The Smartest Monkey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.