One Tough Day

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

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

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

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

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

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…

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.