Baby Blog

San Jose del Cabo, Mexico

2010-04-06T22:52:00.001-07:00

Birthday Fun!

2010-03-15T23:34:00.000-07:00

Three is a Magic Number

2010-03-08T22:07:00.000-08:00

It’s interesting to me that this blog not only comes on the week of Finley’s third birthday, but is actually blog entry

number 150. That gives me a nice round average of 50 blogs per year, with 2 weeks off each year for good behavior. Of course several of those blogs were just a bunch of pictures. To be honest, it’s tough sometimes to come up with interesting nuggets of fatherhood tales to make at least a passably interesting blog.

Sometimes I wonder if I bit off more than I could chew by promising myself to have an entry once a week. It wasn’t so tough in the beginning, because the newness of an infant and it being the first time through this whole parenthood thing, I was able to spout about all the recent stuff I was discovering. Not that I’m not discovering new things with Finley, these days. It’s just that it’s not as fresh and exciting as it seemed to be at the start.

But then we rented a movie a few weeks ago called “Julie and Julia.” It’s about this would-be writer (Julie) who wanted to blog about something and decided to cook her way through Julia Childs’ first book, “"Mastering the Art of French Cooking." It takes her a year to go through all 500-plus recipes and she ruminates about each one. And as entertaining as it was to see her fight, fuss, and fawn over her culinary creations, it certainly wasn’t parenthood. Not that I’m comparing my blog with hers, but she stopped after a year. Who knows how long I can go?

My point being that a blog – especially this one – evolves. But Julie’s blog had a start and an end and could only evolve so much. Mine is limitless. I’m bound by one thing… my muse… my Finley.

And here we are, just days away from the Little Miss’ third birthday. What an amazing three years it has been. Each year seemed to be marked with some sort of advancement on the human evolutionary scale. From birth to one year she became mobile and was walking before that first birthday. One to two was the introduction of words and two to three was putting it all together into cohesive sentences and three million questions. Add a little sass, a few drops of attitude, and you have a three-year old.

But there’s something else that strikes me as interesting about Finley as I watch her make her way through this giant world. She is a very sweet and inquisitive girl. She doesn’t do “mean” things and if she hits or has a mini tantrum – mostly related to frustration – she immediately apologizes. She is learning right from wrong and is actually pretty good at choosing the right path.

Sure, she likes to test us, but that’s what we’re here for. We’re the crash test dummies of her life. Through us, she finds out what is and isn’t acceptable in the outside world. And as tiring as that can be at times, it’s good to see she’s learning from it.

So some how, magically, my daughter is three. She’s on the back end of toddlerhood and is about to head into the land of the pre-schooler. I expect there to be a lot more in the way of questions and probably some more head butting in the fight for independence (Guess which country King Daddy represents?).

But more importantly, I expect to see some major advancement in learning. We’re on the cusp of reading and the concept of time. We’re also real close to getting a small bike with training wheels. I see a clock and scraped knees in my future.

And as all these things come to pass, I also hope to see more in the way of affection. I’m already seeing small signs of this. She’ll occasionally cuddle up with me on the couch and she doesn’t want me to leave daycare without a kiss, a hug and a wave goodbye out the window.

Three certainly is a magic number. I hope that someday, when she’s older and reads these silly posts from her silly Dad, she realizes just how magical she is. …and way better than a blog about deboning a duck.

Sleepy Beauty

2010-03-01T23:28:00.000-08:00

So, last week we had just purchased and constructed

a new toddler bed for Finley. The first few nights were as expected. The freedom that came with being out of a crib found her exploring her room when she was supposed to be sleeping and peeking and reaching under her door to see what grown ups do after her bedtime.

The rest of the week was pretty much more of the same, but instead of falling asleep next to the bed, more often than not we found her snoozing away in her bed, when we went in to check on her. This was nice while it lasted, of course.

It’s probably the fact she’s been fighting a cold (which means we’ve all been fighting a cold) more than the new bed, but a couple of nights this week, she’s woken up in the middle of the night, crying.

Last night – or should I say, this morning – around 3am, Heather went in to console the little miss. It wasn’t long before Heather returned to bed, with a little someone in tow. It turns out that Finley is starting a new habit that we’re realizing we need to stop fairly quickly. She is always asking to sleep in our bed with us. Not so much that she wants to actually sleep, but because she thinks it’s fun and exciting. As much as watching her dad snore is exciting, that is.

And on nights when she’s been sick or awoken from a nightmare, we usually concede and let her snuggle with us. The last few times this has happened, I’ve voluntarily moved to the couch, because I know Finley will not want to sleep, but try to play and/or talk a lot.

But last night I was too tired to move, so I figured the two of us could get her to calm down enough to sleep. The good news is we did. The bad news is that my daughter is a bed hog. Heather and I both found ourselves clinging to the edges of the bed, trying to sleep, while the Princess took up the rest of the space. At least she was asleep.

This, of course, made for a very early morning and a long day with little sleep for us. And I know a happy family is a family that gets enough rest. We’re not as happy as we should be… well, one of us got some rest and is happy.

Ultimately, it’s nice to know she feels safe around us… Not that there was any argument about that. But, when she has a bad dream or is sick, she’s going to want to be in the safest place she can think of. And that’s next to Momma and Poppa.

We have to be firm about when she can jump in with us. Right now, it’s only those two main factors. But that doesn’t stop her from asking to jump in with us, all the time.

I have to admit I like hearing her little breaths and light snores right next to me. There’s a comfort about snuggling with the ones you love. Now if I can just get her to give me some space on MY bed.

Big Girl Bed

2010-02-22T23:40:00.000-08:00

As we started seeing Finley’s third birthday coming into view,

we began to realize that the days of the crib were just about over. Finley actually began asking us if she could have a big girl bed and we said we’d get her one for her birthday. She was getting too big for the crib, anyway.

At first we looked at skipping the whole toddler bed thing and going straight to the twin bed. But, at this point – with a possible move in the near future – a toddler bed just made more sense. Especially since it would use the crib mattress.

So, we came home with a big pink box with a pink princess bed, complete with canopy. It took me a couple of hours to figure out the instructions and put it together, but after I was done and Finley got used to it, it was time for her first bed time on it. We weren’t sure how she would do. If she would even go to sleep or get up and play with her toys or read her books.

The first ten minutes or so after we closed her door, we could hear her running around her room, checking things out. She didn’t bang on her door or call out for us too much, but we DID see something a little funny. Apparently she was pressing her face against the bottom of the door to try and see us in the outside world. We could hear her breathing under the door and every once in a while, some very small fingers would pop out, searching.

Then after another ten minutes we heard nothing. As we tiptoed over to her door, we could hear her light snoring, again coming from under the door. And those little fingers were still there, clutching the bottom of the door. Finley had fallen asleep on the floor on the other side of the door!

Heather had to reach under and lightly tickle Finley to get her to move her hand. I pushed the door open enough to reach my arm in and turn her legs so the rest of her would roll away from the door. That allowed us to open the door just enough to let Heather through and she picked up the sleeping girl and put her into bed.

She slept the rest of the night in her new bed and, at this point, has been going to sleep quicker than when she was in the crib. It’s obviously a new thing, so we’ll see how long that lasts. But for now, it looks like things are going in the right direction.

And in all of this newness there was also a bit of sadness. As I sat down and was putting the new bed together, I started to realize that I would need to take the crib apart.

My brother, Dan, and I (well, mainly my brother) built Finley’s crib from scratch. It turned out great – if I do say so, myself. And it’s definitely something that will be a family heirloom. I guess I always knew she wouldn’t be in it forever, but to actually break it down and replace it with a pre-formed Disney bed was a bit depressing.

Other than a few weeks in the cradle next to our bed (also built by Dan) she’s spent that last three years in that crib. As she’s gotten bigger, we’ve lowered the mattress and raised the gate. We eventually added a crib tent to keep her in and now, it’s sitting in sections ready to be taken to storage. When we decide to have a second kid, it will be resurrected, of course. But her room seems a bit emptier without it.

This won’t be the last bed I put together for Finley. There may be a day in the not-so distant future where I put together a full-sized bed in a dorm room or a new apartment. At that time, it won’t be constructing a bed that will make me feel a little sad. There will probably be a few more things leaving her room along with her. And at that time, it won’t just be her room that will seem a bit emptier. I’m sure the house will be much bigger without her, too. For now, I’ll just kiss her good night and tuck her in while I still can.

Joy to the World

2010-02-15T23:28:00.001-08:00

As I’ve noted before, Finley loves to sing.

More often than not, she loves to sing loudly… which I like. She can really to belt it out, and why not? Whether or not our neighbors love it is another story.

And as is the case with most things in her life, when she gets a hold of something like a certain toy – or in this case a song – it becomes her favorite thing. This means she likes to sing the same song over and over. The problem with this, is that if it’s a particularly annoying song, then we’re stuck with listening to it again and again.

The old standards have had their run and sometimes return. The “ABC” song is a favorite that comes back every once in awhile. “Old MacDonald” has a pretty good rotation, too. But some time ago, I decided to try and sneak in a song or two that I wouldn’t mind hearing repeated. One song in particular stuck and seems to be her current favorite.

I can’t remember exactly how I came to play the Three Dog Night version of Hoyt Axton’s “Joy to the World” for her (‘Jeremiah was a bullfrog!’),

but like any good top 40 song, the hook stuck and we’ll catch her singing portions of it – or at least trying to – all the time. As with most kids, she mixes up different lyrics with different sections and it makes for pretty funny and cute renditions of a classic rock song.

And as much as we enjoy hearing her yell out her renditions of “Joy to the World,” there is another song that has crept into her repertoire. One that means just a little bit more to me.

I’m really not sure where the tune or the lyrics come from, but there’s a family lullaby that has lived in the back of my head since I can remember. It’s a simple song about a little bird and a little baby.

“Oh, where have you been little bird, little bird/Oh, where have you been little bird/I have been to a tree/I have been to a tree/I have been to a tree, dear Finley”

The little bird goes on to say there is a nest in the tree and an egg in the nest, and finally a baby bird in the egg. Of course, when it was sung to me by my mom, “Randy” was the baby in the story.

I’ve been singing this song to Finley since the day she came home, on nights where I’ve needed to go in and rock her to sleep. But I hadn’t sung this to her for a while. Then, last week, when she was having trouble falling asleep, I pulled it out again.

But this time, now that she is much more aware of the story in a song, she wanted me to keep singing it. She wanted to learn it and sing it herself. And now, it’s part of her night time routine. It’s actually an important part of her routine, because we make it the last thing before she lies down and goes to sleep. Some nights, we can hear her singing it to herself after I’ve left the room.

So, a simple song that I heard as a little boy is now a favorite of my own little girl. And who knows if twenty or so years down the road, she’ll be singing it to her little one. If not, grandpa will have to step up and rock the grandchild to sleep. That would be joy to the world.

Here Comes Three

2010-02-08T21:47:00.000-08:00

In one month Finley will turn three.

Beyond the several “I can’t believe she’s going to be three” moments we’ve been having lately, something else is starting to creep into view. You see, for several months now, we’ve been seeing a slight increase in attitude and temper.

It seems there is something out there called the “Terrible Threes.” Yes. What was once the “Terrible Twos” has evolved into an even more hideous beast. What you thought you had gotten through in that second precious year has now doubled in size and in ferocity.

