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!

not speaking

I'm still not speaking. Technically, I am... but only when I have to. When I do try to speak, my voice is small & scratchy-painful sounding. When I don't, I have gotten quite good at pantomime & general hand gestures (no, not those hand gestures!)

I've had 5 days without a real voice. Five. Days. I have been flat-out sick for a few of those days, though today I'm finally able to get up and around a bit. I'm still hardly able to talk. Five days without reading stories. Five days without singing. Five days of headaches. Five days of missing most of the noisy, silly moments in our life, and five days without laughing out loud. Five days of drinking twelve million cups of tea (which may only be a slight overstatement).

Five days isn't a long time, but it's long enough, in my opinion.

I've learned some rather ugly things about myself, in the midst of my silence...

1. I raise my voice to get the attention or obedience of my children. This must happen more often than I realized. Far. Too. Often. Hopefully we've built some good new habits over the past five days.
2. I am not a very sympathetic sick person. When Mr. Kenobi came down with a similar cold a couple days ago, I actually felt annoyed with him for getting sick at the same time as me. As if I have "dibs" on sick time around here.
3. I do not like sitting quietly, nor laying down, especially for long periods of time. I get cabin fever easily.
4. I am willing to watch TV, even when I'm not interested in the show.
5. I have a limited attention span for chicken soup.

On the other hand, I've learned some really beautiful things about people around me. My neighbors are gems; they've taken the boys to school, play dates, and generally out of the house so I could rest. They've offered dinner and grocery trips. I love living here! Moreover, in the midst of being sick, I've been nurtured and loved by my family. In particular, I was blessed by a sweet moment of thoughtfulness from Obi-1 yesterday.

It was around 8 am, and I dragged myself out of bed so I could get the boys ready to go (with a neighbor) to a kids' program. Mr. Kenobi was stuffed up and miserable, and didn't want to get out of bed. The boys needed breakfast. They also needed sack lunches made for later. They needed to get dressed. Mr. Kenobi needed some hot tea to help him find his way back to the land of the living. Somebody had to do all these things... NOW.

So, I grumpily pulled myself out of bed, coughed and wheezed downstairs, and put on some oatmeal for the boys and turned on the kettle for hot water. I tromped back upstairs, helped the boys get some clothes out of drawers & on their bodies, then pointed them to brush their hair. I collected their school bags, activity bags, and made sure I'd unloaded the old projects before they went back for refills. Barely able to whisper, I instructed the kids back downstairs for breakfast, and began fixing their lunches while brewing a cup of tea for Mr. Kenobi. The dishes hadn't been finished last night, so I started loading the dishwasher & cleaning the counter. I was grumpy, and sick, and tired. So tired, in fact, that I hardly noticed as Obi-1 watched me with great interest. Finally, he spoke...

"Mama, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting breakfast for you, making tea for Daddy, and trying to get things done so you can start your day."

"Are you sick, Mama?"

"Yes, honey. I am. But somebody needs to take care of this family." I hoarsely reasoned with a 5-year-old.

He was thoughtful a moment. Then, the gem: "but who will take care of you, Mama?"

That is the question, isn't it? Who will take care of Mama? I thought of all the times my own mother, and hers before her, and many mothers I know, have struggled through illness or exhaustion to take care of others. This seems to be one of the least-glamorized pieces of motherhood. His question, and the thoughtful love behind it, moved my heart. He was worried about his Mama. Who would take care of her?

I struggled to give an adequate answer. "God will take care of me, sweetie. I'm going to be better, soon." I turned to continue the peanut-butter sandwiches, thinking my little Sunday School answer would satisfy him. Of course it didn't.

"But... who will make you tea?"

He is wise, that Obi-1. Wise, and loving. :)

The reality is, I do have to take care of myself. (Frankly, that's why I was sending him & his brother off with the neighbor and going back to bed soon.) The reason I got this sick was because I was going, going, going... 104 miles an hour, and a minor cold caught me in the midst of exhaustion. I knew I was more susceptible to illness when I'm pregnant, yet I didn't really stop to take care of myself.

Getting sick, and losing my voice, and having to be reminded of basic values by my five-year-old... Maybe the past five days weren't a total loss, after all. It is a good reminder about caring for my children & family. If I'm going to be of any good to the Kenobis, I need to be healthy. If I'm going to be healthy, some things will have to wait. Somebody has to take care of Mama, too.

ye of little voice

I do not have a voice.  

Perhaps more accurately, I have a very soft voice.  This is unusual, as I'm generally easy to hear (understatement) and frequently heard (although understood may be less frequent).   Right now, I can barely whisper.  My vocal chords have just ceased to function.  

This happens to me from time to time.  It's usually due to a combination of a cold, stress, feeling nervous about needing to speak in front of a group, and lack of sleep.  Check, check, check, and check.  So, while I'm slightly annoyed at my current predicament, I'm not too concerned.  It's nothing some rest and time won't cure.

I lost my voice on my wedding day.  It was highly ironic, considering it was the one day of my life that seemed really important to say something.  The mere fact that my voice was gone added to my nerves, which of course eliminated my voice altogether.  By the time of our evening wedding, I couldn't create more than a breath of sound.  Our pastor reassured me that he'd hold his microphone close to me during the vows...  and, he reasoned, God hears our hearts - not just our voices.  That part seemed highly philosophical to me at the time, and not very reassuring, so I was glad for the mic that meant at least my groom (standing inches from me and holding my hand) would be able to hear me say, "I do."

