Archive for the ‘Heights of Grossocity’ Category

Successful Play-doh Extraction

So we’re at the doctor on Wednesday…

Doctor:  “Mark, um, the inside of your ear is blue.”  Looks some more.  “Did you put a bead in here?”

Mark (emphatically):  “No!”

Doctor:  “Does it hurt?”

Mark:  “No.”

Doctor:  “Do you have trouble hearing?”

Mark:  “Yes!”

(Inside my head):  THAT explains a lot.

Doctor:  “Well, it has to come out.  Schedule with the ENT.”

Scheduled with the ENT.  (I have to type it as ENT, not Ent–otherwise I has visions of Treebeard poking twiggy fingers into Mark’s ear).

Hastily rescheduled Friday morning after a sobbing Mark called from school that the 2 PM appointment overlapped the school Halloween costume parade.

ENT:  “Okay, Mark, let’s get that bead out.”

Mark:  “Will this take long?  The costume parade is at 2:30.”

ENT:  “Not if you hold still.”


ENT:  “Oooaaaakkky.  It’s crumbling, so not a bead.”

Mark (indignantly):  “I did NOT put a bead in my ear.”

ENT:  “I think it’s play-doh.”

Mark:  “Oh.  That.”

(Inside my head):  The paper wad up the nose.  Now this.  You’re out of easy-to-retrieve-from orifices, kid.

In the car:

Me:  “How DID you end up with play-doh in your ear?”

Mark:  “I sleepwalk.”

But I’m watering it!

All of my boys have gone through a peeing-on-trees obsession, but only Mark has gone public with it.

We visited my parents over Easter break.  They have a farm.  Peeing on trees is an accepted country tradition, one that Mark embraced enthusiastically during our week there.

Which is all well and good until we get home.

The first day back to preschool, I get a call from Mark’s teacher.  Between the giggles, she explains that she had to have a conversation with Mark about NOT peeing on the trees in the daycare’s playground, and would I mind reenforcing that when he got home?

Location, son, location.

Mark of Serious Grossocity

I wish I were making this up…

So Mark’s had a bad smell in his mouth since May.  At first I thought he just had cavities.  Took him to the dentist.  Sure enough, he had cavities.  Nearly six months later, the cavities have been filled, although the wrastling with the insurance company about paying for them continues.

In August, the smell became accompanied by a runny nose.  But only the left nostril.  That seemed odd.  But we figured, Kate’s going to school, he’s picking up the same colds that have her nose continually running (and licking the snot from her upper lip in disturbingly similar ways to how the cows did when we were kids…eww…).

By October, the one-nostril running proceeded apace.  So I took him into the doctor, who diagnosed a sinus infection.  One round of antibiotics.  A second round of antibiotics.  Flonase, in case it was an allergy.  No dice.  We were still in land of snot and stench.

Monday, I took him back to the doctor, who threw up his hands and referred us to a specialist.

This morning, said specialist removed a piece of paper the size of my palm from Mark’s nose, wadded up so as to fit, tight as if he were trying to caulk his nostril.  Frankly, I’m astonished that any snot made it past to drip out.

Okay, parental units of preschoolers, the moral of the story is:  1)  single nostril dripping is weird and, according to the specialist, a dead giveaway of “foreign object insertion,” and 2) never, ever underestimate how much stuff a determined kid can get up there.  I was expecting a jelly bean, pea, or some such, not a piece of paper bigger than the envelope Lincoln used for the Gettyburg Address.


So Sam had to do a science project involving comparing the prints of his thumb and big toe, which he accomplished by coating both with marker and pressing them down on the paper.  Fine.

Then it was time to clean up.

Sam (from the bathroom):  “Mom!  It’s not coming off!”

Me:  Did you try soap?

A pause.

Sam:  Thanks!  It’s working much better now!

Ah.  Boys.

Grossocity Olympics: Gold

So we’re at the playground a month ago, and I notice Mark is walking kinda funny.  Now, Mark is a fairly new potty-competent child, so I suspect he needs to go.

I ask about this.  He assures me that he DOES NOT need to go potty.

But he’s still walking funny.  So I insist.

Which is when he pulls a half-eaten ring pop from his underwear.

Clearly, he had found this charming item on the playground, and apparently not hungry just then, decided to save it for later.  But he had no pockets, see…

Grossocity Olympics: Silver

When Paul was about eighteen months old, we found him on his hands and knees on the sidewalk, trying to chew free a squashed-flat circle of bubble gum.

I managed to grab him, bewildered, and frankly perturbed at being interrupted, but I felt like I was going to either pass out or throw up.

Of course, Paul IS a first child.  If something like this happened again, I doubt my reaction would be so extreme (the feeling ill part, not the grabbing him part.  That, I would do just as fast.)

On the other hand, this incident DID hold the Disgusting Moments record until just a month ago, when Mark dethroned him…

Grossocity Olympics: Bronze

When Sam was 4, he liked to hang around the house with little or nothing on, like most kids that age.  He also, however, liked grapes.

Not a good combination, as it turned out.

It was a hot summer, see, and Sam discovered that if he rolled the grapes, nice and cool from the fridge, around in his underwear before he ate them, he was sort of getting a two-fer.

Grossness-wise, this is only the bronze, but it led to my all-time favorite (so far) bizarre thing I’ve had to say as a parent:  “Do NOT put your grapes on your penis!”

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