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Some time between the moment I picked up the phone and said, “hey dad…” and roughly two minutes later when I said, “uh, dad…emergency…gotta run,” my son shoved a lost piece of gingerbread house candy up his right nostril.

And then realized it wasn’t coming out.

By which time he went into hysterics, grabbed his nose and turned a shade of red I hadn’t known was possible.

I yelled as I ran from the kitchen, “WHAT’S IN YOUR NOSE?”  

More crying. 

“IS IT A ROCK?”  my husband demanded, his collected manner completely on vacation.

A frightened nod.

“Well…uh,well…YOU HAVE TO BLOW OUT YOUR NOSE,” we tripped over ourselves trying to say.

A big suck in of air through both nostrils.

“NO-NO-NO…OUT YOUR NOSE.   LIKE THIS.  Which was when my husband and I honked our own noses hard enough to send snot half-way down the hall.

Only our son didn’t get it.

He  gave a big blow out his mouth like he had candles to put out, sucked in another big breath through his nose like he might when he’s stepped outside into the cold, then upped the hysterics when he realized mid-sniff that whatever was up there was now really up there.

My husband and I shared a look that said, “you have got to be kidding.”  And our daughter…

our daughter began to cry because she thought her brother might die.

But because that little boy is my baby…and because I’m his mommy, I clamped his crying mouth with one hand, pushed his left nostril closed with a spare finger and then caught the piece of candy that shot itself into my napkin.

By which time all crying ceased and, well, God be thanked.

Here’s the end of the party.  And the little boy whom I pray will fiddle with just his boogers… 

And nothing more.


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