Congenital Heart Defect Week: Tyson's Story

I wish I knew a lot less about congenital heart defects than I do.

For example: Congenital heart defects are the number one cause of birth defect-related deaths, and the leading cause of ALL infant deaths in the United States.

My son is one of the lucky ones. He’s a survivor. And it only took one open-heart surgery -- so far; he’s facing the potential of another this summer -- to set him on the path to good health.



Tyson at one of his many doctor visits. He can even giggle about them these days.

 

We know it could have been worse. When he was diagnosed, we read the heartbreaking stories of survival rates, painful surgeries and, in some cases, parents being faced with the ultimate loss. 
 
And we personally know families that have gone through much more traumatic experiences: Here’s the story of a fellow teacher in Brooke’s district. Please take the time to read it.

To say life isn’t fair is an understatement. No 7-month-old should have to go through that. No family should have to go through that.
 

This is Congenital Heart Defect week. I’m not going to preach to you. If you don't know Tyson's story, you can read it in my previous blog posts. I’m not one to really buy into these “awareness” events. 

But once you’ve been through something, you feel an allegiance to it. So this is my contribution to the effort. If it causes you to think a little more about families in this situation, or to make a small donation to the research that helps "heart babies," I’ll consider my job done.
 

My son is a daily walking reminder of congenital heart defects. This week, we’ll put him in his heart-embroidered,“Chicks Dig Scars” shirt and hope someone asks what that is all about.

We have a story to tell and this is a good week to tell it.
 

It will start with the words, “Well, we are really lucky…”

The Secret to Enjoying Your Cheese Coneys with Kids in Tow

After doing this for three years and two kids now, I think there is one area where I have parenting down pat:

The dreaded dinner out.

No, I don’t have the perfect make up for the either sorrowful or angry stares you receive when your 3-year-old daughter melts down because just the tiniest sliver of ketchup touched her cottage cheese or when your 18-month-old son throws a fit because he wants to hold his own cup and doesn’t like your parental attempts to save the restaurant from flooding.

But I am a fast eater. I mean really fast. And if there is anything I have learned as a parent of toddlers, it is that you have a very short window when eating out. You basically need to plan your get-away while being seated and ask for the check as soon as your food reaches the table. Otherwise, you are playing with fire. And I mean fire of the worst kind: a complete melt-down-by-a-3-year-old fire.

I used to be one of those single guys who ate out by himself, quietly reading the paper in between trips to the buffet bar. I hated when my Frisch’s fish sandwich was interrupted by the temper tantrum of a 2-year-old. I looked on in disdain at the parents who couldn’t keep their kids under control in a public place.

No more.

I now know that there is no controlling the emotions of a toddler. The littlest things set them off and getting them back on course is more difficult than moving Disneyland to Ohio.

Threaten to take them to the car? Three things are going to happen. First, they are going to escalate and get louder at the thought of losing the privilege of eating out. So your situation actually worsens. Two, all eyes will be on you when you carry a kicking and screaming toddler from the restaurant. Embarrassing. Three, you are going to miss your dinner.

Those who know me know I don't like missing dinner.

Threaten punishment at home? As “soon as we get out of here, I’m going to…” Good luck. They will have long forgotten the incident and punishment will be a moot point. You can’t learn if you don’t remember why you are being punished. Children have the attention span of a gnat.

The best thing you can do is prevention. Get out of there before a melt-down happens.

I am one of the fastest eaters you will ever meet. When I was a kid, we were poor. Hot dogs were a regular meal. Hot dogs come in packs of eight. There were five members of our family. I can guarantee my dad was getting a second dog. The other two were up for grabs to the fastest eaters.

I learned young.

So when it comes to restaurants, my wife and I have a game plan. We sit down and immediately ask for the kids’ food. That gets delivered first and we hope it holds their attention. When our food comes, we immediately ask for the check. We sometimes have to explain our “short window” to the server, but most of the time they get it. They either have their own kids, or they are thankful we are willing to get out of there before the floor under our table is covered with Splenda packets.

Then I do my thing. I eat like Hannibal Lector at the county morgue. My fork flies fast and furious. Just about the time the kids are starting to get antsy, I am cleaning the last bit of Skyline chili off my plate.

Then, it is wait-and-see time.

If we all get to stay at the table until the wife is finished, that is a bonus. We just enjoyed a nice family dinner. But if one of the kids is on the verge of a Tasmanian Devil impersonation, I am free to swoop them up and run for the car as fast as possible, leaving my lovely bride – and our fellow diners -- the luxury of a peaceful meal.

Voilà! There you have the Gregg secret to eating out.

Parents-to-be, take heed. Start practicing now. Study the menu for the shortest cooking times. Learn what goes down smoothly and what will take time to eat. (This is no time for crab legs, for Heaven’s sake!) Know what restaurants have the best items of distraction, or bring them with you. (We have even been known to bring the iPad.)

You heard it here first. Bon Appétit!