I’m sure not the one to teach her how to paint her toes (see below for what happens when Finley decides to do that on her own)

or shop for shoes or apply makeup. It all evens out. Heather gets her stuff and I get mine. I have a feeling I’ll only be able to ride the gross wagon for a few years before the girly stuff kicks in. I’d better plan another trip to the fair and a front row seat at the bull judging.