My youngest son is picky. Let me explain how picky. When we were at Disneyworld when he was four, he made up a chant. “I like pizza, I like macaronis, I like trees (broccoli), and I LIKE CHICKEN.” Since that time, we have eliminated two items from that list without adding any new ones.
Last Thursday morning he woke up at four a.m. complaining of an earache. I gave him some Tylenol, sent him back to bed, and then, two hours later when he woke up feeling okay, I made the mistake of sending him to school. From what I gathered from witnesses on scene, he basically wreaked havoc for two hours. I went to pick him up and offered my sincerest apologies. Turns out he had an ear infection. The doctor prescribed antibiotics.
Like I said in the first sentence way up at the top, my son is picky. He hates the bubble gum taste of liquid antibiotics. It was lunchtime when we got home. I made him a grilled cheese. (By the way, I make an awesome grilled cheese. He might eat half of it. Picky!) Then I made a horrible mistake. Since he hated the taste of the medicine, I decided to make it taste better. I poured a half cup of grape juice and added the medicine. Turns out, he hated that EVEN more. Now we were stuck with a dose in juice. So as not to waste it, I engaged in a epic battle of wills for the better part of an hour,,,,, with a seven year old. It was brutal. There was yelling, crying, and coercing. And that was just me. Eventually he took it, but the battle nearly cost me my sanity. I have never before felt like joining one of those Tibetan monasteries. After that, it seemed like a preferable way to live. Sitting there on the couch next to my son, who was now contentedly watching TV, my mind started to wander.
There I stood at the large ornamental doors of a mountaintop monastery. I used the extra large door knocker. The door was answered by a small monk of indeterminate age.
“Hi, my name is Marc, and I’m interested in joining your religion, support group, cult, or whatever it is you do here.”
“Do you seek enlightenment?”
“I mostly seek to not have to medicate a resistant seven year old again. Ever.”
“We can offer you time for peace and meditation.”
“That sounds remarkably similar to the hour of TV I get to watch after the kids go to bed.”
“We have no TV here.”
“Oh, I’m not too worried about that. As long as there are no seven year olds with ear infections. Also, I hope you have a good cook.”
“There are no children here. The last one of us to be sick was brother Balmohan, but that was twenty five years ago when he turned eighty. He was able to cure himself with the power of his mind. Our meditation keeps us remarkably healthy. And yes, our cook is good.”
“Sounds great. I’m in. What’s the WIFI password?”