The funny thing about noses is that they have a surprising storage capacity. I don’t mean just your usual selection of booger varieties, I’m talking about how, with a bit of effort and some grim determination, you can fit a variety of everyday household items up there so deep that your eyes will water and your legs will stop working properly.
I’m pretty sure when I was a kid I ended up peeing with laughter all over my A-Team shorts when my younger brother decided to jam half a Crayola up his hooter and then couldn’t get it out. The sight of my mother trying to wrangle a crochet hook up his nose to dig out the lump of yellow crayon and trying hard to reassure him whilst also muttering about what a silly little bastard he was nearly broke me, and I’m pretty sure I was packed off to my grandparents’ house before my laughing pushed her into a crochet related stabbing frenzy.
It’s with this in mind yesterday that I appreciated how obsessed with noses we boys are. The Destroyer for example always has a finger or two buried up the second knuckle in his, digging out boogers that should have a pulse and a passport then looking you dead in the eye as he quickly slams it in his mouth.. Oh jeez, even writing that down gives me the dry heave.
So when he came to me yesterday asking for help because something was stuck in his nose, I thought that he’d probably cooked up a booger so big it had cemented itself to the walls. And as I looked, I could see a distinctive green colour peeking back at me. But it wasn’t the usual multi-shade of green you’d expect from a nose-goblin, this was a perfectly round solid colour, and every time he sniffed it seemed to climb higher up.
I did the math – He’d been sitting on the floor eating freshly picked peas from the pod, grown in his grandparents’ garden and taken home with us earlier in the day. He’d obviously chosen one of the sizeable offerings, and thumbed it right up his hooter.
“Somebody did it dad and it’s stuck.” Oh right, somebody broke in while I was sitting a few feet away and decided to thumb a large garden pea up a random, nearly four year old’s nostril. I better warn the press and authorities to be on the lookout for a possible prowling pint-sized preschooler proboscis pea pusher.
As I had flashbacks to my brother screaming at a large crafting tool that was about to be rammed up his crayon filled snout, I had no idea what the hell I was going to do to work this pea out of The Destroyers massive head. Just as I was about to go find a wrench and a pair of pliers, The Roobs’ mummy radar pinged and she ran in from the kitchen, stepping in before daddy filled her sons nasal cavity with black and decker tools.
“I’ve got this.” says The Roobs, grabbing the boys’ face and clamping her mouth over his before blowing. I swear his head inflated briefly before the pea shot out like a bullet, ricocheting off the fireplace before landing in my wife’s outstretched hand like it was a practiced shot.
I’ve never been more impressed and terrified in my life. Not only was the pea out, but not one power tool had to be stuck on charge in preparation for the extraction. Turns out according to my knowledgeable wife that this technique is called the “Mother’s Kiss”, and is a recommended way of removing foreign bodies from the noses of kids aged better 2 – 5 years.
Not only am I stunned that she could pull this information out of her head in a heartbeat, but that for a split second I was tempted to ram a pea up my nose to see if the Mother’s Kiss would work on an overweight man in his forties.