When I found out that Compassion International had a group of bloggers in Kenya this week, I had to come out of hiding briefly to let you all know – and to put up a link on the right here for you all to check it out yourself.

Our family sponsors a child in Kenya, one whom we consider a part of our family, whom we pray for every day.

I encourage each of you to read their stories and consider sponsoring a child. A truly small amount from us makes all the difference in their life.

Faithful readers, I want to let you know we will be taking a short break here at Being Michael’s Daddy.

But do not fear, for we shall be back in time, with plenty of musings, nattering, grumbles and witty repartee. And maybe even a few things that you’ll enjoy reading.

In the mean time, if you haven’t yet, please peruse the links I’ve placed to the left here. There are very good writers here and they always keep me entertained.

Upon picking up Michael from Ms S’s yesterday, I was for the third time this month presented with The Book.

I do not like being presented with The Book.

It is unpleasant. It is distasteful. It is wearying.

I lightly skimmed the words in the book, wincing at reading the narration of Michael’s unprovoked aggression toward his classmates. It was more than I could bear to read just then.

According to the book, and Ms S who was standing right in front of me relaying a more thorough account of the day’s meanness, Michael had found a piece of sharp plastic and brandished it against several classmates, scratching a few of them maliciously. When asked why, he gave no reason nor did he express remorse.

Later he was witnessed throwing a toy at another boy, claiming that the boy was “the new kid,” implying that he was establishing his dominance as an upper classman.

He was also overheard telling a little girl that she’s a loser, making her cry.

Reading that just made my heart sink.

If there’s anything I cannot stand, it’s a bully. And evidently that’s what I have here. Michael is exhibiting the behavior of bully and coward.

It scares me to think how this could progress, if it were to continue into his teen years. It scares me to think what sort of adult he could turn in to.

At home last evening, instead of getting choice time or after-dinner treats, he and I had a discussion.

I explained to him that what he’s doing is not only wrong, it’s hurtful and mean, and I won’t tolerate it. I told him I would not let him veer off course. He said he wants his friends to like him, and I told him that the best way to make that happen is to be a good friend to them. Being kind, giving, loving, generous, compassionate and sympathetic are the keys to winning friends.

Honestly, I’m at a loss to explain his behavior: where he learned it, what provokes it, why he continues it.

And I’m at an utter loss as to how to address it.

I just hope and pray that God gives me some insight, and that we can get him back on the right track.

Okay, kids, here’s a scenario: you walk into the bathroom, and just after you shut the door you notice there’s no toilet paper. The dispenser has an empty cardboard tube, and the spare rolls are all gone.

What will you do? What Will You Do?

True, you could use the facial tissue that’s in the box on the counter.

Or, you could even use the paper towels that are under the sink, even if it is going to be pretty uncomfortable.

Here’s a tip: go to the closet where the extra TP rolls are kept, and get a roll yourself! You know, the closet your mom & dad have directed you to repeatedly? Yeah, that one! It’s easy:

Step 1: Open the closet door.
Step 2: Reach for a roll. Any one will do.
Step 3: Firmly grasp the roll.
Step 4: Carry said roll to the bathroom.
Step 5: Unwrap roll, discard outer protective paper, place on dispenser hook.
Step 6: You’re ready to go.

Life skills, kids. They’re a good thing.

Last weekend I was transferring some old VHS video tape stuff to the computer in an effort to keep recorded history alive, ahead of the demise of the media upon which they’re recorded. I’ve still got old super-8 movies I have to transfer, as well as some cassette tapes. I’ll probably just have to give up on the wire recordings and wax cylinders. The clay tablets are holding up nicely though…

Anyway.

Michael and I were goofing around with the video camera and discovered the joy that is infinite video recursion.

Below is a small sample.

We actually burned about an hour and a half doing this. Sometimes the silliest things can be good diversion, particularly for a curious mind. Next week he’ll probably want to take the old video camera apart to see what’s inside.

It was errand time, and Michael and I were finishing out our trip at the grocery store. He’d been his usual animated self throughout our visit, chirping about this and that and asking a million questions. Finally at the checkout, I set the cart against the end of the counter like I always do, so the checker can put the bags in the cart and so Michael can’t reach the coin return, spray bottle or turntable switch that are unfortunately located right around there in the checkout counter.

As my last few items are being rung up, suddenly I hear Michael start to whimper softly: “It’s for me!”

I turned slightly to see what the matter was. He’s staring at the back wall, behind me. He repeated the phrase again, twice, each time with more urgency but just as softly: “It’s for me! It’s for meeeeeeee!”

His expression then contorted into one of utter despair, and he buried his face in his hands and wept.

“What?” I asked. “What’s for you? What is the matter?”

I tried to get him to talk to me. I looked back to see whatever it was that had his attention, and beheld nothing unusual: the back wall, a couple of store clerks, some books, a few empty carts. Nothing of any interest.

Michael continued to bawl.

“What is it? Michael, please use your words! Tell me what’s wrong!”

