Thursday, February 21, 2013

The Cranberry Snot Slug

Son: Daddy! I need a tissue!!

My son has yelled that phrase pretty much every twenty seconds for about two weeks. He's actually had some form of a cold for about a month. And - as you'd imagine - it came right after his mother made the comment that our family had come through Fall and Winter pretty much unscathed from any colds and sniffles. Since then we've had one pretty virulent cold and whatever the smeg that flu-thing was. My daughter still sounds like she smokes Gaulioses. Her mother frequently points to her sternum and says, "I can't get it to move!" before having another bloody good cough. She's been coughing with such ferocity that she now says her abdomen hurts.

But this morning that pleading, "please make this annoying snot stop" request took on new meaning. My wife had an early start at work today and the kids took that as incentive to try and get up at 5.15am. So I'd climbed back into The Big, Big Bed under the agreement that if I just lie there with a child squashed up on either side of me, then they won't get up and demand to watch the Canadian cartoon Being Ian downstairs. About twenty minutes later my son started a good, sneezing fit. He loudly begged me for a tissue and I obliged. But even in the low-light I could see something was slightly off. Looking down at the tissue in the grey-light - presumably to avoid re-wiping a wet, green blob across his face - I could see a dark spot, like a fain shadow on an X-ray. As he was wide awake I told him we should go downstairs and I carried the tissue with me. I popped into his room to get him some clothes and flicked the light on. There in my hand was a tissue loaded with a big, fat snotty blood clot. And I mean like someone had squirted a wet Craisin soaked in shitty quality ketchup so that the vinegar had separated from the tomato.

Downstairs he sneezed a few more times. Up have come more lumps of foul, bloody gunk. His demeanor could not be sunnier though. It's beginning to fade now into your standard snot/nosebleed. The only thing that punctured his blissful mood though was my two comments that, "you've got plurasy" (to which he angrily replied, "I do not have poo-wissy") and that he reminds of Val Kilmer in Tombstone hacking up lumps of TB. He didn't like that last one at all. Almost challenged me to a duel because of it, ironically.

Still he's fine at the minute. And as icky as it may be to be wiping very-faint red ooze from his nostril it doesn't top his sister's current favorite pastime. Firstly you should know that she loves picking her nose. At least judging by the quantity of time she spends digging around up there you'd be fair to make that conclusion. Bringing it up with her annoys her to such degree that she gets angry because she absolutely does not want to stop fiddling around. The night before last her obsessive brain-digging became so irritating that I told her that if I see her finger up her nose again I will not read another word of The BFG and she can go to bed without a story. Her mother offered her a tissue and told her about the joys of wrapping it around your finger and plowing that up there instead - finally pulling out whatever irritant is up there. I chipped in with the name Ghost Finger to make it more appealing. Our daughter refused such nonsense. Instead of agreeing to stop picking her nose she went for another tactic - explaining why it's so fantastic. The plan being that if she explained herself than not only would we agree that she can carry on at her leisure, but likely we three would sit there rooting about in our own noses and enjoying the hobby she's discovered.

The twist here is that she isn't picking her nose. Oh no - she did that hours ago. Instead she's working on a strange snowball principle wherein she's created an amalgamated snot-sphere and is rolling it around inside her nostril. In plain words she admitted that she likes putting her collected snot back in there as one big lump - and then pushing it around for no real good reason. This revolted her mother. So much so that she felt the need to tell her employees about it. I personally can empathize. I can see why that is appealing in it's limited sense. But I couldn't entertain myself that way because I'd become unbelievably irate if I accidentally allowed the booger-ball to roll off - leaving my nose naked and toyless. Still - we've implored her to find a different hobby. Preferably one that doesn't involve stuffing her own bodily wase back into the orifice it came from.

Time to take the garbage out...

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