It turns out that several of our parent-friends warned us of this. When we would mention some of the more rougher patches of dealing with a two-year old, those much wiser folk would laugh and say, “Just wait ‘til she’s three!” We just shook this off as a scare tactic or some sort of parental joke, but now it seems to be coming to fruition.

The first thing that stands out as a change in her temperament is how she deals with us or rather, how she defies us. The standard warnings and counting to three have lost their edge. Old stand-bys like reverse psychology and threatening time outs just don’t carry the same weight.

Then there are the times when she takes defying to a whole new level. For instance; Finley has this need to hop on the couch as if it were a trampoline. And that was fine and cute when she was smaller. But, as she’s gotten bigger, we can tell that the old divan isn’t going to stand a beating like that much longer. Not to mention the odds of her falling off and cracking open her head have increased, as well. So, we ask her to stop. And she doesn’t. We tell her she’ll get a time out. Doesn’t faze her. In fact, she’ll look us in the eye as we’re telling her not to and bounce up and down. Sometimes she’ll even laugh about it.

Of course, her tune changes when we grab her to take her to her room for the actual time out. “I want to be good,” she cries. Ten minutes later, she’s back up on the couch, bouncing away.

The same thing goes for the coffee table. “Don’t climb on the table, Finley.” “Down!” “You’re going to get a time out!” Up she goes. She’ll even dance on it, taunting us. THIS, is just the beginning of the threes.

But here’s the thing. What happens at four and ten and… the dreaded fourteen? I mean, after all, isn’t childhood just one long prison sentence where we’re trying to escape parental chains (From the kid’s point of view, anyway)? I’ll admit that’s what I thought at times. I would bet most kids do.

So, the challenge for us – other than trying to lose as little hair as possible – is to make our particular prison a little less maximum security and a little more work release. It’s that whole thing about boundaries. Making sure the kid can be a kid without clamping down too much on them. But how much is too much and how much is too little? I guess this is where we earn our parenting stripes.

It’s certainly not like this ALL the time. She can be a very funny and sweet kid. But when she gets cranky, all bets are off. Our job is to teach her what is acceptable and what isn’t without letting her get away with too much. Sure, it’s a balancing act. But, we signed up for this circus. We already have a trampoline artist.

Spaced Out

2010-02-01T23:58:00.000-08:00

There’s a saying that goes something like this:

“You don’t know what you got, till you lose it all.” Well, I’m here to tell you, you don’t know what you got, till you start packing. You see, we’re about to put our condo on the market and to get ready, we have to purge a bunch of stuff from the place to make it look less cluttered and more “generic” for the folks that want to come in and take a look.
The good news is that, overall, we didn’t really have that much stuff to take out. The other news is that most of the stuff we do have, belongs to Finley. Don’t get me wrong, we’re not doing a complete purge of things… just putting a few items into storage. Of course, we had to rent a second storage space to have room (that’s a whole different story). But when you start counting up clothes, toys, and books, Heather and I fail in comparison to a certain toddler.

It’s not a real surprise, but the reality of it starts to hit when you’re put into a situation where you have to pare down your life a bit. On the flip side, when we finally end up finding a house to move in to, we know we’ll have much more space for all our stuff. And if I know my girls, we’ll have much more space to fill with MORE stuff.

But the hunt for a new abode isn’t just about how we can fill it. For me, it’s about what’s on the outside as well.

More specifically, what kind of OUTDOOR space we can get. I grew up with a decent sized backyard and would love for Finley to have the same. Right now, in condo-land, our outdoor space consists of a tiny deck out the back and a walk down the street to a park. I’m hoping we can get enough green to put in a swing set and maybe a soccer goal or two.Of course, the more space we want the farther out in the boonies we’ll have to go. It’s no secret that the cheaper places with more

land can turn your commute into a Lewis and Clark expedition. We’re just hoping we can find some sort of compromise somewhere and maybe get lucky.

In the meantime, we’ll keep stuffing our storage units and hope someone will come along and give us a good deal for our place. And maybe, before too long, we’ll be able fill empty rooms in some house, somewhere, while Finley plays in the backyard.

Sleeping Beauty

2010-01-27T23:05:00.001-08:00

I just realized, tonight, that I hadn't written a blog for this week.

So, apologies to those of you who are dedicated enough to check in every Monday night or Tuesday morning.

When we last left our heroine, she was struggling against the evil power of sleep.

Her attempts to ward off a restful night were met with some resilience, as sleep found help from Finley's own parents.

No matter how hard she fought to keep from dozing off, Momma and Poppa would arrive to get her to return to her prison on the mattress.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't that dramatic, but she sure made it seem that way. It turns out that my philosophy of reasoning may have actually worked. She really only had one rough night since last week, but after that, it's been smooth sailing. Of course, I may have just jinxed myself and in all probability she most likely has gotten back into a pattern, but I like to think my reasoning plan did the trick.

Actually, it was a bit of reasoning and working a bit harder to help her wind down. Plus, we moved her bedtime back a bit, just to see if she would be just a little more tired before we set her down. It turns out that at her age, she's in sort of a transition state. According to one of the things Heather found while searching for information, once a child reaches three years old, they may not need as much sleep as they have been getting when they were younger. I'm not sure why, but I'm guessing it has to do with how she is evolving, socially.

At the risk of sounding too scientific, I'm guessing that as she learns more about the world around her and as she discovers and joins OUR patterns, she begins to adopt some of our social behaviors. Basically, as she interacts with us more - speaking more like us, eating more like us - her mind and body are adjusting to how we do things. If we don't act tired, then her brain may decide that she's not tired, either. I'm probably full of it, but it sounds good to me!

She also may just want to play a lot more and not go to bed until she thinks she's ready. But

somewhere along the line, her body is going to need less and less sleep, until she falls into the orderly 8 hours that everyone else is supposed to get. She has to adapt somehow.

The bottom line is that she's much better, now. It could have just been a phase or maybe it WAS something a little more biological. Either way, Heather's not waking me up in the middle of the night to go rock Finley. They're BOTH sleeping through the night. Now that's a social behavior I can believe in.

No Rest for the Weary

2010-01-18T22:28:00.000-08:00

Way back when Finley couldn’t speak and didn’t do much

more than nurse or eat, we decided we were very lucky. You see, after about her 9^th week of existence, she started sleeping through the night. Of course, there were the occasional outbursts and fits, but nothing that wasn’t too horrible to deal with.

There were a couple of times over the past few years where she might have a cold or be a little sick and she might wake up in the middle of the night coughing or even throw up. And we would stumble through the darkened house, Momma cleaning up the little one and Poppa cleaning up the mess. Again, nothing that lasted more than a couple of nights.

Of course, being friends with other parents, we did our best to keep this a bit of a secret. No use rubbing it in or jinxing ourselves. Not every night was perfect, but the good ol’ days were much better than the stories we heard from the other parents.

And that’s the way we lived. Fairly quiet nights and pretty decent sleep for the both of us. We may have gotten too comfortable.

I’m not sure if it’s a precursor to life with a three-year old or some sort of growing pains or teeth issues, but it looks – and certainly feels like – our good luck has run out. For the past few weeks, Finley has not wanted to go to sleep and calls out and shrieks and cries for Momma. Momma is always first on the list, and in this case, I don’t mind.

Finley is basically trying to stall having to go to bed. She either wants some water, or to go to the bathroom or just wants to be rocked. All in the name of not having to go to bed. And the longer we try to ignore her, the more she cries. Some nights she basically cries herself to sleep and others she gives in after we plead a little bit.

The hard part for us – other than the anxiety of listening to her cry and worrying about the neighbors – is wondering how to deal with this. There are some schools of thought that say you should leave them be, because if you go in, you only empower them to think you’ll come whenever they cry. Then there’s the other side – which I subscribe to – that says you can reason with them. I may have to change sides, though. My way seemed to have worked tonight, but it sure didn’t work last night.

The worst part is that after all the anxiety of getting her to sleep, lately she’s been waking up in the middle of the night, calling out. So not only are we exhausted trying to GET her to bed, we’re exhausted dealing with her at two, or three, or four in the morning.

I have to clarify, here, or risk being beaten, that I am not usually the one who gets up in the middle of the night to deal with said child. It’s not because I don’t care or because I don’t want to, it’s mostly because I don’t hear her. I’m a pretty heavy sleeper and Heather can hear a caterpillar sneeze from two blocks away. More often than not, I wake when she returns to bed, but she’s really taking the brunt of it all.

At any rate, we’ve got a toddler who doesn’t want to go to bed and who wakes up in the middle of the night and has trouble going BACK to sleep. We’ve also got a Momma who is getting very little sleep and a Poppa who is trying – in his most laid back way – to deal with it all and convince the whole family that everything will be alright and that it’s just a stage.

The bottom line for me is that a happy, sleeping toddler equals a happy, sleeping Momma which equals a happy, sleeping me. So what to do?

Well, Heather’s reading a bunch of theories and I’m trying to stick to my “reasoning” method. But I’m learning that reasoning with a toddler is difficult. BUT, I maintain that if I can talk to her and she can – through reason – make the decision herself to try to go to sleep, it’s good for all of us. Again, it worked tonight. Who knows if it works tomorrow?

My hope is that this round of reasoning, if it works, can lead to more of the same in the many decisions she’ll have to make as she grows up. Giving her the power make the decisions and live with them will go a long way.

Now let’s all just hope she decides to sleep through the night for the next week, so I can report that my theory works.

Whack Job

2010-01-11T21:28:00.000-08:00

One of the things I try to pride myself on in this fatherhood thing, is to not be too overprotective.

I’ve said from the beginning that I believe that kids need to fall down and get scrapes… within reason, of course. I think bumping your head a few times now and again, teaches you to duck. I believe you’re not doing your job as a kid if you don’t have skinned knees every once in a while.

Sure, I want her to wear a helmet when she rides a bike and I always make sure she’s strapped in when we’re driving. But beyond that, I could care less about her clothes or what she spills on them. I’m not wrapping her in saran wrap every time we eat or every time she colors. Kids spill. I just don’t think she needs to worry about vanity at this point. And that’s the way I liked it… Until this past weekend.

For the past couple of weeks, Finley has been saying she wanted to get her hair cut. We had gone to a kid’s hair place before and she was a bit scared, but now she seemed interested and even requested to go back to the same place, because they had an airplane chair she could sit in.

So we made the trip to the mall in Bellevue where the kid salon was. It’s a popular mall with the Princess because they also have a bunch of 25 cent rides she can go on… a carousel, a car, and a horse, among others. We hit the salon first and I only had one request; DO NOT cut it short.

I’m not sure why I was so adamant to keep her hair long. I guess I’m just not a fan of short hair on kids. And I guess I’m just so used to Finley’s long hair, that I made sure to say something.

When Finley got set up in the chair, Heather told the gal to just trim up the loose and scraggly ends… not much more than an inch, really. Things were good. The stylist said she was going to layer the hair in the back and I stepped out to get some quarters for the rides, but when I came back, I got quite the surprise.

There, on the floor, beneath the chair, was more blonde hair than I was expecting. A lot more. Somewhere between “trimming” and “layering” the stylist decided that Finley would look much cuter with a bob.