And so, as our wedding began and I entered a place one last time as a single woman, I remember feeling a rush of calm and joy.  From the moment I saw Mr. Kenobi standing a few short yards from me and married life, I no longer worried about details, or other people's happiness or accommodations, nor even how anyone might hear that I love this man and want to combine my life with his.   It was good.

So, I wasn't worried anymore when asked those fateful (and careful chosen) words of, "do you...?"  For the first time in nearly two days, I opened my mouth to speak and words came out - clearly, loudly, and enthusiastically.  I think I was as surprised as anyone, and especially because (with that lovely mic), it was really loud!  I Do.  I really, really, do.

With that, my voice came and went.  Like a divine provision, I was able to speak two words - highly significant and timely words - and then resume a scratchy, barely audible level of conversation for the remainder of the evening and weekend.  Friends and family mostly read my lips as I thanked them for being part of our celebration.  Parents hugged me and understood that I loved them, even if I couldn't say so out loud.  

In some marriages, a bride retains her vocal functions, but loses her voice after a wedding.  Many women around the world know this fate.  There are times when I wish I couldn't speak - or wouldn't have spoken - but I'm thankful to be allowed a strong, opinionated, and mostly joyous voice in my life and relationships.  I'm also afforded the gift of gracious ears from many others - especially Mr. Kenobi & the Obi's.

So, today my voice is gone.  Tomorrow, perhaps, I will speak again.

benefits of socialization

One of the most frequent benefits I hear about sending my children off to this program or that experience is "socialization."  Loosely defined, this is the knowledge of proper social interaction, appropriate friendship-building skills, empathy, appreciation of diversity, and ability to work together with others.  You know - the kinds of things you wish your coworkers had learned as children...

Anyway, I don't argue with the idea that it's good for my children (and everyone) to gain an appreciation for others, an ability to adapt, and an understanding that the world really doesn't revolve around them.  I'm not always sure these values are best taught in a classroom or on a field, but there are good also other good reasons to get out and get involved with others.

So, Obi-1 is at a local public school, enjoying a "pre-K" program immensely.  As far as we can tell, he's been learning all sorts of wonderful new things... Always a social bug, I've seen socialization work in ways I never considered.  Who would have thought I was depriving my child of important social skills (some of the same ones, in fact, which my own parents somehow kept from me!) - like every character's name & description from all six episodes of Star Wars (useful, I suppose, if he ever starts reading this blog?!), or fun facts about Pokemon cards, and words that he didn't know, but has seen by example that they are inappropriate (like "stupid" and "hate").  

What's more, his socialization has given him a new appreciation for diversity... in food.  He gets to try snacks that are from other cultures.  Some of these foods, he likes.  Other times, he prefers our options (case in point here).  

However, I was a bit unprepared to hear the that he no longer liked popcorn.  In readying for a recent "family movie night" in the Kenobi household, we thought the boys would be excited for fresh-popped corn.  Then the request came:

"I want cheese on it," announced Obi-1.

"What?  Cheese on it?  Hmmm..." I tried to figure out how we could grate a little parmesan or something to accommodate his request, only to be cut off with his specifics...

"Not that cheese.  I want orange popcorn.  Like we have at school."

Orange popcorn?  As in, orange-colored puffs of whatever-it-may-be.  As in, my son no longer likes real popcorn nearly as much as the manufactured stuff.  We, by design, don't have that around the Kenobi household.  Many of you have (privately perhaps, but often right in my living room) chided me about the values on nutrition around here.   When thinking about my children's need to appreciate diversity, I hadn't realized that this, too, is a benefit of exposure to other cultures & group dynamics.

Left out of a proper socialization opportunity like pre-K, he may never have tasted that orange popcorn.  It might not be the only benefit, but you have to admit that his life would be a little less-than-full without orange popcorn.

Okay... off with my sarcasm, now.  Just thought you might enjoy a laugh at me once in a while.

mamathree

The name won't change, but the household will.  The Kenobi's are having a baby this summer... and while our "real life" friends (hopefully) already know this, other readers may not have heard the news.

We are waiting until we meet Baby Fig (the current nickname) to find out if we'll have a daughter/sister or son/brother.  So, for those of you who are itching to send us pink or blue items, well... hold onto it a while longer.  I'm not one to decorate a nursery or stock up on a brand-new layette, anyway

I'll admit, not knowing our baby's gender before he or she arrives does raise some interesting challenges.  For instance, we've now used two of our favorite boy names.  The list of potential names seems a bit shorter and more difficult this time around.   Plus, more people seem to have imput this time.  Obi-2 wants to name a baby "Goliath."  Mr. Kenobi likes "Obadiah."  I share this because neither will make the short list!   For fun with current events and biblical trivia, we've told some of our more "red state" friends that we're looking at Judges 4 for names.

Anyway, we won't call our children "Obi" in real life around here.  It is a good bet, however, that Baby Fig will be featured here as "Obi-3," thus continuing on our long and odd tradition on this blog.  If you're wondering why in the world we ever started this tradition, enjoy a little review...

Here's to growth!

-MamaToo