Published on November 12th, 2013 | by Richard Black0
Why I Will Not Be Posting About Potty Training Today or Tracking Turds through the Second Floor of My House
My initial post today was going to revolve around my thoughts on toilet training a toddler and, quite frankly, how amazing I am as a parent despite tracking a turd all over the second floor of my house. That story will have to wait.
Instead let’s play a little game. I’ll give you a few hints and you, dear reader, get to guess what through a wrench into my original plans.
Your clues are:
- A set of safety tweezers
- A set of non safety tweezers
- A puffy sticker the size of a button battery
- My daughter’s nasal cavity
For my less astute readers, and just for shits and giggles, I’ll connect the dots.
After stomping around in feces for the morning, washing dishes and then cleaning four metric tons of laundry my daughter came to me in tears.
“Sticky in nose. Sticky in nose,” she screamed.
My daughter often flips out when anything in liquid form hits her skin; water, milk, phlegm. Hopefully she’ll feel that way about boys in the future but that’s another story in the making.
As I’m chiseling bits of food off the kitchen tile my daughter rounds the corner into the room in distress with the aforementioned sticky in the nose. Given the number of things a sticky could include I quickly ransacked my memory for the appropriate toddler to English thesaurus and conclude that Darcy needs to blow her nose. And boy did she ever.
After giving her a tissue and asking her to blow in the ineffectual way that toddlers do without resolving the problem I went in for a closer look. There seemed to be something in her right nostril.
I couldn’t get a good look at the obstruction and hauled out the 40,000 kilowatt flashlight I keep in the basement in the event I’m attacked by a vampire or just feel like seeing the inside of my femur. I turned on the torch and gave a brief burst of light up my daughter’s nose to give me a good look and her face a good base tan next summer.
Sure enough there was something up there and I did what any man would do in the same situation and called my wife.
Unfortunately the Mrs. was in a meeting and couldn’t answer.
I took a number of deep breaths to center myself and then ran immediately upstairs for a pair of safety tweezers that didn’t exist. I ran back downstairs with a set of decidedly non safety tweezers, thought better about rooting around in Darcy’s sinuses with a pointy object and asked her to blow her nose.
She responded with the usual way kids her age do, a halfhearted attempt with her mouth open that provides no pressure in nasal cavity to get anything done. To make matters worse I saw the object, whatever it was, make a slow inevitable retreat back towards my daughter’s brain.
in desperation, and a bit of inspiration, I poked Darcy in the stomach with one hand and covered her left nostril with the other. The offending object shot out of her nose with the force of a Howitzer blasting out a shell and into my lap. In addition to a substantial amount of mucus on my shirt was a sticker, a puffy glittery sticker, about the size of a button battery that Darcy wanted to stick in her nose for “decoration”.
After repeated questioning over the past six or seven hours Darcy has never given me a satisfactory response as to why shoving a sticker into her nose was a good idea.
“That was bad,” is the only response I get.
At the end of the day I suppose I can live with that answer. I’ll never know why she thought it might be a good idea to jam a sticker up her nose. God knows it could be worse. Out of the list of things I don’t want to see in Darcy’s nasal cavity stickers are at the bottom.
As I put her to bed I asked her what she learned today.
“Unicorns are good for me,” she said and then continued, “I don’t like things in my nose,”
I gave her a kiss and a hug, put a blanket over her and said.
“If you think that’s bad then don’t ever try snorting a line of crystal meth.”
After all you can’t plant the seed about the dangers of substance abuse too early.