Anyone who knows me knows I don’t get mad very often. I try to be as laid back as possible. But for a few seconds this past Saturday, I was seething. I decided to step out of the salon for a few moments and take a few deep breaths. I had to remind myself that hair grows back and there’s not much we can do about it now, anyway. That doesn’t mean I’m not still disappointed and that we won’t be heading back to that particular hair salon.

Again, I’m not sure why I’m upset over her short hair. Most of it is because I said I didn’t want it short and the rest is because, it’s hard for me to see my Finley without her hair. Maybe I’m being selfish, because she DOES look cute with the bob, but I really liked her with long hair. She’s the same crazy girl who I love a ton and who loves me a ton back. I guess I’m just going to have to get used to the change.

Which makes me think about next year and five years from now and ten years from now. All the changes that are coming up, that we’ll have to talk about. Hair, I’m sure, will be the least of my worries.

I’m sure we’ll have talks about earrings and nose rings and boys and lip rings and eyebrow rings and boys and tattoos and hair color and skirts and tops and boys. All the things she’ll be interested in, but that I’m not so sure of. Well, I’ll let her have a nose ring over a boy, any day, actually.

The reality is, I can’t control it. I can help guide the best I can, she’s going to have to make the decisions and live with the results. I can hand her the peroxide for her ear holes.

I guess I just have to learn now – with this new haircut – to just keep finding my Finley underneath it all. She always be there, no matter what the outside looks like.

Happy New Year!!

2010-01-04T22:30:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays!

2009-12-28T22:09:00.000-08:00

See Finley Run

2009-12-14T23:03:00.000-08:00

One thing we noticed early on as Finley got up on two feet

was how fast she was. I don’t know if it’s because she’s so low to the ground or if there’s some instinctive ability that switches on when we need her to do something, but that kid can run.

I think it’s more of the latter because whenever it’s time to wipe her nose she sprints for the couch. Or anytime her naked butt is showing, she has to do a lap around the house. It must have to do with escape and freedom, because it seems like we’re always chasing her. In fact, much like my parents did with me, we’ve purchased a little harness to keep her from running away or into the street. It’s a little monkey backpack but the tail of the monkey happens to be just long enough for mom and dad to hold onto.

For the longest time, I was convinced that our little FloJo was going to challenge peers for the short distance sprints. I was sure she was destined for flat track glory. That was until this past weekend.

This was our second year as a family to do the family walk version of the Jingle Bell Run for Arthritis. It’s a 5k (just over 3 miles) walk around downtown Seattle. It’s a big fundraiser that features holiday costumes from pretty much all of the entrants.

So we loaded up the stroller, complete with bows and Christmas lights. I donned my Winnie-the-Pooh costume and Heather had her Santa hat and Christmas sunglasses.

As much fun as it was seeing the other folks with elf, snowflake, and candy cane costumes, it’s still a bit of a hike and for a toddler like Finley, the first mile or so of people watching starts to get old and she wants out. We decided we’d wait until the last mile or so to let her get out – that way the crowd would have thinned out and we could always throw her back in the stroller and not have far to go to the finish, if she got tired or cranky.

And sure enough as we made the turn for the last mile we pulled her out and set her on the ground, complete with her backpack/harness. I was expecting her to shoot off right away, but she was still checking out the scene and wasn’t ready to go anywhere fast.

Finally, we had to encourage her to get moving, since we were beginning to get passed by the rest of the field. So she started to walk. Of course, her steps aren’t the biggest so her walk was not much faster than when we were standing still.

We kept encouraging her to pick up the pace, but she didn’t want to have anything to do with it. Then, out of nowhere she started to jog. It definitely wasn’t a sprint, but it was enough to get me into a quick walk behind her, as I held on to the leash. And she kept going and kept going. Suddenly, my mini Usain Bolt was turning into more of a pre-Prefontaine. She was turning into a distance runner. The best part was that as she jogged, she kept her hands in her coat pocket, so she had this little upper body twisting thing going on. But she kept on going.

I guess-timated that she easily went a half mile without stopping, which for her first go-round at 2-years old is pretty darned good. Of course, when we got to a steeper hill, things began to slow down and I eventually carried her across the finish line on my shoulders. But she did a good section of the last mile on her own.

Obviously, she saw it as a whole lot of fun in a wide open world, not a race or exercise. But, that’s probably the best way to approach running. It’s probably the best way to approach anything, come to think of it. It will be interesting to see what she’s like in a year, and see how much farther she can go. Maybe each year she goes a little bit more, until she runs the whole thing on her own. And maybe, just maybe, Momma and Poppa can run right along side. It would be fun to go from the stroller to running. Who knows, maybe in a few more years, she can push me!

Getting Ready for the Holidays

2009-12-07T22:20:00.000-08:00

It’s Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas

2009-11-30T23:40:00.001-08:00

What a difference a year makes.

This time last year, we were introducing Finley to the lights, music, and excitement of the holidays. And for a one year old, the lights and the music were pretty much all the excitement she needed. Heck, the wrapping paper meant more to her than the presents inside. But it’s all changed.

Finley is now into it. She helped decorate our condo-sized or Finley-sized tree last night. And she’s quite interested in the concept of the stockings. She likes to point out whose stocking is whose. And she’s just a tad into the music.

She’s roaming around the house singing “Jingle Bells” at the top of her lungs – she may not know all the words, but she knows when to shout “Hey!” She’s also very aware of Santa Claus and his job in this whole “give me what I want” scenario.

She’s still young enough to not understand the reward system that the Santa thing entails. She knows the words to “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” but it’s clear she doesn’t understand them. There’s not much watching out and the pouting and the crying are still in play. In her defense, she’s really not at the age to completely understand the concept of a list of naughty and nice kids. If you ask her, she’s always on the nice list.

In fact, her whole understanding of Santa is that he’s here to do her bidding. She knows what she wants and she’s pretty much decided Santa’s bringing it all. Basically, she thinks he’s me. And she’s right. Well, actually, I’m sure there are a few grandparents out there that will help in providing the joy.

At this point, if you ask her what she wants for Christmas, it’s a pretty generic answer. She’ll either say, “A Dora present” or “A Ariel present.” She’s not into specifics, just yet. I’m sure the time will come when she’ll be able to rattle off exactly what type of Dora present or what color of dress this Ariel is wearing or what songs are included on this Dora DVD. But for now, anything with Dora or Ariel will suffice.

All in all, her excitement for the big day is still a ways away from peaking. As we get closer to Christmas, I’m sure it will be all we can do to keep her from exploding. And as she gets older, the excitement along with the planning and strategy that kids employ during this time of year will begin to reveal itself. We’ll have to work a little harder at hiding the presents and pushing the other side of the whole season, which is the giving aspect.

Hopefully, she’ll learn that as much fun as it is to get gifts, it’s equally as heartwarming to give them away and even help some less fortunate kids at the same time. Whether it’s donating some time or clothes or even a few old toys, we plan to get Finley in on the giving side of Christmas.

For now, we’ll listen to her mumble her way through all the Christmas songs and talk about what Santa should bring her. He’s making his list alright. A list of all the things she wants. How many Dora presents could there be out there, anyway?

Figuring it out

2009-11-23T21:12:00.000-08:00

Near the top of my list of the thousands of things I love about

being a dad is being able to watching Finley discover. I love seeing her thought process as she figures out how to work a toy or maneuver around or over something. I like that, for the most part, she likes to take her time to figure things out.

Sure, she can get frustrated easily and can start to cry if she’s impatient, but we usually encourage her to fix the situation or ask nicely for help if she needs to. Most of the time she’ll figure it out and when she does you can see the look of satisfaction in her eyes and a sense that she’s storing that newly-found process away for later.

Sometimes it amazes me how much of our day-to-day activities we take for granted. Watching a toddler try to figure out how to zip up a coat or navigate stairs really brings home how much we really learn in our lives.

Take a look at everything you do in a day and think about how many of those actions would either be impossible or very difficult to a toddler. I’m talking about writing your name, tying a shoelace, or even putting on clothes. The mundane is a bit of work when you’re two.

This past weekend – in between rain showers – we went to the park to let her ride her trike and to climb on some of the toys. Some of the steps and ladders they have nowadays for slides and other playground toys are designed to be challenging. One of the toys had what was basically netting for her to climb. She had to figure out where to place her feet AND her hands as she navigated her way up. At one point she had gone a little off course but was able to correct her direction just by evaluating what it would take to get to where she needed to go. Again, pretty simple stuff for us big kids… something to learn for the little ones.

But there’s one other factor in learning one’s way in the world that I watched her figure out at that playground. It’s one thing to understand what it takes physically to get from point a to point b, but it’s another to have the courage to do it.

This particular playground had what was basically a balance bar with steps on it. You have to put your feet on each step to make your way across the bar that was less than a foot off the ground. One misstep and you fall.

At first she didn’t want to do it without holding on to me. But once she learned that if she took her time and concentrated on each step, she didn’t need my help. It wasn’t much of a fall, but it was enough that she was a little scared. But her desire to get across was stronger than her fear of falling and after a few slow and steady steps, she made it to the end.

The look of pride that she had was priceless. And I was proud of her for taking the time to figure it out. Of course, after that first trip, she wasn’t afraid and was ready to try again. In a few months or years, I’m guessing she’ll be able to run across it without really thinking.

It just makes me think about everything we do. About how much of a hurry we think we need to be in and how that can affect how well we perform or create. Patience is a hard thing to teach – especially to a toddler. But if she can learn now to work through problems and challenges, there’s no stopping her.

I just have to remember when I’m faced with something a bit daunting, that if I take one step at a time, I can make it across safely. Pretty simple stuff we all know, but don’t always remember or stop to do. Looks like the toddler isn’t the only one learning.

Finterview

2009-11-17T08:05:00.000-08:00

As we get closer to the Holidays, I figured it would be a good time to check in with Finley on the real important issues and find out where she stands on subjects like the economy and the environment. Then I decided to ask her some basic questions:

I've transcribed the interview, below, but you can listen by clicking on the audio file.

Daddy Poppa:

What is your Name?

Finley Ella:

Finley.

What's your whole name?

Finley Binley

What is your favorite color?

Pink

Who is your favorite princess?

Ariel

What do you want for Christmas?

D-D-Dora presents.

Dora Presents? Like what?

And a bike.

And a bike?

And an airplane.

And an airplane?

Yeah.

And what else do you want? Anything else?

Daddy!

Daddy? Do want a house?

(nods) And a baby brother.

And a baby brother?

And Santa.

And Santa? Okay. Do you have a favorite song?

Yeah. ABC's

Can you sing it for me?

(Sings ABC's)

Do you have a best friend at school?

Ashley

Ashley's your best friend?

And Grady and Mateo.

And Grady and Mateo?

Yeah.

Do you want a doggy or a kitty?

Kitty cat.

You'd rather have a kitty cat than a doggy? And what would you name your kitty cat?

Angel.

Angel? Okay. Did you go to the ice skating? Who was there?

Ariel.

Who else?

Mickey Mouse and Goofy. And Minnie and Donald.

Do you know how to count?

Yeah.

Can you count for me?

No.

Can you count to ten?

No... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10!

You missed one.

5... 9!

How old are you right now?

Two.

And what are you going to be next year?

Three.

What color is "Verde?"

Green.

What color is "Rojo?"

Yellow.

No.

Pink.

No. What color is "Rojo?"

Yellow.. RED!

What color is Rose'?

Pink.

