March 19th, 2008
It started with my baby. She of the perpetual snot geyser. Then, it migrated to my husband, me, and finally, my oldest (above, you can see Toots trying to manually stem the flow of mucous from her sister by WWFing her head).
Now, it’s everywhere. We got snot on tissue, snot on shirts, on high chairs, and the especial de la casa, smeared in snail trails on couch cushions.
Mucous is most troublesome for Toots. She hates to blow her nose, so to make it fun, I made up a game where she’s a baby bear currently embroiled in a heated booger-blowing contest with a baby skunk, opossum and cheetah, who sadly took a wrong turn out of the savannah and ended up in the woodlands. (Picture book alert!)
And as far as snot competitions go, Toots isn’t bad. Plus it’s nice that sometimes she lets the skunk win.
With my youngest, snot is a whole other ballgame. Booger blows robustly, with gusto and verve. She blows at the slightest provocation, and even broadcasts her annoyance by velocirating her snot out of both nostrils at warp speed.
Then, in an alarming development, I um…, well I saw Booger take a booger out of her nose and chew on it happily, as if savoring a fine chocolate.
That to me is exactly like dogs who eat their own poo. Except I have to kiss this person, and I cannot swat her with a shoe.
I wish I would stop talking now.
p.s. I couldn’t help it.