Cinnamon Rolls and Yankee Dimes

This past weekend we went for a walk. But unlike most of our normal walks around the neighborhood, this weekend we joined ten thousand of our closest friends in the annual “Beat the Bridge” race for diabetes research.

Okay, so we didn’t exactly race in the big 8K run, but we did take part in the 4-mile family walk, which took us from Husky Stadium up and through the campus of the University of Washington. I am still recovering from a case of hives that set in, but I should be okay.

We try to go for walks whenever we can, but getting involved with something as big as this was a new thing for our family. Part of the reason we decided to sign up was because my company designated the Beat the Bridge race as one of the charity events it chooses to support throughout the year. Allyis covered the cost of entry for me and encouraged us to bring more family members. We ended up donating a bit more money for the cause and, in the long run, had a good time on a great day.

The other reason – and probably the MAIN reason – why I really wanted us to go on the walk was for the memory of my Grandma Moore.

There are really only two ways a little kid knows what diabetes is. Either they have it themselves, or someone in their family has it. And in my family, it was my Grandma. She lived with us when I was little and I would watch as she gave herself insulin shots every morning. I remember asking her if it hurt and her telling me, “A little. But it’s worth it.” It sure was.

You see, Grandma Moore was pretty much the only grandparent I ever knew. Her husband died right before my mom was born and I only met the Dickey’s once, when I was seven or so. So when the other kids talked about going to see their grandparents, I actually liked the fact that my Grandma was already here.

Some of the best memories of my childhood are filled with her. I can remember coming home from school to a house that smelled of cinnamon and seeing a big glass of milk waiting for me next to the largest cinnamon roll you ever saw. I can remember her working for hours and hours, crocheting a new afghan for someone in the family. And I can remember how soft she was when I curled up in her arms. But my favorite memory was when she would ask me to give her a “Yankee Dime.” I think it’s a Southern term for a kiss, but for my Grandma it was always a kiss and a hug. She never seemed to stop asking for them and I never seemed to run out of them.

My Grandma Ella Moore passed away right before my 16^th birthday and I remember wondering if I’d ever love anyone more than her. It turns out I wound up with two loves of my life. I met Heather and together we had Finley. Finley Ella.

Part of me is sad that Finley never got to meet her namesake and that Grandma never got to meet Finley. But, I know that my Grandma lives on in me and through me to Finley. I’ll pass along Yankee Dimes and tell Finley about cinnamon roles the size of my head. And, hopefully, we’ll continue to do walks for diabetes or for whatever charity we can.

Luckily, Finley is a very healthy little girl. And I want her to understand that we can use our abilities to help others in need. Even a 4-mile family walk is a little help. Every bit we do will help some little boy somewhere get to spend more time with his grandma. It may be little, but it’s worth it.

Seeing Spots

It came out of nowhere. Tuesday morning, we shipped our fair-skinned babe off to daycare, just like any other morning. Three hours later, Heather calls me at work.

The daycare had called to request that Heather come pick up Finley because she had a rash. Okay. Babies get diaper rash. It happens. Apparently, this was more than the average diaper rash. It was suggested by the school that she take Finley to the doctor right away.

An hour later, Heather calls me as she’s leaving the doctor. First of all, the doctor doesn’t know what it is, but the little girl has spots all over her body. The doc thinks it might be an allergic reaction, so we have to go pick up some Benadryl. But if the Benadryl does nothing, we’re supposed to bring her back. So, I’m thinking it can’t be THAT bad. She was fine this morning. What could have happened in three hours? Apparently, a lot.

By the time I got home that afternoon, my little angel looked more like my little cheetah. Her entire torso was covered in red splotches. It looked like she had been rolling around in poison ivy, the poor thing. But the weird – and good – part of all of this, was that she felt fine. It looked like something that would have her itching like crazy, but she didn’t. She just went about her business like things were normal. No fever, no overly-runny nose, nothing. Just these strange, red splotches. The Benadryl didn’t do anything, so that canceled out allergies.

