Finger Food

If you’re an adult, you probably know the pain of ‘What to do for dinner?’ 

If you’re not an adult, you probably know the pain of ‘Who’s going to make dinner?’ 

Regardless of where you are, there is some effort involved with the evening meal preparation. You gotta know what you want to eat. You gotta either have gone shopping, go shopping, or have the stuff. Plus, if you’ve been working all day, you’re tired, and the last thing you wanna do is do more work just so you can eat. Not to mention the whole cleaning up afterwards… 

With all the chaos that can come with being an adult and trying to have (and keep) a budget, not that long ago, my wife decided to try one of those meal delivery services. It was good. The company was Every Plate, and we liked it. The recipes were simple, and everything was basically premeasured and ready to go.

Another reason we opted for this was that our youngest, now a legal adult, was feeling unsure about her culinary skills (and she has more time at home than my wife and I do). The three of us talked it over, and we all agreed that this would be a good plan. At the beginning of a week, the three of us would decide what we wanted to eat, order it, and Aurora would cook the meals. No more stresses—well, a considerable amount of less stresses.

At first, there were some rough patches along the learning curve. How the food was shipped. When it would arrive. How it would arrive. What to expect in the boxes. And, of course, Aurora’s nervousness about the details of cooking a meal. Now, to be fair, Aurora and I have cooked before. She has already learned the culinary basics, but full meal preparations… That’s a little different.

Still, the idea was a good one. Aurora would get to practice meal preparations and finesse her cooking skills. Cindy and I wouldn’t have to worry so much about shopping for meal foods. The time of day that we ate would become more reasonable. It was a win, win, win.

For months, this was the routine. Weekly planning. Food ordered and delivered. Aurora would cook. Cindy or I would clean up. It was going splendidly. Then we changed things a little. We stopped ordering (not because of the food, it was all good. we just needed to save some money). Regardless of the ceasing of the dinner-in-a-box delivery, we had built up a rather plentiful collection of recipes that we could draw from. Now came a great and unexpected second part of the master plan: Budgeting.

Each week, Aurora and I have gone to the store and discussed priorities and pricing. She was gaining a much better understanding of shopping by being forced to work with a set budget and learning more about what can wait and what can’t—and why. It was all going perfectly well. Then, Saturday came along.

Three Saturdays past, the three of us were deciding what we were going to do for food both on that day and the tomorrow (Sunday). Ultimately, pizza was relegated to Sunday, and we decided to make penne pasta with zucchini. The zucchini was homegrown from my garden and had a slightly tougher hide than the knife was used to. I know what I wrote.

Despite my attempts to teach my children knife safety and usage, sometimes accidents still happen. I have knicked myself a time or two… Maybe not always with a knife… But, still, that’s beside the point. The point is, sometimes things just happen. And this just happened.

I was in the other room when I heard the yell, the knife drop, and my daughter scream. I moved quickly to the kitchen to see what had occurred. Aurora had cut her finger deep. Real deep. Cindy had already gotten her left index finger under running water to clean it up (and out) as well as temporarily packed it with a paper towel. By the time I got there, Aurora was sobbing angrily at the situation and pain. I was scared to find out how bad it might be. The amount of blood appeared too much for a simple small nick.

Knowing what probably needed to be done, I went and got some super glue and some bandages. Both would be used. It is one thing to self-doctor. It is something else to doctor your child. I know how much pressure to put on me. I know how deep to dig into a wound with me. I know these things from years of personal experience. Doing it to my children has never been easy. This was going to be no exception.

As I peeled the paper towel away, the white gave way to more and more red. This made me more and more nervous. Eventually, I found the slice. It was pretty long. Pretty deep. Pretty cleanly done. So far, so good. If you don’t understand that, I don’t know what to tell you. A clean cut, without ripped flesh, heals quickly and well. Okay, maybe I do know what to tell you. Anyway, I got my tools of the trade ready. Impromptu surgery was about to begin.

“Nurse, hand me my super glue…”

Yes, you read that correctly.

See, what we now know as ‘super glue’ has had a short, but interesting origin. It started out as an attempt to make clear gun sights. It later was discovered to be a very sticky glue stuff. Eventually, it found its way to field medics in Vietnam and was used as emergency ‘stitches’. Having known the last part of this, I have had super glue in my medical arsenal for years. I usually prefer the gel form, as it can be placed in ‘controlled’ shapes instead of pooled I-hope-it-works patches.

Unfortunately, the blood just kept pouring out, and I wasn’t getting a spot where I could put some glue. So, I just had to go for it. I prepped a bandage and poured glue over the center—which was also the highest point—of the cut, and quickly wrapped the bandage around it all. Then, I watched. No blood was oozing out (at any speed). Success!

It was after all this that Aurora explained how she had been holding the zucchini wrong and using the duller knife, and… That’s when I reminded her of how dull knives are more dangerous and pointed to her finger as evidence as to why. She sat in the kitchen, and Cindy took over the meal prep. No blood in the food, and we still needed to eat. So, why not?

As the three of us talked and worked (Cindy cooked, I repaired a chair, Arora sat), the kiddo said, “Whew. Hot flash.” I knew what was coming next, but hoped it wouldn’t. I calmly emptied our dry-garbage garbage can (boxes and containers, no wet stuff) into our outside bin and then set the can in front of the trauma patient for her to use. Just in time.

She didn’t throw up much. But she did, just the same. Cindy suggested that we move her to the nearby front room, where Aurora could ride out the shock.

“Shock?” She was shocked about the shock, “I’m in shock?”

“It’s mild.” We both calmly informed her. I remind her that her body hasn’t been traumatized enough to be comfortable with it. She wasn’t used to it like I was.

“Used to it?” Aurora began, “What do you mean by ‘used to it’. How often has this kinda thing happened to you…?”

I cut her off (I know what I wrote), “Have I told you about…?” And then I proceeded to tell her about how I almost chopped off my finger with a hatchet at a Boy Scout camp. She just laughed at it and rolled her eyes. She has heard enough of my stories to know that her father had some close calls.

Eventually, everything settled down, and Aurora felt better. The three of us ate, and the food wasn’t bad. However, it was lacking something… Beef. I had been craving beef for hours. Next door to one of the places I work is a butcher. For almost two hours before I came home, I was breathing in delicious barbecue odors. I needed dead cow. And we had planned on getting some groceries anyway. Off on the errands!

Aurora was up to the galavanting about town, and we brought a small puke bucket in case not all was fully well. There were no incidents of vehicular vomit—this time. We stopped at a Burger King for me (don’t judge) and the grocery store. All in all, not a bad day.

Over the next few days, the wound was carefully looked over. I tested for sensation to ensure minimal—if not no—nerve damage was done. Every time we checked: Negative. No signs of permanent damage. We had some fun flecking off the layers of blood-infused glue, now detaching from her fingers.

The laceration is now fully healed. No infection. Nominal nerve damage (in one teeny-tiny, very small area). Nominal (if no) scaring. Not bad.