Colour My World

We’re very happy that Finley is a big fan of books. I hesitate to say she is a big fan of reading, because she technically doesn’t read. 

She THINKS she’s reading. She babbles and points at pictures and truly thinks there’s a story going on. And, to her, there probably is. I just like the fact that she understands the concept of reading. It should make things a little easier when she actually starts learning to read.

Of course, she isn’t just into reading by herself. She still likes to ramble over, book in hand, and force herself into my lap. And lately, I’ve been noticing that as I start reading to her, she watches my face, carefully. She’s watching my expressions and how my mouth works as I read. I guess she thinks it’s my way of babbling and pointing to the pictures.

Her fascination with books doesn’t end at reading. Her newest thing has been the discovery of coloring books. She’s had coloring books for quite some time, but I’m guessing that she’s been introduced to the fine art of art at daycare. At any rate, we can’t go an evening at home without her and her little voice coming up to us and saying “color!”

But coloring at our house isn’t just a handful of crayons and a few books. Heather was smart enough to find a big plastic sheet to lay down which serves two purposes; it keeps the mess to a minimum and it’s kind of an invisible fence that keeps crayons away from being used on things like walls and furniture. Finley knows she can only color in the designated area. Well, at least that’s what we’re trying to teach her, anyway.

Rules aside, it’s fun to watch her go to work on the coloring mat. She likes to turn the pages and talk to herself about what she sees on the page and then assail the image with broad strokes of blurring crayon. And she does this while laying on her tummy, in classic kid coloring mode. I’m not sure if she learned this at daycare or if it’s an automatic kid-kind of thing.

She also does something, I think is very interesting. As much as she likes to flop on her belly and color all by herself, she’s very big on making sure you join her. She wants you to color with her. She likes to watch what you do, almost to the point where you can’t see what you’re coloring because her nose is all the way down on the page, checking out your coloring stroke. She’s very interested in how things get done and she thinks it’s pretty fun, too.

And because she’s new at this – and most things, really – she’s not very good at staying between the lines. In fact, I’m not sure she knows what lines are, anyway. But that’s okay. I really don’t care if she stays between the lines, anyway. She’ll have plenty of time for that when she grows up.

Right now, it’s more about having fun than creating art, anyway. In her mind – and in ours - just covering the pages in color is art. She may not have the sense of the pallet of Monet’ or the flair of Dali… But for my money, I’d hang a Finley on my wall – instead of one of those hacks – any day. And I know there are a few grandparents out there who would agree with me.

This Blog has been approved by Finley Ella Dickey

Recently, I have been seeing and hearing many political ads on television and on the radio. 

Many of those ads talk about how one candidate has lied or does not have the credentials. They talk about promises made and not kept. They talk about where one candidate stands on the issues as opposed to the other candidate.

Well, I’m here to tell you, you should just go ahead and vote for me. That’s right. Vote for Finley. I’ll even tell you where I stand on the issues: 

1. Afghanistan: I admit I will sometimes stand on my Dad’s afghan, but only after I’ve hidden under it and played peek-a-boo.
2. Economy: I have a piggy bank with lots of money from Christmas and my birthday. I’ll let you borrow some if it will help.
3. Education: Read my lips… NO NEW NAPS! More recess, less nap time at school.
4. Energy: I have lots of gas to pass along, if anyone needs it.
5. Environment: I would stop the production of certain oils… especially Baby Oils and Castor Oil. YUCK!
6. Health Care: I don’t like shots.
7. Housing: I like houses. They are a good place for my toys.
8. Iran: I did and I fell down. Not a big fan.
9. Russia: Mom said I was Russian and needed to slow down. Then I fell.
10. Taxes: I think my Grandpa was born there. It's near Oklahoma, right?

People also want to know where I stand on the war. All I know is that if I hit someone at daycare, I get in trouble. And if I share with someone at daycare, everyone is happy. So I guess it’s better to try and share with someone than it is to hit them.

As far as all of that other stuff… Sure, I have been known to be a mudslinger. If I eat mud, Mommy gets mad, so I like to throw it instead. But remember this… I’ve never lied. I don’t even know what that is. I can barely speak.

But let’s get down to the heart of the election. Some of the candidates have more experience than I do. That may be true. But when it comes down to it, I am way cuter than all of them. 

Vote Cute. Vote Finley.

Now get out there and vote.

B-I-N-K-Y

As we make our way to the 20 month (which means only four months to go until we can stop using months as an age-definer), we are beginning to pass into the realm of secrecy. Well, secrets amongst parental units, anyway.

