Sadly, many of the things I say as a parent no longer shock me. There once was a time when the words, "Your finger was where?!?", "Don't put that near the cat's butt..." and "Can you explain to me why you'd put those rocks in your mouth?" used to make me actually stop and ponder my situation for a few moments...not any more. Don't get me wrong, I can still be amused by these scenes, but I'll never more experience that briefest of pauses and wonder to myself, "Did I really just say that aloud?".
One of these days, I'll actually strike an event off my bucket list and compile these wonderful stories into a book of sorts. It's my dream actually. I grew up reading Erma Bombeck. That lady was funny! I loved how she had this brilliant outlook on every day life. I hope I bring that kind of warm hilarity into our household. It's with that type of fond memory I'd like to relay my most recent non-cause for pause.
I was sitting on my throne...doing what all queens do: taking five seconds to power pee while I was ensured I'd have some privacy (meaning everyone was still at the dinner table). In my hasty grab for the TP, my eyes laid upon what I think might qualify as the world's biggest booger (I think Guinness will be hard pressed to beat this sucker out). Wiped. On. My. Wall. Really? I sigh.
As a mom, I know most of what happens in my house...even when the kids think I'm not looking and my husband thinks I'm not listening. What I've not picked up on first hand, I can usually deduce fairly accurately. I have my suspicions...and I march back into the dining room with them.
I sidled up to my oldest, who is a habitual non-nose blower. "Sweetheart, I'm not saying you did or did not stick your finger up your nose, pull out a giant booger and wipe it on my wall. I'm not looking for any remark or any explanation, in fact - I implore you not to provide any. What I am looking for, or maybe I should better say, what I hope to NEVER look for again is a booger of giant or any other proportions wiped on my wall or any other surface in this house. I would then suggest that if nose picking is a hobby of choice, that it is probably best done in one's own room, with the door closed and where the fruits of one's labor can be carefully wiped inside the Kleenex that might have been used in lieu of blowing."
I walked out on my daughter and husband staring at me, dumbfounded and went off in search of my younger two Things. I found them conspiring to overthrow our parenting tyranny in the hallway.
"Yo. Either of you hear what I just said to your sister?"
"Yes, you told her not to pick her nose and wipe the boogers on the bathroom wall."
"Astute translation of my tirade. Same goes for the both of you, with the addendum - everything I said before and then wash your hands."
"YUCK! Who would pick their nose and NOT wash their hands?!?!"
"Indeed. Carry on."
It's only now, that I can sit and appreciate that in my quest not to angrily blame anyone for said booger painting, I at least discovered my kids wash their hands after they dig for gold. Nice to know some of the life lessons you impart stick.
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