Right. Do you know a little bit of Spanish? What Spanish do you know?

Uno.

What else?

Dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis!

Yes, you can count to six. Do you know how to count to ten?

Ocho, cinco... YAY!!!!

Good job. Can you say goodbye in Spanish?

No.

Can you say "Adios?"

Adios!

Say "See ya later, everybody."

See ya later, everybody.

Have a good night.

I love you.

Hook 'em Horns!

And I love you.

Speak Up

2009-11-09T21:56:00.000-08:00

Ever since Finley started speaking, we’ve been anticipating that next word.

We’re always wondering what she will say next. And almost every day, it seems like Finley comes up with some new word or phrase that makes us laugh.

Of course most of what she says comes from what she picks up at school. Then there are the things she can only have heard at home. Case in point: Last week, Finley was VERY busy doing important doll-related business, when I was trying to get her attention. I decided to try some funny voices and after a few seconds of silence, she didn’t even look up and said, “You know what? You’re a freak!”

Obviously, this isn’t something she got from me. And obviously, it was something she’d heard at home. That leaves only one person responsible. The same person responsible for many of the little smart alec remarks Finley has been spouting these days.

It’s funny how you really don’t realize how much you say something until a two year old repeats it back to you. And although it’s usually something funny, you start to realize how much you need to watch what you say.

And lately, as I’ve been thinking about what NOT to say, a funny thing has happened… I’ve been noticing all the things I HAVE been saying. As Finley’s speech has evolved, so has mine.

Maybe not evolved, but I find myself saying a lot of the same phrases over and over. In fact, I’m pretty sure my daddy-daughter dialogue is really only five or six phrases that shift and expand, according to the subject. And the majority of subjects center on some sort of deal-making or coercing.

Lately, I’ve been saying things like “Here’s the deal” and “Why don’t we do this?” or “What did I just say?” and “If you do X, I’ll let you have Y.” Counting seems to be very popular, too. Somehow we expect her to understand that by the time I get to three, whatever it is she should be doing or not be doing should either happen or cease to happen. Of course it seems like it takes us longer to get to three than it used to.

Then there are the things I know I will eventually say, but I’m fighting. “Because I said so,” is one I’m trying to avoid. There are others. You all know them. You’re parents said them. Their parents said them.

The good part about all of this is that there are other things she’s picked up. “Please” and “thank you” are becoming more popular in her vocabulary. But the best part is the random “I love you’s” that pop up from time to time.It’s interesting how we spend a good portion of our lives making sure people hear what we have to say, only to edit ourselves when little ones are around. But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe we should always speak to others as if a toddler was listening. A few more “please” and “thank you’s and “I love you’s” might make life a little more enjoyable.

2009-11-02T23:21:00.000-08:00

Happy Halloween!!

Baby Spice

2009-10-26T22:13:00.000-07:00

"Sugar and spice and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of.”

That’s part of the classic poem. There’s more about “sunshine and rainbows and ribbons for hair bows,” but it seems lately we’ve been getting a little more spice than is called for in the recipe. It seems like we’re having a bit of a sugar ration at the old household.

Now I know two-year olds have their “terrible” stages and it’s just a part of what kids do, but I’m really beginning to wonder if there is some sort of curse your parents cast on you as you get older that manifests itself into your own kids. Some sort of payback. And when do I get to cast it on MY kid?

To be fair, Finley really is a good kid and she certainly doesn’t have the typical toddler temper tantrums. It’s just that she goes through modes and moods where she likes to test us… all the time. Sometimes she’ll climb up on the coffee table and wait for us to tell her to get down… and not get down. Or she’ll run into the living room, knock over a chair and wait for us to tell her not to do that and then run back in the living room and knock the chair over again.

And it doesn’t matter how many time outs we give her or how many times we try to explain to her how important it is to listen to Mommy and Daddy, she just likes to push our buttons.

Maybe that’s her job at this point. And maybe it’s not really about how she learns to listen and obey. Maybe right now, it’s all about how WE deal with it. Nah, she’s just being a brat.

But for all the table standing and chair tipping and all the other million things she does to drive us crazy, every once in a while she brings us a little taste of sugar that makes everything all better. Now and again she’ll randomly come up and want to hug me or even crawl up on the couch and lay her head on my shoulder for no reason except to be next to her Poppa. Sometimes she’ll lean over and kiss me on the cheek and even say “I love you, Daddy.” It doesn’t happen all the time, but it doesn’t need to, really.

It’s just nice to know that as I’m carrying a kicking and screaming table-stander to her room for a time out, all I have to do is wait a little while and I’ll have my cheek smoocher nearby.

And over time, hopefully the level of spice and sugar will begin to level out. That is, until the teenage years. But for now, I’ll take what I can get and start practicing the incantation that will put the curse on her kids.

Fall Pictures

2009-10-19T21:15:00.000-07:00

Time to clean out the camera!

Helping Hand

2009-10-12T21:53:00.000-07:00

There’s no doubt that the average toddler is curious.

Heck, Finley has been curious from the beginning. But, recently I’ve noticed that she’s not satisfied in just wondering how things work or what things do. She wants to make it all happen.She doesn’t want to just push the buttons on the remote just to push the button on the remote. Now she knows that if she hits enough buttons, Barney will show up. And it’s not just the remote. It’s anything that makes her think she’s grown up.

When the vacuum comes out, she wants to make it go. She knows where the broom is and wants to sweep the deck. This weekend, she was all about mopping the floor. And she loves to wipe the coffee table. Of course, her expertise at these cleaning skills has room for improvement.

And there are other things she’s learning to do or wants to do by herself… with absolutely NO HELP from us. She can slide on shoes and socks (somewhat) and get a coat on, but if she gets stuck, she gets frustrated fairly quickly. It takes a little convincing from us, but after a while she gives in and lets us help with the Velcro or zipper.

Then there are the other ways she wants to help out. There’s “helping” momma bake and decorate cupcakes. That’s when she hasn’t eaten most of the frosting.

But I guess it’s all about the effort. I like the fact that even though it’s really curiosity and play that are motivating her, she thinks she’s helping.

The bottom line is that she is not afraid to figure out how things work. She wants to learn and get her hands on whatever it is that has sparked her curiosity. It’s a first step to even more learning. Now, the trick will be to get her to sweep, mop, and clean ten years from now.

Building Blocks

2009-10-05T21:52:00.000-07:00

It seems like just about every day Finley amazes us.

It’s probably because a toddler’s brain is a great big sponge. And everything they learn is repeated right back at us, so we think they are the smartest kids in the world. Even when it’s stuff we take for granted as grown ups.

And there are certain achievements and milestones we seem to measure as more important than other things. I’m talking about the first smile, the first word, and the first step. But along the way, there are a bunch of smaller steps that we help her take and every one of them seem pretty big to us.

Case in point: We bought Finley some little wooden alphabet blocks. They’re the standard brightly colored ones, with every letter and number on them. Over the past few weeks, we’ve played with them, stacked them and learned about each of the letters. She’s been able to associate words and names to each letter – “A” is for apple, “D” is for daddy, “F” is for Finley, “M” is for momma. So, we get to play and learn at the same time.

Now she’s learning that the letters can be combined to make words – the first steps to reading. I actually wasn’t planning on working on words for a little bit, but she’s always asking how to spell names or animals. Somewhere in that mix, she got stuck on the fact that her name ends in “l-e-y.” I started working on the “F-i-n” part. She was having a little trouble connecting them, so we took a break for a bit.

I don’t know if they’d been working on names at school, but suddenly Friday night, while playing with her blocks, Finley started calling out “F-i-n-l-e-y!” Of course, to be sure, we had to ask her what she was spelling, and she said, “That’s my name.”

Maybe I’m a little biased, but I’m thinking that’s pretty cool for a two year old. She’s taken a very big step toward a giant world of reading and writing. Again, as adults, it’s something we take for granted, but it really is amazing how big of a deal making that first connection is.

As I mentioned before, it’s just the beginning steps of reading, but it’s much more than that. It’s realizing she is building a foundation of learning. She’s making connections and setting off the little light bulb of discovery in her head. It’s not so much that she can spell her name; it’s that she realizes she can spell her name. That she understands how she got there and what it means.

Hopefully, this will lead to a need to learn more. For me, I’m hoping that she’ll learn how wonderful words are and all the things that can be done with them. I’m also hoping she can learn and understand math better than I ever could.

Ideally, she’ll be well-rounded and enjoy learning about everything. And I can’t wait to help her along the way. There are plenty of books I can show her and music to play for her. I’ve got stories of history and maps for her to explore. But, I’ll have to wait just a bit longer.

There will surely be moments of frustration and anxiety, which will lead to the most important things I can teach her… patience and trust. For now, we’ll stick to the blocks. Maybe “daddy” will be the next word we spell.

All She Wants

2009-09-28T21:02:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-14T21:09:00.001-07:00

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

2009-09-07T20:23:00.000-07:00

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.

The Art of the Stall

2009-08-31T22:35:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-24T21:46:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-17T23:37:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-10T21:56:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-03T23:04:00.000-07:00

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.

Exclusive Interview

2009-07-20T22:58:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned last week, the girls were out of town visiting Heather’s family in Pennsylvania. So, since it was a pretty quiet week, there wasn’t much for me to write about. Then I had an idea. I figured it was time to sit down and get that coveted first one-on-one interview with my little diva. I was able to record and upload our conversation in the file below, but I also transcribed it for you lazy folks. I think you’ll get some insight into the complex world of Finderella.

Daddy Poppa

What is your name?

Finley Ella

Finley.

How old are you?

Two.

What is your favorite color?

Orange.

You like orange? Why do you like orange?

(mumbles)

You don’t know? What is your dolly’s name?

Baby Ellie!

Who is your favorite princess?

Ariel!

When we go to the park, what do you like to do?

Feed duckies.

Feed the duckies?

Yeah.

DP
What is your favorite food? What do you like to eat?

Noodles!

What is your favorite toy? Do you have a favorite toy, right now?

FE
(mumbles – sounds like “pancakes.”)

What?

(pa-cay)

DP
Pancakes?

No. Pancakes are to eat.

Oh. Pancakes are to eat. What’s your favorite… What do you like to play with?

Toys.

What kind of toys?

A ball!

A ball is your favorite?

Yeah.

What is your daddy’s name?

Momma.

No, what’s Daddy’s name?

Daddy Poppa.

And what’s Momma’s name?

Momma Mia.

That’s right. And, did you just go on a trip?

Yeah.

What did you ride on?

A airplane.

On an airplane. What’s your favorite TV show? What do you like to watch on TV?

Ariel.

What is your favorite book?

Poky.

Poky?

The Poky Little Puppy.

Do you like to wear shoes or sandals?

Shoes or sandals.

Do you like shoes or flip flops, better?

Ariel flip flops.

You do flip flops?

I have Ariel flip flops.

Oh, you have Ariel flip flops. That makes sense. What color is your favorite Popsicle?

Orange.

DP
Orange? You like orange, huh? Where are we going to go this weekend?

FE
Daddy on a airplane!

No. We’re not going to go on an airplane. What are we going to go on?

A special airplane… A big boat.

Right. Do you know where we’re going?

We going… Mommy and Daddy on the boat and Uncle Dan…

And who else?

And strawberries.

All Quiet

2009-07-13T23:07:00.000-07:00

It’s funny just how loud Finley is.