He would not respond to me at all.

Then, from behind, I hear the phrase. “…boy must have dropped it,” and turned around just in time to see one of those clerks hand Michael his small pink rubber ball, one that he had brought with him from home.

He clutched the ball tightly with both hands, and wiped his eyes with his sleeves.

“Why didn’t you tell me you dropped it? I would have gotten it for you,” I told him.

He remained wordless, sniffing back a few residual tears.

On the way out to the car, we talked about what happened, and how it could have been better.

“Michael, I didn’t know you dropped the ball. Do you understand? I was looking in a different direction, and didn’t see the ball drop. And the people that work at the store, they didn’t know the ball was yours at first. That’s why I asked you to use words, so you could explain what happened. Daddy can help if you explain what happened.”

What made sense to me was Michael’s point of view. I recall having this same sort of ego-centric viewpoint of the world when I was his age; the belief that everyone sees, hears and knows everything that I see, hear and know. His experience is the only real experience, and everyone shares it.

So it follows that if he dropped the ball, everyone should know that he did, and know that it’s his. He probably thought I was being mean by not caring that he dropped his ball, and that the store clerks were being mean for wanting to keep it because they picked it up and didn’t bring it back right away.

It’s just the stage he’s at right now, one that will be passed through on his way to the next stage, which will bring its own challenges. As he grows, learns and experiences, his model of the world expands and changes, and his behavior will adjust to accommodate it.

My job as a parent is to do my best to recognize those stages and to be right beside him to guide him on his way to the next one.

We practiced what he would do the next time something like that happens: he’ll use his words, he’ll tell me what happened. And, he says, it would be a better idea to just leave the ball at home so he doesn’t lose it.

I think he’ll be okay.

A few days after Christmas of 2008, Michael’s Mommy suffered a heart attack. By the grace of God, she lives to tell the tale. As a continual reminder of how your diet can affect your body, we here at Being Michael’s Daddy have declared the last Monday of the month to be “Myocardial Monday.” Here we’ll offer information about food and nutrition in hopes that it will help others avoid facing what could be a fatal condition. Yes, I know it’s not the last Monday of the month. I’ve been busy.

Today we’re going to explore a buzzword that seems to be one of the latest health concerns: inflammation.

What is inflammation?

Inflammation is a swell thing.

Actually, in many cases, it isn’t so swell.

Inflammation is your body’s response to injury: It’s sending in the cavalry. White blood cells are sent to an area where there’s an injury in the body. In some cases, you can see or feel the inflammation: sinus problems, arthritis, a welt on the hand, swelling from a bee sting. These white blood cells arrive at the scene, and move in, doing their work in preventing infection and releasing chemicals that fix things up.

So what? A little bump or a stuffy nose. What’s the big deal?

The problem occurs when there are inflammatory actions in blood vessels. When the inside of a blood vessel becomes inflamed, the swelling that occurs impacts the flow of blood through the vessel.

Imagine a busy street downtown mid day. A pot hole appears out of nowhere, and workers are dispatched to fix it up. What are they going to do? Shut down at least one lane of traffic. Now you have a traffic jam. Let’s hope the pothole doesn’t get any bigger, or they’ll have to close down two lanes – or worse – the whole street. And if so, let’s hope that street doesn’t lead to something vital, like, say, your heart. Or your brain. That would be the start of a really bad day.

Yikes, that’s horrible!

Oh, but it gets worse.

The injured areas inside blood vessels tend to snag LDL cholesterol that’s gliding along in the blood. As these little fat globs collect, they oxidize and explode, then build up and calcify, turning into plaque which then gets covered over with a layer of asphalt – err, scar tissue. This alone is enough to completely close off a vessel. And there’s your heart attack, embolism or stroke.

Isn’t there some way to roto-rooter them off?

You wouldn’t want that. If one of these little plaque bombs gets dislodged, it goes floating on down your blood stream in one big clump until it gets to a vessel it can’t squeeze through – which will cause a heart attack, embolism or stroke.

Hold on – ibuprofen reduces inflammation. Can’t I just take that?

For the occasional headache or muscle ache, yes. But not for this. Popping NSAIDs (non-steroidal anti-inflammatories) every day will actually have the opposite effect, as it interferes with your body’s ability to control its inflammatory response, which will ultimately make matters worse.

And it doesn’t stop there.

There are studies that link chronic inflammation with development of cancer, Alzheimer’s disease, diabetes, and a whole slew of health problems.

Take a look:

I’m doomed.

Now, now. Let us not abandon hope. I wouldn’t have brought you this far without offering the lifeline.

One of the best things you can do to fight the inflammation is adjust your lifestyle.

Eating the rights foods: Get plenty of Omega 3’s, like those in Salmon and cold water fish, flaxseed and walnuts; fiber in whole grains and fresh fruit; antioxidants found in fresh grapes, blueberries, broccoli and soy products. I’ve discussed Omega 3’s and fiber in past Myocardial Monday posts. I’ll get to the purpose of antioxidants in a future post.