You see, as much as we love how Finley is learning and growing at a tremendous rate, we are at a point where she knows what we are saying or talking about. And certain words have the danger of triggering unwanted reactions from our golden child. So, in the age-old tradition of parents gone by, we have begun to spell out certain things, such as binky, bunny and juice.

The binky, or pacifier, is the top of the food chain when it comes to things this child wants at all moments. It’s really a necessary evil, especially at night. It helps her fall asleep a bit easier and a happy, sleeping baby equals a happy, sleeping mommy, which equals a happy, deeper-sleeping daddy.

Her bunny and her juice are other must-haves, but are much easier for her to forget than the binky. Which is what this is all about, anyway… taking advantage of her short-term memory. The less we refer to these items, the more likely she won’t need them.

Of course, this era of secrets will only last so long… as long as it takes for her to learn how to spell. But by then, she’ll most likely – and hopefully – be less inclined to freak out over these things.

It’s a sad state of affairs when you have to spell out binky. It’s like my child is some sort of crack addict when it comes to her pacifier. Which is why we are in the process of “rehab” for the binky. We can’t very well just yank it away from her, cold turkey. Nope. We have to gradually get her off of it. At this point, we’re doing our best to only let her have it for naps or bedtime. And as the weeks go by, she asks for it less frequently.

But every once in a while, she needs her fix. And no amount of spelling is going to keep her from asking in her little voice with her sad little eyes and that pouting lip. I hate to be the enabler, but I also hate to have a crazed child on my hands.

It’s our hope that weaning her off of the pacifier is a step in the direction of her becoming a more independent toddler. And by that, I don’t mean she’ll be able to find a binky on her own or just rip one out of the mouth of a smaller kid at daycare (Although I know that’s probably what will happen).

I guess, in the long run, it’s all about teaching your child how to deal with disappointment. That not being able to have a pacifier doesn’t mean the world is going to end. Of course, it’s only the first of many disappointments we all have in life. Hopefully, Finley will learn to move on from these little setbacks and discover other ways to pass time or keep herself from being bored. And, maybe that will help her deal with other disappointments. Maybe, like most of us, she’ll find creative and positive ways to move on.

In the meantime, I’ll have to deal with remembering to spell b-i-n-k-y, b-u-n-n-y, and j-u-i-c-e. That’s fine. As long as my little binky baby stays h-a-p-p-y.

Skip to My Lou and other reasons to like The Wiggles

Not so long ago, I lived in a world inhabited by rock music and MTV. 

A place where bands like The Police and U2 pumped through my headphones and The Beatles, Led Zeppelin or the Stones blasted in my car. Nowadays, if I’m listening to Mick, he’s Mickey Mouse and he’s telling me about the “rockin’” beat he’s added to the ABC song.

Yes, my musical tastes have been forced to evolve. And for the most part, it’s not too bad. I can get into the Wiggles, because I could probably BE the fifth Wiggle. And the fact that I know the words to pretty much all of these songs helps, too. Well, that and the ability to skip to the next song at will.

But the main thing is that Finley likes the music. She’s very fond of the Wiggles, probably because they dance AND sing on the DVD. She loves to bop to the music, dancing or stepping to each song. And she recognizes the songs, too. She knows to skip when “Skip to My Lou” comes on. She knows all the hand motions to “Mulberry Bush,” and she can make the itsy bitsy spider go up the water spout. Not bad for 19 months.

The down side to all of this is that many – if not all – of these songs tend to stick in your brain for days on end. It’s no fun sitting in a meeting at work while “This Old Man” plays in your head.

And it’s a bit of a shock when I’m listening to my iPod – on shuffle – and it goes from something like The Who into “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” Which is probably why some of the newer bands got smart and started making some kids albums of their own.

Some of the more popular kids albums these days belong to the alt band They Might Be Giants. Their music was always pretty fun, anyway. So now they’re making money from their old fans AND their old fans’ kids!

But no matter who’s singing or who’s dancing, Finley is discovering that music is fun. We even got her a little microphone that plays different kid songs and if you push a little button just right, you can sing along and have your voice amplified. She hasn’t quite figured out how to do the latter part, yet, but she loves dancing around the house and singing into the mic. Of course, at this stage, she’ll only perform for us. But that’s the way Divas are.

So, for the time being, I just have to get used to lots and lots of “Hey Diddle Diddle” and hope my iPod keeps it far apart from Jimi Hendrix. Because I know that in the not-too-distant future, there will be some sort of “Cheetah Montana High School Jonases” blaring through our house. That’s when daddy buys his little girl her very own headphones.