I’m not necessarily talking about volume. Although a lack of volume control is something she inherited from her mother’s side of the family. I think when I mean loud I mean it as a constant hum. Kind of like when you’re on an airplane. There’s the sound of the engines, and after a while you get used to it. And if you’re like me, when you land, things seem a bit louder after all that buzzing in your ears. Maybe things aren’t louder, they are just a bit clearer.

At any rate, Finley – like all kids her age, I’m sure – is non-stop. I’m not saying it as a bad thing… I actually like the fact that she can consciously fill in the quiet gaps of her life with songs or words or something to keep her from getting bored. AND, it’s a great way to keep tabs on her. If it’s been quiet for a short time, she’s either fallen asleep or into something.

But just like anything, you don’t really notice all of this until it’s all gone. You see, Heather and Finley left Saturday for a week-long visit with Heather’s grandparents and cousins in Pennsylvania. And I have to tell you… The silence is deafening.

As much as I enjoy the private time and the quiet, I guess I’ve gotten used to the sounds those girls make. There’s no little patter of feet as they run from room to room getting this or playing with that. There’s no call to one of us for a Popsicle or to come play on the bed. There’s certainly no crying or scolding. But most of all, there’s no laughing.

And as I think about it, all of those noises are what make up the feeling of home. It’s the sound of family. Without it – without them – the place is so empty.

Even at bedtime, I find it hard to sleep properly. As a parent, there’s always that part of your brain that is actively listening for the slightest cry, cough, or call from the little one down the hall. I’m sure I’ll be fine, but it’s much harder to turn off that part of your mind than I thought.

And the mornings certainly aren’t as nice. There’s no little person climbing onto the bed and yelling at me to wake up. I have to rely on a more archaic, less loving alarm, these days. There’s no one to kiss me bye as I leave for work and no one waiting for me when I get home.

All those things – as little as they seem on a daily basis – start to pile up as missing when you’re all alone. I know it’s only been a couple of days since they left and as the days go by, I’ll get a little more used to them being gone. But I’m glad it’s only for the week.

When the week is up, I’ll be the one waiting for them to come home with kisses and hugs and I guess I’ll have to get used to all that noise, again. It’s a tough life, but I think I’ll get by. As long as the home is filled with the sound of family, things will be just fine.

Independence

2009-07-06T23:14:00.000-07:00

The past few weeks have been pretty good for a small girl named Finley.

We spent a few days at Lake Chelan, where she discovered the fun of boating and became a more confident swimmer. She got to play with her Nana and auntie and cousins and loved every bit of it.

Then the following weekend, we took a trip to “The Great Wolf Lodge.” This is a giant hotel, with an even more giant indoor water park, complete with restaurants, shopping, and even a Starbucks for Momma. It’s a pretty great setup and we spent most of our wet time in the toddler play area, watching Finley enjoy and adapt to the toys and apparatus.

She’s always been a fairly brave kid. I mentioned, some time ago, about my desire to have her be my eventual rollercoaster partner, since Heather won’t have any part of it. So, extra time on swings and tosses in the air at home have been a staple of her play routine as early as I could get away with it. But, there are certain situations – especially with people around – where Finley tends to get a bit shy before she tries out something new or tricky.

So when it was time to get her to climb up the stairs to the little toddler water slide, she was a bit apprehensive and one of us had to help her up and really talk her into zipping down and splashing into the foot of water below. But – as with anything – the more she got used to it, the easier it was for her to do it on her own.

In fact, she got to the point where she was very vocal about how she didn’t want us to help her do any of it. This is something we’ve been noticing for a little while. When she wants to do something by herself, Finley is fiercely independent. Unfortunately, in some situations, she’s not as agile or dexterous as she thinks she is and her moment of independence becomes very frustrating.

Now it’s pretty normal for a two year old to get a little frustrated when she can’t quite get a shoe on or get a toy to work the way she wants it. What’s hard for us is that she won’t even let us help her when she gets in these situations. It’s almost like our offer to help makes her even more upset.

The key in these situations is to try to distract her with another activity or else you’ll be battling a writhing, screaming beast when you try to get that shoe on the correct way. Needless to say, she’s a very stubborn little girl. We won’t say who she gets it from.

Lately, we’ve been noticing that it’s not just the basic things she’s becoming picky or independent about. Even the usual routine is beginning to change. And the Daddy is getting the shaft.

You see, she has become such a Momma’s girl that she rarely wants me to do anything with her or for her. Changing a pull-up, “No. Momma do it.” Reading books at nighttime, “No. Momma do it.” Now that I think about it, maybe Momma is getting the raw deal. I mean, she doesn’t want me to change her pants, feed her, or even put her to bed. Momma gets to do all of it. Of course, being the stubborn one, Heather won’t let that go on too long. But for now, I’m only needed when Momma won’t let her have something. Apparently she thinks I’m the one who will help her out. Unfortunately for her, I’m on the Momma’s side and am just here to reinforce the law Heather has laid down.

The scary thing is that this is probably just the beginning. It stars with wanting to put on her own shoes and will eventually become taking the car by herself and going on a trip with friends. We can’t say “no” to everything. But we can be stubborn, in a loving way.

I’m all for doing things on your own, but to her dismay, she’ll find out that we love her so much, we want her to be safe. And the tears will flow and the doors will slam. And it will be very hard to have her mad at me. I’ll get over it. Because I’d rather her be mad at me than in some sort of trouble or seriously hurt.

But until then, I’ll offer my help even though she doesn’t want it. And I’ll probably never stop offering. Okay, so maybe I am a bit stubborn.

Lake Chelan 2009

2009-06-23T22:56:00.001-07:00

Back from vacation on Lake Chelan in central Washington. We had a great time and I'll post some photos, below. We're off to the "Great Wolf Lodge" NEXT week, so my blog will be late, yet again. More pictures and such from that trip, when we get back. Hope all is well with everyone.

One Tough Day

2009-06-15T22:25:00.000-07:00

So it looks like I jinxed myself with my last blog.

There I was, trying to explain how hard it was to watch Finley suffer from a sore throat; not knowing that brewing under that tender esophagus was something much more sinister.

The good news was that the sore throat definitely went away. The bad news was that the fever reappeared Monday night and into Tuesday morning. Plus, she was tugging on her ear… From experience, this told us it was time to go to the doctor and see if she had an ear infection (We’ve done this routine twice before).

So, after a dropper-full of Tylenol, we headed out to the pediatrician and one of Finley’s least favorite pastimes… letting someone look in her ears. And after holding her down during the dreaded peek into her ears, it was determined – to my surprise – there was no infection. They told me to watch her temperature and keep with the Tylenol.

Then, as we were settling her down for bed, Heather discovered something. Finley was having trouble moving her head, because her neck was so sore. She also discovered a tiny lump on Finley’s neck, under her ear. Finley wasn’t a big fan of us checking it out, which told us it was tender.

The first thing I thought was that maybe she had slept wrong and had a crick or a knot in a muscle on her neck. She was responding well to the Tylenol, her temperature was near normal, and we were hoping that one more good night of sleep would help her push through it. Then Wednesday morning hit.

In our normal routine, Heather takes off for school fairly early and I’ll get up an hour or so after that. If I’m lucky, I can get all my stuff together by the time I hear Finley starting to wake. The first part was about the same, but THIS morning I woke up to hear a screaming girl and rushed to her room.

There she was, her neck so sore she couldn’t sit up, and crying away. I gently lifted her out of her crib and was able to get her to calm down a bit, but her fever was back up. I could tell by looking in her eyes that daycare was out of the question and there was probably a bit more going on than a sore neck.

Heather checked in on her way to school and called the doctor’s office to see what their take on this would be. She had to leave a message, but they called me back fairly quickly. After describing what was going on and my theory of a crick in her neck, the nurse said it is very uncommon for kids her age to have neck problems and that I should take her to the emergency room.

We have been very, very lucky with Finley. She is now 2 years and three months old and this was the first time we’d ever ventured to an ER. I don’t want to take her there, again. Don’t get me wrong, the folks there were very helpful and it’s a very nice place. It’s just that the concept of GOING to the emergency room is probably worse than actually being there.

I suddenly had to change my mind set and get us both dressed and ready to go. And as I’m doing these basic things, I’m telling myself not to freak out… to quit thinking all these worst-case scenarios of what’s wrong with her… and remind myself that nothing has been diagnosed. I literally had to stop, take a deep breath, and tell myself to be the strong, tough daddy for a girl who was probably going to be just as scared as I was from all of this. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But I did it.

So, off to the hospital we went. By this time, Finley was in a bit of a daze – between the fever and the pain, she was very lethargic and fragile – not a surprise. All of her usual kid energy was gone, fighting the sickness in her body. She was not my little girl, at all.

One thing I have to say is that if you have to go to the ER, go on a Wednesday morning on a nice day. Not only was there nobody else there, waiting, but the staff was in a good mood. I also have to say that for all of the things we went through in that first hour… all the poking and prodding and questions and examinations, Finley was a trooper. Sure she was scared and upset, but she let them do their job with a minimum of fuss. I think this was because of two things: 1) I think deep down she realized that anything is better than being sick. 2) Daddy was here. Which is why I had to be strong.

I won’t lie. I hated every bit of it. Not the people or the place… the situation. Two hours of sitting in an ER examination room wondering what’s wrong with your child is no fun at all. You don’t want to think bad things. You try to stay positive. It’s so hard.

Finally, after a couple of X-Rays are taken, we find out that her lymph nodes are infected. Whatever cold she had the week before somehow settled in the back of her neck and caused them to swell – which explained the fever, the sore throat, and what we thought was an ear ache. And that was it. Thank goodness, that was it.

A few days of children’s Motrin and some Amoxicillin later, our girl has returned to her normal, playful, crazy self. I don’t even mind the occasional tantrum, these days. At least I know she’s well.

Looking back at the whole deal, it seems like a lot of worry over a little thing. But, really… is there any such thing as a parent? Last week I said how helpless I felt as I watched her in pain. This time around, that helplessness was replaced by fear. Sure I was scared. Who wouldn’t be? But I had to keep telling myself that until something had been diagnosed, there was nothing to be afraid of. It wasn’t easy, but it was my job.

When we got home from our morning trip to the hospital, there were two people who were exhausted. The tough little girl who was battling bacteria and her dad – that tough guy who stood over her crib as she fell straight to sleep. No, those aren’t tears in his eyes. Tough guys don’t cry.

All Better

2009-06-08T23:22:00.000-07:00

If you haven’t guessed by now, I really enjoy being a Poppa.

I like the hugs and the kisses, the giggles and the songs, and the tickles and the grins. Of course, you can’t always have the good stuff. There are tantrums and tears, bonks and bruises, and the occasional sickness. It’s this last point that really makes Poppa-hood challenging.

Not challenging because there are times when you have to get up in the middle of the night and clean vomit off of sheets or change super-icky diapers… that’s my job. And it’s stuff I can control. The challenging part is the stuff you can’t control. Stuff like pain.

Because I’m the Poppa, I’m supposed to fix everything. But there are just some things that are out of my control. I can’t automatically make a fever go down or make an owie go away… And that’s frustrating.