The worrisome thing was, they looked like the measles. The doc said they weren’t, but they sure looked like it. But again… no fever, no messy nose… NOT the measles. Not only were we stumped, but so were the doctors.

The next morning we were back at the doc’s office, and were reassured that the measles were out of the picture. All they could figure is that it was some sort of viral thing and that it would clear up in a couple of days.

Now, I have all the respect in the world for our friends in the white coats. And I figure hundreds and hundreds of kids have been through the clinic we go to. But to not have a clue as to what was going on was a little disconcerting.

I try not to worry too much in these situations. Heather does plenty of that for the both of us, and I guess it’s my job to be the strong one. But then again, Heather does plenty of that for the both of us, too. This time, I was a bit worried.

I guess I figure that kids are going to get sick… a lot. And I’ll wipe some noses and clean up after a vomiting session and feed some baby Tylenol and do Daddy things that help them get better. But when even the doctor isn’t sure what’s going on, I get a bit nervous. Because I KNOW I can do all of those daddy things. I have control. I don’t have control over a mystery virus and I don’t like it.

And, sure enough, by Friday, her torso was almost completely clear and the spots had moved to her arms and legs… A sure sign they were fading away. By the weekend she was back to being our fair-skinned angel.

It was all just a very strange episode that reminded me I can only do so much. I can’t control everything that she is going to go through. I know bumps and bruises and cuts and fevers and viruses will come and go. I can’t stop them. It doesn’t mean I have to like it. But, I have to deal with it. I can only worry and wipe and bandage and feed and hug. And that – in the long run – is plenty. In fact, it may be the best medicine out there. It’s a prescription that Doctor Daddy has ready, anytime.

Crocodile Tears

Every once in a while I peruse through the past blogs. It kind of gives me an idea of where we’ve been and it helps me make sure I don’t repeat anything! But there is one thing I’ve noticed about my blogs that I decided I’m going to have to make clear, in THIS blog. Despite the emails of shock, dismay and denial I will surely receive from her grandmothers, little miss Finley is not the perfect child. I’m sorry to say it’s true.

Most of my blogs deal with her successes and triumphs. We’ve heard about her first bit of rolling, her first playing, her first food, her first tooth… and so on. But beneath this glossy exterior, lies a tiny little volcano who is the epitome of the only child.

Don’t get me wrong, I love her more than anything and she has really been an absolute joy of a child… so far. But, the reality is that, just like any of us, she has her good days and her bad days. Most of her days are good. But when they are bad, even the Momma steps away from the baby.

Most of the little eruptions center around not being able to hold, open or reach something. That, of course, is typical for someone of her age. She doesn’t know how ask for help or figure a way around the problem. Instead, she screams about it. And it’s downright amazing how quickly our little princess turns on the waterworks.

The good thing about her little tantrums is you can tell the difference between her cries from when she’s really hurting or upset as opposed to just wanting something. The bad thing about her little tantrums is if she gets on a roll, it’s hard to get her to stop.

Let’s say she really, really wants the remote control and you really, really don’t want her to have it. Well, you’d better come up with an alternate or “fake” remote pretty quickly or it’s all over. It’s even worse if she already has the real remote and you take it away. NEVER take anything away without a plan/backup or else you are doomed.

The mouth flies open, eyes are squeezed shut and the crocodile tears start flowing. If she’s particularly upset, she’ll pause for a good ten to fifteen seconds between cries without breathing, which usually leads to an increase in volume of the next scream.

Most of the time, we can appease her with distraction, but if we get caught with our pants down, it is pretty much the end of the world. One time we were in the car, coming back from Costco. She did not want to be in the car and she let us know it. The only way through it was to drive faster. I was certain that if a cop pulled me over, I could just point to the backseat and get an escort the rest of the way.

These days, we can kind of anticipate her waterworks. We know she’ll probably have some sort of fit while she’s eating. Especially if she doesn’t get her food as fast as she think she needs it. We know she doesn’t like the fact that we’ve gated off the kitchen and put locks on the cabinets and drawers. But even more recently, we’ve begun to notice that she’s becoming needier. She wants to be around her Momma a lot. And when Momma goes into the kitchen or bathroom – where little ones are not allowed – it can lead to drama.