Daddy Daycare 2

In the latter part of the 15^th century, an Italian navigator 

named Cristoforo Colombo talked a Spanish queen into a sub prime loan on a few boats for a vacation to the Caribbean. 516 years later, daycares across the country took the day off.

Which leaves this working father alone for the day with a 19-month old girl. A girl who has changed quite a bit since the last time we played hooky together. That was President’s Day, earlier this year, when she was on the verge of walking. Now she’s not only walking, she’s well on her way to talking.

That means she not only can get into pretty much anything she sets her sights on, but she will yell at you if you don’t help her get there. It’s not really all that bad, because she only knows a few words… but they’re the one’s she knows will work to get her where she’s going.

Right now, her favorite words include: up, more, no, binky, bunny, blanky, Elmo, juice and shoes.  She wants or is looking for most of those things. No just happens to be the response when we want to take those things away.

No is also the first word to be set into some sort of sentence, like “No, Daddy.” I’m sure I’ll be hearing this sentence for many years to come. Luckily, today, I didn’t hear too many “no’s.” Today was mostly following her around and either picking up after her or keeping her from getting hurt.

Of course, I was technically working, today, so I had to try to split my brain with one half on the computer and the other half watching Finley buzz around. I can see that if you are used to it, you can make it work. But if you only do it every once in awhile, like I do, it’s not so easy.

I’ve decided that a toddler is not much different than a chimpanzee. Sure the kid may be able to talk a little better and the chimp may be a bit more dexterous, but in the end they are just eating, mess-making, climbing little primates.

My monkey has figured out how to climb up onto the couch and free the pillows from captivity. Often, she does this with cookie in mouth, which leads to a stickier-than-normal drool, which finds its way to the couch cushions fairly regularly.

She’s also a big fan of doors. I’m not talking about the late Jim Morrison’s band, I’m talking about hinge-based room separation devices. She thinks it’s pretty funny to run into a bedroom and close the door. But after a few minutes, it’s not so funny because she can’t reach the doorknob and get out.

And she has this fascination with shoes. It must be something imbedded in female DNA – this shoe thing. She has to take shoes out of our front door shoe box and either bring them to us – she thinks we need them, badly – or she tries the on, no matter the size.

So, my morning consisted of chasing a monkey as it drooled, made messes and narrowly avoided smashing her fingers in the door. Then, when she decided she could sit in one place for more than a minute, I was pulled and dragged to my formal position on the couch to help her read a book. And then another and another.

And heaven help me if I didn’t follow along in the book the way she wanted me to. One thing about my little princess… when she’s not happy she lets you know. She’s got a fine set of crocodile tear-producing eyes and the lungs to match (from her mother’s side of the family, don’t you know).

Somewhere before noon I was able to feed the girl, then get her to agree to a nap. I should have agreed to join her. Two hours later, after an attempt at work and cleaning she was up again for more fun in her private zoo.

Luckily for me, Momma came home after her day at school and spirited the little one away for some outside time. I was able to pick up a bit and finish off a little more work. By the time bedtime rolled around, Finley wasn’t the only one ready for nigh-nigh. And as I look back on what turned out to be a very long day, I realized learned a few things from this go-round of Daddy Daycare:

1. I should probably just take the day off when I have to watch her
2. Chris Columbus could never have reached America with a kid on board.
3. I have the cutest and smartest monkey on the block.

Red Eyes at Night

When you have a toddler, you get to experience a lot of great things. You get to watch their motor skills really advance. 

You get to hear them develop their speech. And you get to witness as they figure out who you are and that they like to give you kisses.

Unfortunately, there are a few of the bad things you have to deal with, too. From earaches, to teething to bumps and bruises, you become a real pro at consoling, real quick. But last week we experienced something that was new to all of us and no fun at all.

Last week we got to experience something called “Night Terrors.” We had heard about them when we were reading all the “Now you’re a parent” literature that floats around after a baby is born. I always thought it was just another term for a nightmare, but it turns out it’s much more than that.

In a nutshell, night terrors happen when a toddler is real close to falling asleep but “gets caught” between partial sleep and deep sleep and is kind of stuck in a sleep-walk stage. They’re not really asleep and not really awake and this is very, very confusing. There’s a real good description of night terrors in this article by Dr. Alan Greene.

It is not uncommon for Finley to stir loudly after about an hour or so into her sleep. Sometimes she loses her binky or rolls into an uncomfortable position. We’ll hear her cry a bit and if she doesn’t figure it out for herself after a few minutes, then we’ll go in and either pop her binky back in or straighten her body out. But Thursday night, when she stirred, she was screaming.

