winning

A principle of engineering is this: great constraints promote great creativity. Whether you're tackling a towering structure, a shrinking household budget, or a personal goal, difficult challenges seem to bring out the best design.

My challenge: make it through the week without a trip to the grocery store. We're leaving for a little mini-vacation, and I am pretty certain I can stretch things in our pantry and freezer to fill a shortened week's menu. Unfortunately, my 5 1/2 year old, "Obi-1," has recently developed a slightly picky streak. While we're generally not accommodating to picky eaters, I also didn't want to enter battles unnecessarily. So, last night I made orange chicken with cauliflower and rice. We've had it before, and all liked it. Honestly, I was feeling (perhaps overly) confident about dinner.

My confidence waned as Obi-1 looked at his plate and announced that he didn't like this meal. We ignored him, and continued passing dinner around the table. He announced louder. His voice got whinier. Finally, I looked directly in his eyes and calmly replied, "I heard you. That is rude to say when somebody makes you a meal. Now, let's eat."

Silly Mama... I thought that was the end of the discussion. Ha ha ha ha ha. Obi-1 looked at his plate. He looked at me. He looked at Mr. Kenobi. He did not eat. Beside him, little brother Obi-2 picked up his fork, took a bite, and said, "I love it, Mama!"

After about 10 minutes of dinner conversation and eating, Obi-1 asked to be excused. The plate hadn't been touched. This is not normal for our household, and I knew he was hungry. Still, I don't force food into my kids - if they're hungry, they eat, and if not, they don't. I don't make alternatives, but I've reckoned with enough stomach flu-ridden nights to know that forcing a child to eat can often come back to haunt you... literally.

We excused Obi-1 to get ready for bed, but informed him of one condition: "You are welcome to leave without dinner, but this is the food I've prepared. The next time you're hungry, you may eat this. You will not have other options until you've had this meal."

He looked a little skeptical, so I went on... "this will be available at breakfast, Obi-1." He shrugged and scooted off to jammies. We had a nice night of book-reading, singing, and sleeping, and this morning Obi-1 came toddling downstairs to let me know that his stomach was "grumbling."

"I bet it's hungry!" I smiled. "I'll go get your food for you." I warmed up the plate from last night and set it on the table in front of me.

Obi-1 turned to look at me with wide eyes. "I don't want this! I wanted oatmeal!" Of course. I had expected this, and would make oatmeal because his brother & I would also like that for breakfast. He was invited to have oatmeal after he ate this food. We had a bit more discussion, but I stuck my ground, calmly. He looked at his food, looked at me, and sat unmovingly.

I phoned a friend, who assured me that this is completely within bounds of motherhood. She then warned me that I may need to stick it out yet another 12 hours or so, if my son is nearly as stubborn as hers. Yikes! I received a message from another friend, who assured me this was a completely reasonable battle. It takes a village, people, and their reassurance encouraged me to stay the course.

Obi-1 stared at his food, meanwhile, and then informed me he wasn't going to eat it. I let him know that if he didn't feel hungry enough for it this morning, he could have it at lunchtime. If he didn't eat it before school started at noon, he could take it for snack-time. He didn't have to eat it right now, but there are no alternatives. His eyes grew very wide, probably imagining Teacher Nancy handing out graham crackers to every other pre-K child, and then handing a baggie of cold chicken and cauliflower to him.

Slowly, over the next two hours, my son ate his dinner/breakfast/morning snack. We're not talking about a lot of food. It was simply a lot of hesitation & procrastination. When he finished, I asked if he had liked it. Of course he did.

My dad claims there's a principle about parenting well that is similar to engineering. You're tested in the tough times and circumstances. Some of these challenges are handed to us, and some we choose. As dad says, "Choose your battles wisely. The ones you enter, you must win."

Winning tastes good.

firsts

It has been a while since I could take the time to properly update things here. Much has been happening, so I'll try to create a few highlights for all who faithfully check in on the Kenobis.

It was a Monday evening, and we'd just finished dinner. I was literally on my way out the door for a meeting. Because of our schedules, other people's schedules, and distances across this urban area, I often have to plan meetings for evenings. Thus, it was about 7 pm and I was just leaving the house. The boys had a special "movie night" planned with Daddy before bedtime, and Mr. Kenobi had just finished making popcorn for the occasion. Always eager to help in the kitchen, Obi-2 was getting up on a stool to help pour the melted butter over the bowl of popcorn.

Suddenly, I heard a scream of pain and Mr. Kenobi say calmly, but quickly, "put your hands under the water." I quickly returned to the kitchen to find that Obi-2 had lost his balance a bit and caught himself by setting his hand on the still-hot cooktop. (Sidenote to say: I really dislike glass cooktops. I know many people love them, but I am not a fan for many reasons. For instance, even when it's turned off and it looks "off," a burner remains blazin' hot for a while.)