As much as I hate to hear her cry, I know I have to just let her go, sometimes. Like I said, we can tell if she’s in pain or not, and I would never let her cry if I thought she was hurt, but when the tantrum volcano blows, I have to keep my distance until the lava cools a bit. As much as I want to, I can’t go rushing in and fix everything for her every time. She has to learn to fix her own situation.

I know she’s still little and it will probably be some time before she understands that concept, but I’m not going to consciously spoil my kid. It’s hard enough that she’s the only granddaughter on my side of the family. AND it’s hard because she is my little girl. But, I’m putting faith in the idea that a few more tears now will result in a few less tears, later. Talk to me in about thirteen years to see if that theory works.

For now, we just have to let the tears roll. That isn’t to say that I won’t try every silly trick in the book to cheer her up. Because I want her to think back on her childhood as a happy one, with a Poppa who wiped those crocodile tears away and made her laugh. And when it’s her turn, she’ll do the same for her little volcano.

Daddy’s Home!

There are a few things a dad has to come to terms with when he has a daughter. For instance, you just have to deal with the fact that 99 percent of everything she has is pink. You have to understand that you WILL be forced to wear some sort of frilly hat or scarf and drink fake tea and eat imaginary biscuits. And you have to realize right away that you will never get her hair right, now matter how hard you try. There is really no way around these facts. So you just shrug and watch sports on TV.

There are other things you have to understand as well. Things that are most likely passing fancies that you hope will change as she gets older. The main one that bugs me the most – And it really doesn’t bug me too much, just enough to mention – is the fact that Finley is quite the Momma’s girl.

When we have Poppa-Finley time everything is fine. She wants me to play with her and brings me books to read. She tugs on my pant legs when she wants something and plops on my shoulder when I take her to bed. But when Momma walks into the room, I’m yesterday’s news. And who can blame her? Momma is much prettier, smells better, is way softer and her face isn’t scritchy.

It’s that baby-mommy bond that blows it for us dads. I’m sure it happens with boys, too. And I’m also sure things start to even out a bit as the kid gets older. But for now, I’m John Edwards to Momma Obama.

But it really isn’t so bad. Because it makes all the little moments we have together all the more special. And just this past week I had one of those special little moments.

It was one of those movie moments you envision when you realize you are going to be a daddy, but I had pretty much forgotten about it until it happened.

I had a work event I stayed late for one night and really wasn’t sure I would make it home before the munchkin went to bed. In fact, I had figured I would be sneaking into her bedroom to steal a sleepy kiss. But, to my pleasant surprise, as I stepped through the front door, there was Momma and baby sitting in the living room, reading a book. And that’s when it happened.

Finley looked up from her book and saw me. A big grin crossed her face as she dropped her book – ker-plop – to the floor. She stood up, and moving as fast as those little legs could move, she made a bee-line for me, with arms wide open. And that was my movie moment.

In slow motion, I saw the joy in my daughter’s eyes as she forgot everything else and concentrated on getting to her Poppa as fast as she could. I had just enough time to drop my bag and sweep her into my arms and plant a big smooch on her cheek, which made her giggle.

Now I know and pretty much expect there to be many more of those “Daddy’s home!” moments in the future, but I can tell you this… That first time will always be the best. I don’t care what kind of day you are having… the world is a better place when your baby is happy to see you.

So, I will continue shake my head in disgust when I put her pink shoes and socks on to match her pink outfit. I will make sure to ask for seconds of imaginary tea and biscuits. And I will continue to part her hair in the middle, despite her mother’s looks of disdain. It’s all worth it, because I know who’s waiting for me when Poppa comes home.

Movin’ On Up!

One of the most wonderful things about being a parent is watching your child grow and develop. It can also be quite sad. It wasn’t so long ago that there was this little tiny girl lying on my chest in the middle of the night. For a while, that was the only way to get her to sleep. The warmth and familiarity of being so close to a heartbeat reminded her of the womb and she would drift off curled up as I stared at her tiny face.