A perfect example of this happened Friday. Just after 1pm, I get a call from daycare saying Finley had a temperature of 101 degrees and needs to come home. So, I did a quick little prep… made sure she had some pajamas ready to go, made sure the shades were down in her room, and that she had a sippee cup full of pedialight standing by. Then I went and picked her up.

Normally, when I go get my Finderella from daycare she’s overjoyed at seeing her Poppa and runs and jumps into my arms. Today, she was very happy to see me; she was just lethargic and obviously sick. When I lifted her up, her head immediately plopped on my shoulder, as if she had given up trying anymore and just wanted her daddy to take her home.

She was a bit warm, but not anything I felt was too terrible. The real problem was her cough. The poor thing just kept coughing and coughing and in the long run had a very, very sore throat. And as the afternoon went on into evening, her throat got worse and worse.

Right before bedtime was the peak. I could barely get her jammies on and she couldn’t keep her hands out of her mouth. My guess is that she was trying to reach whatever it was that was making her throat hurt. But that just made her more frustrated and cranky and crying certainly didn’t help.

For a very brief moment I felt helpless. She wasn’t going to fall asleep like this and this wasn’t something I could solve by rocking her. My only hope was medicine.

Heather had purchased some homeopathic cough syrup designed for toddlers that afternoon, but Finley wanted nothing to do with a spoonful of gunk. Luckily, I was able to dig up a squeeze dropper from our medicine box and was able to convince her to take it that way.

It wasn’t an immediate fix, but after a few minutes of rocking, she finally started to settle down. I knew that if she could just get some sleep, she’d get through the worst of it, and I was right. She was exhausted from trying to fight the fever and the sore throat, so once she was out, she was out for good.

The medicine did the trick for the next few days and she’s well on her way to recovery, but it was as hard on me as it was on her. Mainly because I didn’t feel like there was much I could do.

The number one thing we think about after our child comes into the world is how much we are going to protect him or her. But the reality is, there are just some things out of our reach. I wish I could take her pain every time she looks up at me with those sad eyes.

The good thing in all of this is that in some ways, as parents, we DO help take the pain away. Just being there, with our comforting arms and soft kisses on tear-stained cheeks does wonders for them… because they know they are safe and that we will try our very best to help them feel better. It’s us they run to when they fall down and it’s our kisses they want on their boo-boos.

I happen to know that those little kisses go a long way. How do I know? Because, yesterday, as I was sitting on the couch in shorts, Finley saw a scratch on my leg. She pointed to it and said “Daddy has an owie?” “Yes,” I said. “Daddy has an owie.” Then she promptly leaned over and kissed it. “All better,” she said. All better.

Hair Today

2009-06-01T23:12:00.000-07:00

Now that Finley is two, we’re getting to the point where we have to start introducing her to more experiences that take her out of her safety bubble. She pretty much only knows home, daycare, and the occasional trip to a relative’s house. And even when we go out, she tends to cling to one of us until she gets used the person or situation.

Last month Heather took her to visit our dentist. It wasn’t a real appointment to check her teeth, but more of an introduction to the dentist and the office. Of course, she wouldn’t let go of Momma and wanted nothing to do with anything else. It’s like that when we go to the doctor. She’s fine until they start poking and prodding. But really, who is comfortable at the doctor …or the dentist, for that matter?

So, this past weekend we took another step outside of our next to take our shaggy short stack to get her haircut. Okay, so she wasn’t really that shaggy, but her hair was beginning to get a little out of control. So momma booked a time at this kiddy salon at the mall.

This place is set up just for kids. Each of the chairs are cars or planes and they have this great gimmick of handing the kids a small bucket of toys, so they’re not only distracted by a bunch of goodies, but their heads are always down, making it easy for the cutter to do her work. It’s a great idea… as long as you can get the kid in the chair. And that’s where we had trouble.

She liked the colors and the mirrors and the balloons in the place, but whenever we tried to set her down in one of the chairs, she dug clung on to us for dear life. We got one of her feet inside a seat that was made to look like a pink roadster, but the waterworks started and we knew we were out of luck. So, instead of getting her first real haircut in a car or a biplane, Finley sat on my lap, while the scissors went to work.

It really wasn’t much of a haircut. More of a trim of the ends and the bangs, but she got through it without a peep. Of course, she had her legs locked around one of mine while she dug through the toy bucket. She wasn’t going to go anywhere without me.

The thing is, we know – because she is a girl – that anything to do with her hair will eventually become something she will grow to love and enjoy. But getting to that point will take a while. Which is just fine with me and my checkbook.

Ultimately, she is going to learn to break out of her shy shell and learn to embrace new experiences. It starts with trips to the doctor and the dentist and the salon. But it eventually turns into those first days of school and continues on to the point where she leaves home for college or whatever she decides to do.

Until then – like it or not – we’re going to have to give her a little shove from time to time. She’s going to want to turn around and cling to us, but we’re going to have to help her learn to let go. And we’re going to have to let her go.

We’ve got plenty of time before some of those bigger moments in life, but in the end the message will still be the same: She’s going to have to take some steps by herself… but she can always come back when she needs to.

The truth of the matter is, I don’t mind that she wants to cling to me as hard as she can. I like knowing that she finds us as a safe place. I also know that over time, her grip will loosen to the point where she won’t need to cling to us anymore. I guess that’s the point when we’ll be reaching out for her.

Memorial Day Weekend

2009-05-25T22:40:00.000-07:00

So, it’s Monday night and this family is tired. We spent Saturday at my dad’s to do a few chores on his property and have a family BBQ. Sunday was a birthday party, and today we spent the morning at the lake for a picnic.
Needless to say, I’m spent. So, instead of a bunch of words, I’m going to put up a bunch of pictures. I’ll be back with my usual musings next week, but enjoy the pictures of the weekend.

Universal Daddy

2009-05-18T21:31:00.000-07:00

It’s never easy spending time away from the family.

Even if it’s just a weekend, I find myself missing saying goodnight to my girls. I don’t get to read books in funny voices or get hugs and kisses before bedtime. It’s funny how used to those things you get.

I guess that after doing the same routine every night, it gets engrained in your head. So much so, that I have many of Finley’s favorite books memorized, and probably didn’t even know it. It makes sense, though. When she finds a book she likes, she sticks with it for a LONG time. And since the books are rarely more than ten pages long, they’re pretty easy to memorize. But I didn’t realize I had these stories in my brain until this weekend, when I went away with the old gang for a concert/campout in central Washington.

It was an all-day concert featuring some old bands; The Doobie Brothers, The Allman Brothers, and The Dead. And as is par for the course at these all-day shows, there were plenty of families on the lawn, enjoying the music. We happened to pick a patch of grass next to a family of three, including a 19-month old blonde girl with pigtails. Go figure.

And as the afternoon rolled on, I found myself playing peek-a-boo and talking to her parents about toddlerhood. Kaylee, it turns out, is also a big fan of Winnie the Pooh and had her Pooh and Piglet dolls with her. Bonus points.

Of course, this all just made me miss my munchkin more and more. I found myself looking at the time on the phone to see if it was dinner time back home or how much longer she had to play until bedtime. Like I said, you get used to that routine.

Eventually, as the last band played on, the sun went down, and Kaylee started running out of steam, her mom worked on putting her down for bed. They had a little kid tent and some blankets, but like any kid – especially mine – she just didn’t want to give up the fight and go to sleep.

So, my dad instinct kicked in and I started asking her about what nighttime books she had at home. When I found out she had “Goodnight Moon,” I started reciting it word-for-word. Kaylee was pretty amazed – not that I knew the whole book from memory – but in her 19-month old brain, she probably thinks she’s the sole owner of that book.

Needless to say, she was a bit mesmerized by all of this and calmed down to the point that her mom was able to put her in that little tent. Just a few minutes later, she was sound asleep.

Now, I’m not saying I’m some sort of baby whisperer because of this little episode. Any parent knows that their kids react differently to different techniques. It’s just that I was able to strike a chord in the brain of this little one.

It’s not a miracle, just a bit of experience with my own little blonde pigtailed girl. But it’s good to know that there is some sort of universal language out there amongst the toddlers. And if you can find that Rosetta stone and speak that language, they’ll listen.

Plus, there’s something about how kids listen better when it’s not their parents talking. Just because I can recite “Good Night Moon,” doesn’t mean Finley will calm down every night. It takes a few more tricks up the sleeve when it’s your own kid.

All I know is that even though I got to help one little blonde fall asleep, the one closest to my heart was still very far away. Which meant that tonight’s reading of “Goodnight Moon” to Finley meant a little bit more this time around.

Goodnight stars. Goodnight air. Goodnight noises everywhere.

Three Big Words

2009-05-11T22:49:00.000-07:00

Finally. I’ve been waiting, patiently, for two years and two months. And Friday it finally arrived.

What was it? I’ll tell you, in a moment. You see, there are a few things we dads secretly long for from our children. If we have boys, we want a strong left arm and/or a good backswing (for golf or tennis or guitar or all). For our girls, we might want those two things as well, but we tend to lean more toward good grades and utter devotion to the dad. These are all things we want to come naturally. Sure, we could help mold them, refine them, but you want to see these things appear early on.

But for me, there was one more little, itsy bitsy thing I wanted to have happen. One little, slightly selfish request from my daughter, that I couldn’t prompt. Something she had to derive on her own. And on Friday, she delivered.

It happened in the morning, after she got up and I was getting her dressed for daycare. As many of you can relate, two-year olds don’t stay perfectly still during a scheduled pit stop. So, like any other parent, I have to find a way to keep her from wriggling off the changing table, while swapping the old tire for a new one. My usual weapon is silliness. I try to make her laugh or have her sing along with me… anything to keep her from focusing on getting away. A distraction technique, really.

This morning I chose a silly voice and not only did it work, I got a nice surprise in return. She giggled, sighed and said the three big words I’ve been waiting for… “You’re funny, daddy.” A chorus of angels arose from the crib, confetti filled the room and crowds erupted in applause. Actually, I just gave her a great big kiss, but that’s what it felt like.

For a guy like me, who tries to find the funny in pretty much everything I do, I longed for the day when my daughter would not only recognize humor, but acknowledge it… me.

And it was such a spontaneous thing. I hadn’t coached her on it or practiced it with her. No, I didn’t want to cheapen the moment. There was no performance enhancement going on, with my girl. She just came to the conclusion on her own and I can pretty much say she not only made my day, but my week/month/year.

As I think about why this was such a big deal to me, I find it interesting that we put so much emphasis on our kids’ firsts. First words, first steps, first tooth… And then it all becomes so mundane. Maybe it’s just because I’m a first-time dad, but I am amazed with pretty much everything she does.

Sure, her first steps were fun to see. But now as I watch her run through the house and navigate obstacles and jump on to cushions, I find it amazing how well she carries herself. When she said “Da Da” we clapped. Now she’s turning words into sentences, with her own special brand of emphasis. And I am astounded.

I know that as time moves on, I will get used to her moves and her speech to the point where it will be frustrating when she won’t want to go anywhere or won’t want to tell us what happened. But for this brief point in time, I get to watch her body and brain develop right before my eyes. And I get to help shape it.

I can teach her how to take care of herself and introduce her to a world of books and music that will expand her vocabulary and the ways she can express herself. And that’s really what being a parent is all about, isn’t it? We get to help create the next generation. Whether she’s some sort of artist or thinker or whatever she chooses, I can help her get there. But that seems a little much to put on a two-year old, right now. For now, I’m fine with her thinking I’m the funniest man alive. She’s my biggest fan and that’s all I need.