In near-perfect cooperation, Mr. Kenobi handed Obi-2 off to me and an ice pack, while he went to get our book of health concerns from the shelf. Within minutes, we read the first instructions: do not put ice on a burn. Back under running cold water for little Obi-2's hands! The next thing we read is that burns on hands, faces, or soles of the feet require immediate medical attention, regardless of how serious they appear.

We looked at each other with dread: here we go, on a Monday evening, to an urban emergency room. In between my son's cries, a call to cancel my meeting and ask for prayer, & quickly organizing our family exit from the house, I could only imagine the germy, lengthy, and gruesome scene we'd be entering at the hospital. Honestly, my compassion for my son was only slightly greater than my dread of an emergency room on a Monday night.

The boys instinctively sensed our nerves, and began protesting the hospital visit as well. Obi-2's only experience in a hospital was visiting a friend and her new baby. Obi-1 has him slightly beat, as he was actually born in the hospital. Both were positive experiences, but brief encounters nonetheless. Neither has spent much time in a medical facility (yet?), which is a blessing but also leaves them with great unknowns.

Mr. Kenobi scooped the freshly buttered popcorn into a ziploc bag, and promised all would be okay. We gathered our shoes, coats, and a couple books to keep us company, and set out on the short distance to our local trauma center. I took Obi-2 inside while Mr. Kenobi parked the car and brought Obi-1 in behind us. As we entered the doors, we were greeted with a few questions about the "victim" and his medical needs. Then, as quickly as everything else, we were whisked into a separate "children's ER" area.

I walked in and realized many of my worries were unfounded. Sure, the place was probably covered with viruses, but it was not filled with inebriated folks, gang-related injuries, long lines, or barfing patients. Rather, "Hannah Montana" was on a TV, and cheerful children's posters decorated the walls. We were basically the only people there. No sooner had we seated ourselves to wait than we were greeted by a nurse and ushered into "triage," where she assessed how the evening's events, Obi-2's basic information, and the type of care needed. She was so patient and clearly skilled with little ones, and everyone felt immediately at ease.

From triage, we were escorted into an exam room, where a doctor cheerily greeted us, took a careful look at Obi-2's hand, and began to explain the needed treatment. He was compassionate and patient, distracting Obi-2 and carefully asking questions. Obi-2 had suffered a second-degree burn, which is fairly serious. However, the doctor didn't believe there was nerve damage, and the burns were fairly isolated, which was very good news.

He then explained that he'd have a nurse come in and bandage it up and be given some medication for Obi-2's pain. I know I had a slight grimace at the thought of Tylenol with Codeine, which the doctor recognized immediately. We don't do many medications around here, and this one sounded pretty serious. The doctor perceived my slight resistance and quickly commented that it is only humane to take care of my child's pain...

Thanks. Humane. I felt bad enough that my poor baby was hurt. I hardly needed to be accused of inhumane treatment of my son. Drug him up, Doctor!

So, a nurse handed Mr. Kenobi a dropper of orange medicine for Obi-1, began to clean & dress his hand, and another doctor conferred with our original doctor on the diagnosis. As the nurse wrapped gauze around his hand, I was instructed on the daily care and follow-up treatment. Meanwhile, another person entered the room with a rolling cart and computer. She gathered gather all of our information, insurance card, etc from Mr. Kenobi.

Only then did I realize we had never been asked to fill out a form, let alone the expected pile of triplicate forms, during this whole ordeal. We never actually had to let go of our kiddos, and they'd been so quickly cared for that most of that popcorn remained untouched! In fact, every thing I'd dreaded about an emergency room visit had been nearly wiped away with reality.

The nurse had one more surprise for us. She handed each boy a popsicle as the doctor handed me a prescription for pain medication (so I could continue humane treatment every 6 hours, as needed). We were also given follow-up instructions with a Burn Specialist appointment in a couple of days.

In just over an hour, we had entered and exited the emergency room on a Monday night. Our son was well cared-for, and on his way to a full recovery. He now loved hospitals, because he had a cool "glove" on one hand and a popsicle in the other, and was intensely proud of how everyone told him he was "Very Brave." We were able to stop by the pharmacy and still get home in time for a decent bedtime.

The days since this ordeal have proved just as good. Obi-2's hand is now almost fully healed, with no long-term injury or complications. Both boys think the Emergency Room (and hospital) were nothing to dread, a useful perception as it probably won't be the last time we end up there. We always figured Obi-2 would be the one to introduce us to the local ER, and I'm thankful that it's taken nearly 4 years of his life for our first experience.

Here's to your health & wellness!