Stay away from sugar, particularly high fructose corn syrup and white refined sugar. Not because they’re so horrible in and of themselves, but because they’re so easily absorbed and bring nothing with them to help the body deal with them.

Sugar? What’s that got to do with inflammation?

Glad you asked. But you’ll have to wait until next time, when I discuss Type II Diabetes, and the horror that is sugar.

Studies indicate that turmeric may prove helpful in preventing buildup of atherosclerosis, or blocked arteries. It lowers LDL and inhibits its oxidation, which is good: oxidized LDL is what sticks to artery walls and causes blockage. By the way, it’s pronounced “TER – mer – ick”, not “TOO – mer – ick”. But whatever.

Inflammation may sound like a fairly innocuous issue, but being aware of it is critical. While it is a normal body process, when it gets out of control it can cause all kinds of problems. Just a few little adjustments can make a huge difference in the length and quality of your life.

The part of each weekday morning that I dislike the most is, without question, assembling Michael’s lunch. I’ve mentioned this before.

Yesterday’s episode went like this:

Daddy: “Michael, what do you want for lunch?”

Michael: (no response whatsoever)

Daddy: “Sometime today, please.”

Mommy: “How about fish fingers?”

Michael: “Yeah, fish fingers. That sounds good.”

Daddy: “How many?”

Michael: “Five. Five is good.”

Daddy: “Five fish fingers it is.”

So I cooked them a bit to crisp them up, then sealed them in a travel container and packed them up next to another container filled with ketchup, and some cheez-its and grapes.

I figured he’d have a nice little lunch there, and I had successfully survived another morning of getting him ready for school.

Imagine my delight this morning when I went to find his lunchbox (I never know where it’s going to be left from one day to the next) and discovered all five fish fingers intact. Daddy was not pleased.

Daddy: “Michael! I’m not very happy with you! You didn’t eat those fish fingers at all!”

Michael: (no response whatsoever)

I did note that the cheez-its and grapes were gone. Well, he enjoyed that part. And most of the ketchup was gone too. So… he dipped the grapes and cheez-its in ketchup?

Hmmm.

Today he got slices of ham, grapes, pretzels and carrots. I put protein in his lunchbox, but I cannot force him to eat it. I can’t pack peanut butter, even though he loves that, because of the nut allergy there at his school. I can’t pack cheese, because he loathes it. Even when it’s being eaten by someone else, clear across the room. And I can’t just pack a baggie full of Cocoa Puffs because I’m sure someone would eventually report me to DCFS or something.

I can’t wait until next year, and the thought of public school hot lunch saving me from this task. Packing cash for lunch is easy.

As I’m making dinner, the kids are all playing Beatles Rock Band.

They’re really good at it; even Michael joins in, playing the drums sometimes and other times singing. He’s actually got a pretty accurate voice, and considering the fact that he can’t actually read the lyrics, he gets most of the words right.

And as they played, it occurred to me that the Beatles songs are around 40 years old.

Who’d have thunk that kids would be enjoying songs that were popular more than a generation ago?

To follow the logical thought along, if we’d had the Wii back in 1980, my brothers and I probably would have been playing “Glenn Miller Big Band”. And we’d be saving up our money for “Clarinet Hero III”

Amazing what technology can do. That, and the Beatles are just way cool, and always will be.

While a vast portion of the United States is being buried in snow, here in Oregon it’s sunny and warm-ish.

So there’s no excitement in the weather.

I heard that Illinois got hit with a respectable earthquake last night, and lived to tell the tale.

And while we didn’t exactly have an earthquake, we did have some small adventure.

See… lately, Michael has been doing really well with staying dry all night. Like his sisters and his daddy did when they were his age, Michael has had trouble with his bladder when sleeping. Not a huge deal, but it is a hurdle to overcome. The last couple of weeks he’s hit about an 80 to 90 percent success rate. We were thinking we’d be able to ditch the pull-ups completely pretty soon.

But he’s had the occasional accident. These come on the heels of two or three successful nights in a row, when we try to see if he can make it without a pull-up.

And for the last three nights in a row he’s been dry in the morning, and I’ve been hopeful but cautious. So of course when I put him to bed last night, even though I meant to, I forgot to put a pull-up on him.

Harmonically converging with this scenario is the work schedule Michael’s mommy has had. Yesterday she worked from noon until 10:30 in the evening, and after an hour’s drive home, she’s pretty tired. Since she had to repeat the same work hours the next day, it follows that she was planning on sleeping in.

So it comes with no surprise that at 1:15 AM a very wet Michael stumbles into our room crying, waking both of us up from our sound slumbers.

His mom got him new jammies while I gave him a shower. Then I had him snuggle with his mom while I changed his sheets.

Fortunately, he went back to bed and fell asleep right away.

So… nothing earth-shattering, monumental, traumatic or shocking… just a typical night with one mistake coupled with bad timing that resulted in some lost sleep.

It could have been much worse. There could have been spiders.