In this corner…

2009-05-04T23:49:00.000-07:00

My daughter can be a pill. There. I said it.

Now the grandma’s can write me nasty notes about how perfect she is. But we all know that secretly they are thinking to themselves, “HAH! Payback time!”

It’s not that she is actively TRYING to be a pill. There is no pre-meditated pilling going on, here. I’ve pretty much decided that most of what she does is reactionary; She wakes up, nobody is there, she makes noise. We go in to get her, she gives us love, she wants down. She sees food, she wants to eat. It’s all reaction.

So, when something doesn’t go her way, she does what most two-year olds do best… She cries about it. Actually, you could say that about all of us, but for a little kid, crying is the first and most trusted weapon in the war for what they want. And that’s something we learn to tolerate as parents.

After the first few little tirades you start to get used to the writhing and the simulated “end of the world” wailing. But the little ones are smart, I tell you. They adapt. They figure out pretty quickly that if the crying and the screaming isn’t working, they have to move on to another approach. Unfortunately, for our girl, that leads to hitting.

The hard part isn’t telling her time and time again that hitting is naughty. The hard part is that she thinks it’s funny. So, after time and time again of telling her that not to hit… to be nice… she developed her own little workaround. She would get to the point where she would smack your arm and then immediately pat it, nicely and say “Be nice.”

And as we continued to remind her not to hit, it seemed as if she began to tone down her violent tendencies… That is until a few weeks ago.

I went to pick up our little angel at daycare and in the little report on her daily activities, there was a note saying she had pulled the hair of the other kids AND one of the teachers. Now, it’s hard for any parent to think their kid could be “the bad kid.” After all, she never pulled our hair at home. But when I asked Finley about it, she got all shy and quiet on me. Perhaps it was just a bit of guilt and shame. I tried to get her to tell the teacher she was sorry, but she was obviously uncomfortable, so I didn’t push it. I waited until we got home and tried to talk to her about it, but all she had on her mind was playing.

So our dilemma becomes trying to enforce a rule or a punishment or even just trying to discuss a problem with a kid so little, she would have a hard time keeping her attention on you for just a few minutes. But try we did. Explaining how it hurts others and how you wouldn’t want anyone to do that to you. Who knows if it really sunk in? The fact is, she hasn’t pulled hair since. She’s moved on. This past week we learned that our little trouble maker is kicking and throwing toys at her teachers. Good times.

I have to admit that it’s a little frustrating because she such a sweet girl, normally. And it’s because she’s normally so good, that leads to a theory of why she’s acting the way she is. Just a few weeks ago, the daycare folks decided to move Finley out of the one-year old toddler section and into the two-year old toddler section. And this was fine with us.

We figured that she was getting bored with the little kids stuff and was ready to do some advanced learning. Which is probably true. But what I think is happening is that she went from being the oldest kid in one area to the new and youngest – and maybe even littlest – kid in the other area. She’s uncomfortable. And when she’s out of that comfort zone… different teacher, different kids, different toys and behavior… she lashes out. If my theory is correct, the more comfortable she becomes in her new situation, the nicer she will be.

In the meantime, we have to have our time outs and talk with her about what it is that she’s doing and how she can be a big girl by being much nicer. And that goes for all of us. It’s only natural to lash out when you’re feeling uncomfortable in a new situation. Many of us can deal with it and move on. But there are some out there who never got the talk when they were little. And that’s the last thing I want my daughter to be… one of those people.

She’ll get there. It just takes time and patience from everyone, including us and the teachers at school. For now, it’s just a matter of laying down the rules, sticking with them and making sure she learns as she goes. Besides, I’d rather spend my time reading to her than being her punching bag. That’s just me.

The Smartest Monkey

2009-04-27T22:03:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-20T23:05:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-13T23:07:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-06T22:50:00.000-07:00

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.

The Ultimate Question

2009-03-30T22:50:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-23T22:10:00.001-07:00

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

2009-03-16T23:56:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-09T22:59:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-02T21:29:00.000-08:00

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.

Testing 1, 2, 3

2009-02-23T23:34:00.000-08:00

The human brain is an amazing and interesting thing. Some

scientists call it the last frontier… the one place man has yet to really explore and discover. It’s hard to imagine all the things our minds do on a daily basis… all the calculations and conversions, deciphering and decisions and movements and moods we take for granted.

And for all the great and wonderful things our brains can do, I’m sure the most baffling thing of all is trying to figure out the reasoning behind why a toddler can look you straight in the eye and do the thing you just told her a hundred times not to.

Somewhere in the development of the brain, around 18 months and 2 years, a little switch turned on inside her head and said, “It’s time to start testing them. They still think everything you do is pretty cute, so as long as you keep making those precious faces and smiling when you are in trouble, you’ll be okay.” And for a few months it worked.

It’s like the old idea of the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other. Except the angel is caught in traffic or the devil has the angel tied up in the back and is giving the orders:

“It’s very simple to drop some food or a cup over the edge of the high chair tray and down to the floor. Just don’t forget to smile when you do it. After all, Momma and Poppa are right there to pick it up and put it back. So, why not do it again… when their backs are turned? And when they stop picking it up… cry your lungs out. Let them REALLY have it. Then you’ll know you’ve got them where you want them.”

It’s almost like we shouldn’t tell her what’s wrong or right… but that isn’t realistic. But I wonder where we would be if I told her that the wall is the perfect place to use a crayon or that climbing up on the TV cabinet is acceptable behavior? Or, sure you can run around the house with that super ball in your mouth. Where would we be? Cleaning the walls with one hand while bandaging and giving the baby Heimlich with the other.

So, we have to lay down the law. And the toddler is a rebel, man. No regard, whatsoever what the man says. The toddler thinks he or she is James Dean, to cool for rules and always on the run. They’re mini-criminals, really. Trying to stay out of the reach of the long arm of the Mom and trying to avoid getting thrown in the crib, timeout mat, or whatever jail can hold them.

Finley’s rap sheet speaks for itself: Unauthorized phone grabbing and button pushing, slamming of doors, climbing up and on coffee tables, climbing on couches and altering artwork on walls, as well as the previously mentioned extraneous cabinet climbing, food and plate dropping, and various crayon abuses. And those are the offenses we know about.

Fortunately for her, her judges are fairly lenient and rarely pass out harsh judgment. Only a few times has she received isolation. Most of the time she is moved from the scene of the crime, much to her very audible displeasure. Recently, one of her biggest crimes involves a plastic toy phone and the bathroom door. Whenever Heather heads in for a shower and Finley realizes that Momma is nowhere to be found, she grabs her phone and slams it against the door. And even when I tell her no, she makes a point of making sure I’m watching – and with a little devilish smile she looks right at me as she starts pounding again. I tell her I will take it away and when I do, I’m the bad cop, and I get the wail and tears. The man is really bringing her down.

In reality, most of what she does is not going to hurt her, but I’ve had to fix the hinges on one door and will probably have to re-apply paint behind the art work she likes to rearrange on our walls.

So, understanding that she’s just a curious kid, we sigh and clean things up or put things back. It’s just the way of toddler-hood. But she also needs to learn that “no” is not just a word she can say to us, but that we can say to her. Just like everything else – for the next 20 years or so – we will just have to be patient and help her to learn.

The thing is, there are really two lessons that need to be learned here. One is that she needs to understand that when we say not to do something, that she needs not to do it. And the other is that we need to – as much as we can – plan ahead a little better. Keep the picture frames out of reach and the plastic phones need to be hidden when Momma heads into the bathroom.

Ultimately, she will learn right and wrong. Hopefully, she’ll be able to make those choices without our help. If we do our job well, we won’t have to worry about. Until then, she’ll keep testing us to see what we will do. We just have to be patient and loving, but also be able to put our collective foot down, when necessary.

It’s never any fun to punish a kid, but as long as we remind her that we love her and that she is smart enough to make the right choices, we should be okay. If we can remember to do that, we’ll pass the test.

Binky Break

2009-02-16T23:22:00.000-08:00

When you have a really bad fever, there’s a point where it

reaches its peak and you start to come down the other side. That’s when they say the fever breaks. You don’t feel well right away, but you know things are going to get better.

The same thing holds true when you’re trying to get your toddler off her pacifier. The frustration and madness rises and rises until you have binky break. And as the days go by, it all becomes a hazy, crazy memory.

When we last left our tiny hero, she was just being weaned of her soother. The first few nights were not good. For any of us. You have to remember that this was not only the tool that helped her fall asleep, but it also helped calm her down whenever she woke up in the middle of the night. And now that the evil parents ripped the binky from her grasp, she had no way of either going to or returning to sleep… or so she thought.

The key to all of this – from Finley’s perspective – is for her to find out an alternate way of self soothing. Some kids resort to the fingers or the almighty thumb. Others talk or sing to themselves. Finley just need to find what worked for her. But at nearly two years old, patience is not a virtue… it’s not even an option.

So, she would cry and wail and call for Momma then Daddy. As I said, those first few nights were tough for all of us and after a few minutes, one of us would go in and she would instantly calm down and let us rock her to sleep. The problem with that is, WE were now the soothing tool. She was beginning to learn that if she cried loud enough, one of us would come in and entertain. And we would. And she would go down… for maybe an hour, an hour and a half.

The reality is, getting up every hour or two for two nights in-a-row gets old real fast. So we had to figure out how to adjust our plan. But before that could happen, we had an obstacle thrown our way.

To our dismay we found out that halfway through the week, one of the daycare workers had given in to Finley’s wily ways and handed her a binky at nap time. Like Heather said to the daycare folks, “It’s like giving a beer to an alcoholic.”

So, after a little hiccup, we moved into the second weekend without the pacifier. Unfortunately, Finley was still having problems letting go. It was to the point that she wasn’t able to take a nap the entire weekend and nighttime was turning into a broken record. By Monday night, we never thought we’d get a full night’s sleep again and both of us wondered if we had removed the binky too soon.

Then Tuesday night, I decided I wanted to play hardball. It was tough love time. When we put her down for the night, and she started her crying, I wanted us to stay away. Heather had a tough time with this… I did, too, actually. But I couldn’t back down. So we stood our ground and let Finley call us every name imaginable in the toddler vocabulary.

A couple of times Heather started to go in, but I had to remind her of the big picture; 1. She’s not hurting, she’s just mad. 2. She won’t remember this. Now, I know that seems a little cold, but in the grand scheme of it all, you have to remember that change doesn’t come easy.

And sure enough, she eventually gave up and fell asleep. I’m not saying I didn’t feel sorry for her as she slowly realized we weren’t coming in. And I’m not saying I don’t want her to think we won’t be there for her. But, in this case, it isn’t about what she needed... it was about what she wanted. And that’s the big thing to remember with kids. You may seem like the worst parent in the world to them at times, but as long as you are putting your foot down for the right reasons, you’ll be helping them in the long run.

And that’s when we had binky break. She slept through the night without much trouble and each night since has been better and better. The next night she only cried for about ten minutes. The following night, five. And every night since… not at all. I’m not saying we’re out of the woods just yet, but I feel good about the direction we’re going.

The best part of all of this is that in the morning, when she wakes, she’s still happy to see us. That toddler short-term memory is a good thing. It’s like sleep erases the bad thoughts of us from the night before. And that’s getting better, too. She’s not so mad at us when she goes to sleep. It’s all a part of a routine… a NEW routine. One with out a binky.

