As the mother of a preschooler, there are four words I feel like I say on repeat all day long. I'm talking multiple times a minute. The same four words. Can you guess what they might be? Maybe you find yourself saying them too...
Stop. Picking. Your. Nose.
Seriously. Stop picking your nose! I say it over and over and over and OVER again, but no sooner than I do and I see it's happening again. That sneaky finger is on a one-way trip to nose town. If it was possible, my son's finger would live inside his nose, always. What's up there that is so intriguing, I wonder?
It must be an exciting place to be, because no sooner than I ask my five-year-old to remove that finger from his nasal passage he's back in there digging for more. Who needs a fidget spinner when you have a nose?!
I was such a fool. I never thought I'd have a nose-picking child. Eeeewww. Not me. My child would have good manners from birth, because that's what I would teach him. Ha. Let's all take a moment to laugh at how clueless I was about the reality of having kids.
Even when he was a toddler, I was so proud that he wasn't a nose-picker. Then one day, that all just changed. It seems I have been defeated.
This child of mine, he will do anything to pick that nose of his. If he knows I'm watching, sometimes he will turn away so I can't see, and then he will continue to rummage around his snout with his back turned to me like nothing is going on. Or, he'll cover his face with one hand and blatantly mine away with the other right in front of me like he is somehow invisible. Why does he do this? It's so gross.
Do you know what's even grosser? Where that finger and the contents of his nose ends up. As soon as I say "Stop!" he wipes it on whatever is the closest thing to him - and I'm sad to say it's usually not a tissue.
Who needs a tissue when there's so many other viable options, like his sleeves, the cushions, his shirt, the wall, his pants, his socks, inside his pockets, or the table? Seriously, the list is endless. You name it, my son will try to wipe snot on it. I'm surprised he hasn't started eating it, too.
It's not about needing a tissue. I can load his pockets up with bunches, but no amount of tissues will fix this situation. My son is just extremely passionate about nose-picking. It's his hobby. He does it more than anything else. I always hoped my children would find something they truly loved to do, something like bike riding or art, or maybe they'd come to adore reading or perhaps sports.
That's not what my son wants in life though. He likes all those things, sure. But I bet you can guess where his true passion lies. That's right: nose-picking. Whether we're reading stories, eating dinner, playing board games or at a speech therapy appointment: he's knuckle-deep in nostril.
So on I go, repeating those four words at least four times a minute, annoying myself and all those in close enough range to hear my chant.
What are little boys made of? Snips and snails and puppy dog tails, that's what little boys are made of.
Little boys are made of snot.