At first we thought she had hurt herself or had awoken from a bad dream, but she wasn’t responding to our attempts to console. She wouldn’t let us hold her and was kicking and calling out for us when we were right there. This happened all night and I don’t think Heather and I got a good hour of sleep between us. She would start to go down and the next thing you know…. She was crying and screaming all over again.

Of course, we didn’t read Dr. Greene’s article until the next day, but it pretty much explained all the strange stuff that happened. Like the fact that you can’t console a kid in this state. They are basically in a dream state and are kind of sleepwalking through this confusion that is very frightening. It also turns out that the episodes are usually pretty short – thank goodness – and are brought on by changes in sleep patterns (Such as just coming back from Hawaii). And although the explanation did a lot to help us understand what was happening and why it was happening, it didn’t help me feel any better.

Because if there is one thing I think I’m supposed to do as a daddy, it’s to be a source of comfort for my little girl. And when she won’t accept your comfort, it can be tough to take.

Obviously, she didn’t know it was us or what was going on, but not being able to help her is the one thing I dread the most. I’m so glad she’s starting to talk, so we can get to the root of the things that bother her. The last year and a half has been great, but not knowing what’s wrong is the absolute worst.

And like these little episodes, all things will pass. Well, I doubt I’ll ever stop wanting to be there for her when she needs help. Eventually, I’ll just have to learn to let her go. But, I get at least eighteen more years of holding on tight, right? Then I guess it will be my turn to be the one having trouble sleeping.

Ears to You!

So, we’re back from Kauai and actually in much better shape than I expected. Traveling anywhere with an 18-month old can be taxing. And traveling with an 18-month old to Hawaii and back is asking for trouble.

It turns out that toddlers don’t really understand much about noise and the proximity of other passengers on an airliner. They don’t get the idea that staying seated for five and a half hours is expected. And they certainly haven’t figured out that it’s much better to try and sleep on such a long flight than it is to fight it.

But, that being said, I will take the fussiness and frustration of being trapped in the seat of a 757 over the pain that comes with ear problems at 30,000 feet. And I speak from experience.

The last time I made the trip to Hawaii, I was 19. It was the summer after my freshman year in college and my folks took me and my sister to Oahu and Maui. The day before we returned home, I developed a bit of swimmer’s ear. And that, combined with genetically weak sinuses created a pain cocktail that I have yet to feel again. I’ve had some back pain, but nothing is worse than an earache in both ears over the Pacific.

My mom told me she thought it was God getting back at me for not being able to experience the pain of birth. I didn’t think it was fair he was making me have twins. By the time we landed, both my ears were shot and I was out of it for several days and pretty much deaf for a week.

This explains why I’m a little bit shaky when it comes to taking Finley on planes. I just hope she inherited her mother’s ears and not mine. And halfway through our vacation, we were beginning to think she not only had my ears, but would get to follow Dad’s footsteps for ear problems on the way home.

A couple of times during our stay in the south part of Kauai, Finley had woken up in the middle of the night, crying. As many parents know, this is a fairly normal occurrence. But when we would go in to check on her, she would be tugging on her ear lobe. I knew that it was one of two things… She was either impersonating Carol Burnett or she had water in her ear. More than likely it was the latter.

Now I know from personal experience (again) that just because you have water in your ear, that doesn’t man your ear is infected. Not yet, anyway. Sometimes it just feels clogged, like a wad of cotton that won’t fall out. And sometimes it itches. I was just hoping this was what was keeping her up and not the beginnings of inflammation.

So, after the second day of ear tugging, Heather encouraged – prodded – me to search for a local pediatrician. And after a few phone calls and confirmation that they would, indeed, be able to bill to our medical insurance, we found a family practitioner at a clinic up the road.  After a short drive off the main road and down a dirt driveway, we found ourselves checking into a large hut in the town of Koloa. As remote as this seemed, I had a hunch this guy would be just the ticket. I mean, of all the doctors we could find, this is the one guy who works in a sleepy surfer town and has probably seen his share of ear infections. I figure he probably makes his living off of setting broken bones and selling ear drops to the local and tourist surfers. And I was pretty much right.

For a $15 co-pay, Dr. Murray was able to take a quick peek and assure us that Finley’s ears were fine. He suggested a little Tylenol at night, but that he could see no reason for us to worry about the flight back.

Which brings me to about three hours in to our flight back to Seattle. Finley has just settled down and with the help of a portable DVD player and the Wiggles is about to fall asleep. Heather and I are both tired from vacation and struggling to help Finley find peace on the plane. But if the worst of our troubles is a toddler trying to escape from an airline seat, then we’re in for a happy landing every time.