Maybe it’s due to some undiscovered fear of mine, or simply growing up with a joke-playing cousin, but I have always dreaded the day when my boys discovered that “the nose” has holes. The whole idea of two boys with ten fingers each to gouge and burrow into this newly discovered terrain sends waves of embarrassment through my delicate mind, and I suppose with good reason. But, no longer will I sit in waiting for this dreaded milestone of childhood; the disgusting day has arrived. Now I must simply endure.
Our youngest little digger is at the age where he is becoming aware of his face and his body. He is learning the names to put with those places, and though I hate to admit it, I will sometimes try to get him to “perform”, as all mothers shamelessly do. At a recent ballgame, we were performing for a rather large group of onlookers. He was obediently pointing to his eyes, ears, and mouth upon my command as well as any trained animal I’ve ever seen. To my surprise (and humiliation), when we got to “…and where’s Brisco’s nose…” his finger went straight up his nostril, almost to the third knuckle, and he immediately let out a cackle of a laugh like I have never heard before. By the sound of his voice, and the look on my face, we both knew that he had just discovered an exciting, new trick.
I always tell our oldest that he has to listen to Mommy and act right because his little brother is watching. But sometimes, it is the little pup who teaches the old dog all the new tricks. And this one seemed too intriguing for Cooper to let slip by. One day, just as we were paying out at the grocery store, he saw the little digger in action. The baby appeared to be having so much fun, that I guess Cooper figured he’d give it a whirl. He quickly discovered that this was an excellent way to get a huge laugh out of his brother and quick reaction from me. Needless to say, with a sideways look and a “you’ve- certainly-got-your-hands-full” smile, the nice lady at the check-out counter quickly finished scanning the items from our buggy, albeit with a slightly more cautious grip.
Whether we are driving down the interstate at 70 or walking into Sunday morning worship, big brother has no fear of holding his slimy finger high in the air, grinning his orneriest grin, and saying, “Boo-guh!” as if he has been temporarily possessed.
I made a mother’s biggest mistake by acting horrified the first time he waved that fiery flag in the air in the midst of a crowd. Like any normal two-year-old, he took my reaction as a sign that he should continue his foraging until he could produce enough of the gooey substance to feed a small family of farm rats. He’s like a human excavator competing at the Olympics; he won’t stop digging until he brings home the gold. Between that and announcing, “I got two toots!” every time he breaks wind, folks around here must think we’re raising the long-lost brothers of the moron twins.
As in all of life, there are times when raising boys can be a nasty, sticky, thumb-up-the-nose business that will leave even the brave of heart running for a Kleenex, a quick shower, or a clean change of clothes. And like all other stages of childhood I suppose, this too shall pass. But until that happens, the next time you catch a glimpse of someone else’s children behaving in a not so hygienic way-and enjoying it way too much-don’t judge their mother too harshly. There are some obstacles that good parenting just simply can’t overcome.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
No comments:
Post a Comment