The thing is, as I stand back and look at the big picture, it’s all about a routine… for all of us. She was used to her bedtime pattern and so were we. And just as she had to learn to live with out the soother, we had to learn that it wasn’t going to be easy. Change isn’t easy, but change is good. You just have to remember that it all gets better once you reach your own binky break.

Two Little Words

2009-02-09T22:07:00.001-08:00

I wish I could say that Finley is the perfect child.

I wish she never disobeyed or had tantrums. But then again, she’s a toddler. To be honest, she really is a good kid for the most part. I think the problem is, we’re so used to her being good that when she is naughty it seems out of control, crazy bad. And the other problem is that she’s so rarely naughty, I think we get caught off guard when she goes off.

The real hard part is that at this age, she’s not trying to be naughty. She’s not motivated to do bad, she’s just testing her boundaries… and ours, for that matter. When we tell her not to bang her spoon on her plate, she doesn’t keep doing it to try and break the plate. She keeps doing it to see how long she can go before we stop her. And when we do, it makes her mad and she cries. But sometimes, it’s hard to remember that. When she’s banging on the plate ALL THE TIME, it can start to grate on even the most even-tempered parent.

The thing to remember in all of this – if you can stop and breathe and remember – is that she’s just learning about good and bad and naughty and nice. This means she doesn’t know when she’s gone too far or is pushing Momma and Poppa to the edge.

Case in point: Thursday night Heather had to stay late at school, so I picked her up and brought her home. Not so bad, right? Except I had a conference call with clients in Asia and Australia that included a five-minute part I had to lead. I thought I was good to go. I set her in her high chair and had her favorite foods at her disposal. Things were looking good until right before my turn to talk. That’s when she started this long, loud whining noise. And she wouldn’t stop. So here I am, presenting to a world-wide audience while the Finley siren is droning on in the background. I’m sure anyone on the call who is/was a parent completely understood, but to my dismay I wound up absolutely furious.

I’m thinking it was maybe a bit of built-up tension of me trying to be the good, understanding Poppa for the last 23 months. And there was probably a bit of embarrassment from what happened in the phone call. Neither are an excuse, but I am happy to say I took my frustration out on one of my bed pillows and not my daughter. And as soon as my little 5-second tantrum was over, I couldn’t help but laugh. Because it really must have been pretty funny.

So, I straightened up the pillow walked over to Finley, gave her a great big kiss and said, “I’m sorry.” She probably had no clue why I said those two little words. But it didn’t matter. I knew why. Because for a split second – and I know this won’t be the last time – I was more concerned about how I looked to my clients than I did to her. She didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t mean it. She just wanted attention.

Obviously, next time around I will do a little better in the planning and not put myself or Finley in that situation. One that was ultimately doomed to fail, anyway. Maybe that’s why I was so mad… because I probably knew it was going to happen.

But my story isn’t over just yet. You see, Finley is not just testing us on what she can get away with… she’s testing us on HOW we deal with it. And don’t ever think that kids aren’t watching and paying attention. They are a lot smarter than you think.

Saturday and Sunday was our first full weekend since the removal of the binky and she had a real tough time taking naps. In fact she didn’t. Saturday was the worst. We set her in her crib and for almost an hour she cried and bounced and yelled and screamed. We would go in every five to ten minutes to try and calm her down, but she would have none of it. We were both at our wits end by the time we decided to just let her get up and play. And as Heather lifted her out of the crib and set her on the floor, Finley ran into the living room and came right up to me. With remnants of tears in her eyes, she looked up and said, “I’m sorry, Daddy.” Those two little words made every bit of frustration melt away.

Even as I write this blog, I’ve been up twice to calm her down for bed time. And as she fights sleep and says no when we ask her to lie down, I can’t help but think of the good in all of this. Not only is she learning – through us – about patience and understanding, but I just realized I’m doing something I haven’t done in a long time and probably won’t be doing in a few years. I rocked her to sleep in my arms and I liked it. She doesn’t quite fit on my chest like she did as a newborn, but I could feel her soft breath in my ear as I rubbed her back just like old times.

She’s not a baby, anymore. She’s looking to us to show her the way. And every once in a while – if we’re lucky and we look at the big picture – we’ll realize she’s showing US the way. Sometimes it just takes two little words to remind us.

Cold Turkey

2009-02-02T21:29:00.001-08:00

It’s a sad state of affairs in America. Hundreds of thousands of kids are addicted.

They get hooked at an early age and have trouble shaking their jones. And although it’s not really a sickness, many parents could argue that trying to shake this dependence may be one of the hardest things their kids can do.

Of course, I’m talking about the dreaded pacifier. Other street terms include “binky,” “soother,” and “nu-nu.” No matter what you call it, more than likely, it is a big part of you and your child’s world. And whether you like it or not, the time will come for that unpleasant binky intervention.

Sure, there are kids out there who never get or take the pacifier – I was a binky-free kid myself. Then again I was born in the Autumn of Love in October 1967, so I’ve always leaned a little toward the counter culture – But in most cases, including ours, the binky not only helps keep the kid soothed, but the parents as well.

It’s much too easy to get used to the rubber/plastic stoppers. Because that’s partly what they are. Whether you are in the car, in the store or on a plane, when the wail or cry starts flowing out of the mouth of the babe, you can just plug the drain and keep the sound in… most of the time, anyway.

And it’s hard to argue their importance as a soporific (That’s a big word I found that means sleep inducing). We could always count on the munchkin falling asleep fairly quickly when the pacifier was in place.

But there comes a time when you have to set aside old habits. Unfortunately for pacifier addicts there is no 12-step program, no Binky Ford Clinic, no gum, and certainly no patch to help. There really is no way to wean a little one off the soother. It has to be cold turkey, complete with withdrawal symptoms. You can expect anxiety, cravings, even fits of anger.

We thought about all of this before we made the big move to lose the pacifier. And after a few pieces of advice from friends and family, we decided the best way to enter into this cease-binky agreement, was under a mutual accord. There’s no point in just suddenly not giving her the pacifier. At her age and her level of understanding, we have to make sure she understands what’s going on. That on some level, she is helping make that decision.

For the record, we’ve slowly been moving this direction for some time. Several months ago, we made a point to only let her have the binky at bed time. So, she’s been used to not having it during the day (except nap time) for a while. It was just getting over that last hurdle that was going to be tough.

So this past Saturday, while she had a play date with Auntie Gina’s twins, Finley “gave” her binky to little Natalee. We had been explaining to Finley that Natalee is a baby and that only babies have binkies. And since Finley was a big girl now, she could give her binky to Natalee. Heather oversaw the actual transaction and Finley DID relinquish her pacifier albeit a bit grudgingly. That was the easy part.

That night as we readied the girl for bed, the inevitable question of “binky?” arose. We had to remind her that she gave it away and how nice she was and what a big girl she was. The initial crying in bed didn’t last as long as I thought it would. She actually conked out in about the usual time frame. And even though she woke up a few times in the night without her friend there to pop back in, I thought that overall it was a good night… at least for a start. We know it will be a bit rough for a few nights, but we just have to keep reminding her (and ourselves) that she is a big girl and trust that she’ll start to forget she ever needed it in the first place.

Meanwhile, we have ourselves a little person that continues to learn and grow. As traumatic as something like this could potentially be, it’s good to know that she understands the basics of growing up. Which is to say, we have to leave things behind in order to move forward. And even though sometimes it can be painful, in the long run it’s what makes us wiser and appreciate the things we have and the things that are yet to be.

I’m not sure that last part was about her or a daddy seeing his little girl get just a bit older every single day. Either way, it’s exciting to think about what’s ahead. Let’s just not go too fast. I have to ease into it. That little girl is a hard habit to break.

Monkeying Around

2009-01-26T22:15:00.001-08:00

When I was a kid, I liked to climb EVERYTHING. The trees in my neighborhood, fences, walls…

If I could get a good hand hold and a good foot hold, I was gone. That’s probably why when I was Finley’s age, my parents had me strapped to a harness with a leash.

I really can’t blame them, actually. This past weekend, I got a glimpse at why it’s so important to keep your little monkey in check… especially when you’re out in public.

Momma was at the library studying most of the day, Sunday, so it was just me and the munchkin in our little condo. Normally, we would escape to the park up the street, but it had been snowing most of the day. And even though the snow wasn’t really sticking, it was just a bit too cold for an outdoor excursion.

What we needed was a nice, warm indoor place to get out and stretch. Momma and the girl had been out to the Bellevue Square mall, the week before, and I knew it had quite the kids’ area. So, I bundled the babe up and made a bee-line for Bellevue.

It wasn’t Christmas crowd-crazy, but it was busy enough. I decided to be a bit brave and not bring the stroller, because she’s a big girl, now. I also left the diaper bag in the car on purpose, which turned out to be a good call, since once I plopped her down in the middle of the mall, she shot off like a wind-up toy.

Since I wasn’t carrying anything, I was able to keep up with her. The good news was this is just what we needed… Lots and lots of space for her to run around with no walls to hold her back. The scary thing was that I could see how easy it would be to lose a little one, if you’re not concentrating on them.

She may only be 22 months old, but Finley is a fast one. And she just goes and goes without thinking about anything except how fast she can get to wherever it is she’s heading. I had to steer her away from oncoming traffic and a few doors, but for the most part she was running with the pedal down. Finally, I was able to get her up to the play area, which is where she really let loose.

I’ve seen her play on a few toys at school and she can get up and down the slides at the park fairly well, but in this play area, she showed me how agile she really is.

To set the scene, the play area is a great big soft foam carpet in the middle of a ring of benches, for the parents. The “toys” are actually foam sculptures covered in soft plastic, which seems to be the new ultra-safe way to make playgrounds. So much for the concrete and gravel we had growing up.

In this particular playground, the sculptures have a northwest waterfront theme and there are several boats, including a Washington State Ferry and lots of faux rocks and docks for the kids to climb all over and slide down. And every one of these things was covered with kids.

At first, I figured Finley would be shy, trying to work herself into a space on one of the toys. But I was wrong. As soon as she kicked off her shoes she was up and on top of the tallest toy – the Ferry – surveying the rest of the playground for where she’d go, next.

Of course I was not more than two feet away, waiting for her to make a misstep or if she needed help getting down. I shouldn’t have bothered. She was literally like a monkey using her hands and feet to get her up and on and over and down. I guess when you only weigh 25 pounds, it’s easy to do all this, but she impressed me with her agility.

There were a few moments when I thought I could probably sit down and watch her from one of the benches, but I wasn’t sure, so I became the hovering dad. Just in case. I was never needed, but it made me feel better to at least think I was the spotter for my little gymnast.

Once or twice, she got into a slightly precarious position and looked around for me. But once she caught my eye, she knew she didn’t want me to help, so she figured her way out of her predicament.

And when it was time to go, she didn’t cry or fuss; she just let me get her shoes back on, took my hand, and led me to the escalator.

On the way home, as she was singing along to the music in the car, I wondered how many times she’s going to get into situations where I can’t help her and she has to figure it out for herself. Too many to count, probably. I guess I can only hope she’ll at least be able to look around and know I’m there, just in case. I just have to learn not to be the hovering dad. Eventually, anyway.