Eventually, she learned to fall asleep in her crib and although it allowed Heather and I a little more peace at night, I miss the way she curled up in my arms. It’s pretty much the same story with everything else. From sleeping to eating to bath time, the process has evolved as she has. She even thinks she knows how to read. See below.

But today marked a very big step in Finley’s walk of life. Today she moved up from the infant room at daycare to the toddler room.

Just like everything else, it was inevitable. That doesn’t mean we have to enjoy it! I’m actually okay with it. She’s walking and trying to talk and it’s time to spend her days with kids and teachers who will help her in the next process of her evolution. It was a bit more traumatic for Heather. That’s because she had to drop Finley off this morning. I’m sure it wouldn’t have been much easier for me.

It’s not like they threw Finley in with the big kids, cold turkey. The daycare powers-that-be had been gradually introducing her to the toddler room for several weeks. But today was the first full day in the Big Leagues. And right from the start, Momma saw what rookies go through.

I guess Heather sat Finley down on a little riding toy and as soon as Momma turned away, some big kid pushed Finley off. It’s the typical law of the jungle in the toddler room. Finley is new meat and will be until the next lamb enters the arena. This makes Heather more worried than usual. I’m not extremely worried, but I also trust the teachers and there’s a part of me that hopes this will make Finley tough… But not too tough.

I’m hoping that she can learn to stand her ground – or even better – figure out how to get that kid to share. I’m sure I’m asking for a lot, but it’s worth a shot. The thing is, we’re dealing with the most basic human instincts and emotions, here. And the teacher is not going to be able to see everything. It’s not like its “The Lord of the Flies” in there, but I’m sure there will be days when she’ll come home with a scratch or a bite mark.

This is a very important time for her. She’s moved up from coddling and babying to a place where she’ll have to learn the basic rules of society. It’s kind of scary when you think about it, but we all had to go through it in our own way.

Of course, there are many more good things she will experience than bad. This will be the time that she develops speech. She’ll be learning the words that will help her communicate with us and tell us how she feels. This is good because I have a hard enough time trying to read Heather’s mind, let alone Finley’s. This will also be the time she will make her first friends. In just a little while, she’ll have a buddy she will hang out and play with.

The bottom line is that Finley is growing up. And as hard as it is for us to deal with, it’s something we can’t stop. We might as well embrace it and be thankful that she has the opportunity to grow up in such a good atmosphere with good people. And maybe, just maybe, in the not-so-distant future, when the new kid comes into the room and sits on a toy, Finley will help her and not push her. That will make all the worrying worthwhile.

In the meantime, she’ll take her big steps and we’ll smile through the tears. Because as she grows, so will we. That doesn’t mean I still won’t miss her curled up in my arms.

Daddy Moments

Every once in a while as we make our way through life on planet Finley, there are moments that can only be defined as “daddy” moments. These are things that I most likely would have only experienced after becoming a dad. Things that single dudes probably never experience, let alone think about.

Many times these daddy moments are funny and crazy and others can be very serious or even sad. The perfect example of a daddy moment comes from one of my early blogs when in an early morning stupor, I changed baby Finley but forgot to put on the new diaper. I didn’t discover my error until after a particularly stinky blowout. Needless to say, I haven’t forgotten a diaper since. This past week, I got to experience another daddy moment. This one was almost as messy, but not quite as funny.

Finley had been feeling poorly for a few days and we weren’t exactly sure what it was. She had thrown up in her bed in the middle of the night on Sunday, but seemed fine the next day. Then the diarrhea set in and she threw up during dinner on Tuesday. No fever, no other vomiting episodes, just random sickness.

On Wednesday night, Heather was out and I had daddy duty. We were having a great night together, playing and learning. She ate her whole dinner of mac and cheese followed by pineapple chunks. In fact, I was actually thinking that this sickness bug – or whatever it was – had moved on. Bad mistake.

