First, a disclaimer: Band of Fathers does not purport to offer medical advice, so if your kid sticks something up her nose you should follow your instincts and do what’s right for the little one. But after a visit to the ER Friday evening (my two-year-old stuck a pomegranate seed up her nose), I wish I’d known the following before I went in.

If your kid sticks something up his/her nose, don’t panic! Also, don’t try to suck it out (e.g. with a turkey baster, nasal suction thingy, your own mouth, vacuum cleaner–my wife and I tried only one of the aforementioned). But do try to blow it out.

After a two-hour wait in the ER, the affable young doctor/intern recommended this the second he walked in and it worked in under a minute. First, don’t bother trying to calm the baby. She’s gonna freak out anyway. Make sure she’s sitting up (so that whatever you blow out can’t fall back in). Second, pinch the unobstructed nostril. Third, form a seal on the baby’s mouth and blow until you can hear air coming out of the blocked passage. Voila! The pomegranate seed came right out!

After we got home we found several similar articles on the Web, which means that we just didn’t Google properly before we went into the ER. I hope this little piece of advice saves you a trip.

What ‘medical home remedies’ have you discovered the hard way?

by contributor Matt Winkler

“Dad, remember when you told me that if a kid ever hits me, that I have your permission to beat him into the ground?”

(I did say that.) My eyes flick over my son – no evidence of injury, slightly out of breath from the two mile bike ride, bathing suit still wet from the town pond. “Tell me what happened.” Like dads have been doing for millennia, I listen patiently to a tale of pre-teen roughhousing that crossed the line. Luckily, in this story, an alert lifeguard saw my son backhand his new pal in the cheek. She blew the whistle and sent him home. “OK, now that doesn’t sound to me like self defense. Right? If you could rewind back to that moment, what else might you have done?”

“Well, I did warn him, if he didn’t stop I was going to hit him.” I give Logan a few minutes to consider an alternative strategy – one that didn’t involve threats and ejection from the park. With effort, he recalls hearing something about consulting an adult or walking away as the recommended methods of avoiding violent confrontation.

“That’s right,” I confirm, supportively. “So, you messed up. You lost your temper. You were out of line. You’re human, you’re going to mess up. Now, you have to do the hardest thing a man has to do: admit you did something wrong, and try to make it right.” For some reason, I’m sure that I’m quoting John Wayne. I’m sure that all red-blooded American men have heard or given this speech at least once in their lives.

Despite his pleas to the contrary, I drive him back to the pond. Hopefully, such uncomfortable and immediate consequences will give him pause next time. Along the way, I coach him to accept responsibility like a man, without equivocating. Apologize, and promise that it won’t happen again. He sweats bullets during the short drive.

We meet the five-foot tall, sixteen-year-old lifeguard who kicked him out. She tells us that Logan’s pal, Aaron, was bleeding, restates the rules, admonishes Logan again, and passes the buck to her boss in terms of punishment. I hold Logan’s shoulder as he absorbs all this, and I nod to her that she’s doing a good job. I park Logan at the picnic table, and he is visibly shocked to learn that he drew blood. The boss isn’t around, and neither is Aaron, so we head home. Logan sends him a note on Facebook.

The next day, we return to talk with the Rec Park boss, who looks like a young middle-school teacher who does this as a summer job. He gives the story a level hearing and determines that Logan’s contrition is sincere. We head home, the hard part over. “Now, wasn’t it much better to face it and settle it, rather than avoid it and worry about it?” Logan nods, relieved. The whole thing has worked out so neatly, like some Brady Bunch episode. But still, I hope that Aaron’s parents (whom I’ve never met) aren’t filing a lawsuit.

The day after, Logan sees Aaron at the pond and apologizes. “It happens,” Aaron shrugs, brushing it off. And like billions of boys before them, they resume roughhousing.

Since “turning the other cheek” doesn’t work so well in the modern age, how do you teach your kids to deal with fighting?

by Matt Ledoux

The photo you’re looking at got me in trouble. I thought it would be funny: pregnant woman cooking while sitting on a stool. Funny, right?

No. It was not funny. Not for one of us at least. In fact, it kind of became a small issue. We sorted it out because we love each other. (And because I gave her a foot rub.) But just a warning to those of you who have pregnant wives: after 7 months even funny things become far less funny to them.*

*This photo was not staged. My wife is cooking chicken with artichokes. It was very tasty. and I appreciated it very much (see how sensitive I am?).

What bone-headed moves did you make with your super-pregnant wife?

by M. Gallagher

I would like to point you in the direction of some required reading for expecting fathers:

1.  The Godfather – Mario Puzo
2.  Escape from Alcatraz – J. Campbell Bruce
3.  Hamlet – W.S.
4.  The Morning Bride “Hell has no fury like a woman scorned” – William Congreve
5.  Love Your Kids, Prove It By Beating Them – Unknown
6.  How To Make Your Child A Hollywood Star – Unknown
7.  Children of the Corn – Stephan King
8.  Knock-Out Blackjack (The easiest card counting system devised) – Vancura & Fuchs
9.  The Exorcist – William Blatty
10. The New Complete Joy Of Home Brewing – Charlie Papazian

What real or imagined titles would you add to this list?

Yes, you’ve likely seen/heard about this a million times. Consider this a million and one. It may just be the only worthwhile twitter out there.

Shit My Dad Says

A small sample:

“No presents goddamit. I’m turning 74. I don’t need you to commemorate that with a fucking Barnes and Noble gift card.”

“I just want silence. Jesus, it doesn’t mean I don’t like you. It just means right now, I like silence more.”

“The baby will talk when he talks, relax. It ain’t like he knows the cure for cancer and he just ain’t spitting it out.”

Baby has a routine. When she goes down for a nap, she gets 5 oz. of warmed milk in a bottle. (No, we still haven’t broken her of that at 16 mos). Every time I prepare it, I either put a bit too much or a bit too little milk in the pan. So, this week I took an awl (a.k.a. phillips head screwdriver) and hammered a small divot into the side of the two little pans we use for this task.

The divot is unobtrusive (you might be able to see it in the picture at right just below the spout), but I use it as a guide for a perfect pour every time.

What little shortcuts are you creating to keep from going baby-insane?