We were getting ready for bed and as I gave her the nighttime bottle, it hit. One moment she was eagerly awaiting her bottle and the next, we were both covered in mac and cheese and pineapple chunks. No matter what people tell you about what to expect as a parent, there’s not much you can do to prepare for something like this.

First of all, it’s such a surprise that there is this moment where you’re thinking, “did that just happen?” Then, the parenting gene kicks in and before you know it, you’ve somehow gotten everyone and everything to a sink and are wiping down everyone and everything.

This, was a daddy moment. Never in the forty years previous to last Wednesday did I ever think I’d be in this situation. I mean, I knew going into this child gig that kids get sick and I expected to be on the cleanup end of a few trips to the toilet. But, being the recipient of the blast is not quite what I had in mind.

And to her credit – even though she just exhaled her dinner – she was over it in seconds, giggling and playing with her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She wasn’t too terribly annoyed with having to change all of her clothes, either. I figure whatever it was that had been bothering her had been exorcised along with that last meal.

It turns out, after a trip to the doc the next day, that she may have had a touch of the rotavirus, which is why it wasn’t your normal flu or stomach bug. After a really rough Thursday at home with Momma, she made a full recovery and is her normal, walking, babbling self. And I’m happy to say I, too, made a full recovery after a full scrub of the bathroom sink and a change of clothes of my own.

So, I’ll just chalk that one up to another in my growing list of daddy moments. I know my list will get even longer and may include things like trips to the emergency room, the fixing of toys and/or dolls, many scrapes and cuts that will bleed and perhaps some sort of process in which I am the model for a little hairdresser wannabe.

The thing is, as much as some of these daddy moments will make me wince and shake my head, I’d rather be living these moments than wondering what I was missing.

Submitted for Your Approval

It’s no secret how enlightening raising a child can be. There are all these statistics about how much children learn in their first five years… How much of a sponge their little brains are. But, when you step back for a moment, you start to realize how much YOU are learning.

I’m not just talking about the ability to turn a routine diaper change into the equivalent of a NASCAR pit stop or all the things you never realized you could do while holding a child in one arm. I’m talk about discovering a little bit more about yourself than you probably thought you would. And in some cases, maybe a bit more than you really wanted to learn.

When you’re tasked to raise a small human, you find out how well you can deal with little emergencies and you find out how patient you really are… Not just how patient you thought you were.

As a parent you discover the beauty of a sleeping child. Not just the fact that they are sweet and innocent lying there, but the TRUE beauty – which is that you might be able to get a few things done around the house.

I catch myself staring a lot. I just like to watch her figure things out. I like watching her little body movements and the way she furrows her brow when she’s looking at something. I wonder what she’s thinking and how her little brain is processing all of this without the help of a language. And recently, we started noticing her doing something that I hadn’t really thought she’d be doing so early in life.

As she grows and learns, we make sure we encourage her along the way. Whether it’s taking steps or feeding herself, we’re cheering her on with applause and a “Yay, Finley!” And now she’s starting to expect it.

The other night, Momma was cheering her along as she was putting her little blocks into the right hole on one of her toys when Finley started turning around to make sure I was watching. She needed Poppa’s approval. It makes plenty of sense, because she’s so used to us reacting to her every move. It just makes me think how simple it starts and how many of us still look to our parents for approval years and years later.

Sure, we may be our own people as adults and have no one to answer to, really. But there’s a small bit in all of us that wants to make our parents proud. And it all started way back before we even knew what the word “approval” was.

How many times in the years to come will I be watching Finley at a recital or playing a sport and see her turn around to find me in the crowd or on the sideline? Part of me feels guilty for having her think she’ll always need me and part of me hopes she’ll always want me to be proud.

I’m pretty sure being a parent is keeping those two things balanced as best as we can. I’m also pretty sure that there will be some years between the ages of 12 and 20 when she’ll say she won’t care what I think. And as much as I know she probably won’t mean it, it will still hurt a bit.

But ultimately, our job as parents is to help her realize that the only person she needs to make proud, is herself… That she is the one she should be trying to impress. When she gets to that point, however far into the future that is, I’ll be there when she turns around to find me. And I’ll be proud.