Have you ever had one of those moments with your kid..any of your kids, where you have this overwhelming sense of deja vu and when it dawns on you why, you want to scream as loud as possible and maybe (very tentative maybe here folks. I can get away with it because my Mom will know how I mean it. It’s just not something you should do if you are at all unsure. Your life could get difficult. ) call your Mother a bitch? Not in a mean derogatory or disrespectful way of course.
Just because you realize that Karma is come to collect and the curse of
wait til you have kids of your own
is not just some silly stuff she said to try to scare you. She was trying to warn you. Now give your mother a hug if you can, if not a phone call would be much appreciated I think.
I’ve been putzing around tonight trying decide which direction to go. I have so many things that need attention now that I have come back to the real world… That would make a good name for a reality TV series that has nothing to do with the real world. Huh.
I was debating to write or clean. Write. Clean. Um yeah and as you can see, I won. So it’s Thanksgiving soon. Very soon as in oh…tomorrow so I figured I should probably do something holiday ish, Thanksgiving related, turkey leftovers oh no, warm and fuzzy or I don’t really know what to do but maybe a cup of coffee will be good.
On my trip to the kitchen, and it is really , literally, no lie, a trip if you don’t pay attention. Kids and animals underfoot who knows what on the rug and usually some odd little toy that ends up in my foot in a painful way. One morning, soon after The Puppies (RIP) came to us, I opened my bedroom door and walked onto a pile of crap followed by my next step in the pee pee. It was a mighty big puddle for the carpet and a rude awakening for me which of course led to a rude awakening of the rest of the house. Nothing breaks the early morning calmness like standing in shit and pee and screaming obscenities at the top of one’s lungs.
Anyways, I arrive at the kitchen no mishaps, and I look over at the living room chair and see my 18 yo pregnant daughter curled up in a blankie watching a movie on her phone. So I divert my course to see what’s what in her world tonight. We chatted about this and that. No need for mom wisdom or anything heavy so I start to turn to go and putting my hand to my nose I realize it hurts – on the inside, and I say so.
Me: Ouch! My nose hurts.
18 yo: Well quit picking it!
What no witty comeback you ask? Or maybe not, but I don’t have a defense of any kind. Nothing. I tried to pick one but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
This is a sore subject for me. No, really. It hurts like hell and I am annoyed and it also brings back memories of another time another Mom which I will get to in a minute.
What is happening with my nose is it’s cracked. Not cracked like me, that would be silly having a cracked nose on a cracked chick. Wow what a mess. Cracked as in on the inside of my nostril – can I say that word here? We start talking body parts and you never know. It hurts. Bad. I might have mentioned that before but I want to be clear so that when I get to the nitty-gritty of the nose picking remark and how it was even considered ok to be uttered by the little upstart. While you will probably think there is good reason she assumed I was picking my nose, there in fact, is not. She just likes to get a good dig in now and then..blows me away these kids today. If I had said something like that to MY Mother……..I cringe at the thought
I got lost for a second sorry. No butterflies tonight. Nope. Boogers. Let me regroup…
Ah yes, I was explaining the crack in my nose. it started when my nose ring or stud or what cha ma call it got gunked up. It was when I first had my nose pierced which I did at the age of 40 just because I never did these wild and crazy things when I was a teenager. I am actually waiting for my first tatoo as well. I was supposed to get that at 40 also. Even though I won’t have to live with it as long as I would have if I had gotten one at a younger age, I can’t quite decide what to permanently put on my body and where. It’s got to be important and if I can’t come up with something off the top of my head after 6 kids and 2 and a half ex husbands, I’ll wait til I figure it out.. Not that they don’t all warrant a tattoo, the kids not the exs, and therein lies the rub. I want one small meaningful tattoo. I have six kids. I could of course wait until I am successfully retired to the nudist colony in my old age and get a boatload of them. I won’t have to worry about not being able to show them off and… I think I will put a little star by tattoos for a later date.
I am thinking to try, here in my early 40′s some of the things I thought were cool in the way of self-expression back in the day, but would not dare to try because I was such a goody two shoes. I was not one to cross my parents ESPECIALLY my Mother when she told me to wear socks. I always listened, never argued and kept my hair respectably styled.
My mother might try to tell you differently, especially after reading this post and then most likely right down there in the comments section. Don’t you believe it for a minute. I did not cause my parents a moments grief until recently. That was my brother who was a pain in the ass. My mother is holding her watch high above her head right now…and I can’t begin to know why. From my birth, a miracle, as some of you know because I was conceived while using an infallible form of birth control, until now I have been nothing if not sunshine and light. The miracle is evident in that I am here.
If you would like to know more on the subject, you may click here and it will take you away to a story of bad medical advice. I need to keep going here, though I doubt you will miss the meat of the story if you are not gone too long.
I was explaining my nose. To make a long story uh…yea,. The gunk, by which I of course mean, booger. (I know you probably figured that out but I love a good visual and I just said booger). had dried to a hard lump on the ring/stud/thing and it was becoming quite uncomfortable. It’s not often one can do that and get away with it although I suppose it remains to be seen if I indeed do. Without being gross, said gunk and the end of the ring/stud/thing, in the process of removing them, got jammed into and embedded a little in my nose. Let’s not dwell on it except I got a sore and it just is a pisser to try to get it healed.
Your nose when it is hurt on the inside secretes this stuff that coats it and starts to form a skin. Or skins however you prefer. It’s all good and well except where I live it’s dry. I live in the desert. When the mixture of low humidity and cold air cause your skin, hair, nails and nose juice to dry out, it gets ugly. And painful. So, it never heals and I have to reach in my nose quite a bit to …fix it. There, I said it. I pick my nose. But not really, I mean I’m trying to get that stuff out and it’s just like glue I tell you.
It occurs to me for a fleeting moment that I may have committed some sort of social hari-kari by admitting I pick my nose….Oh wow, it does sound bad. But there is a point. To the story I mean. To picking my nose too. And it is not boogers.
It’s Karma. I Hesitate for a mere moment because as I ponder the story I am about to tell and look at the word Karma, I do feel a slight twinge. Fear possibly. Or just shivers like when the hyenas in The Lion King say Mufasa. And I am not quite sure if it is related to Karma or my Mother, but in the interest of making a really good point, I am going to risk it.
When I was in Jr High, give or take a year or two, my mom really annoyed the crap outta me. Sorry Mom but that was then and it’s not true now so let’s move on. We lived in Colorado and it is very dry there. She had this thing with her nose. Let’s be clear before I go on, that I sullied my name before I tell this tale and only now out my mother because I can’t prove my point in any other way. It’s kinda fun too, but I feel bad. Really bad Mom I swear it. And I suppose I could have chosen to nix this idea at its conceptual stage but …why?
It seemed every time my wonderful mom thought no one was looking, I would catch her with her finger firmly ensconced in her nose. In other words, picking it. To be fair it probably didn’t happen every time. I hate generalizations and definitely do not want to subject my mom to a blanket statement such as, every time.
To a teenage kid, it’s a horrific sight and I was mortified to be with her when she chose to give in to the urge to pick. I stifled my urge to say anything for a very long time. Probably a day or two because we all know kid time drags on for EV ER! But I could not stop myself one day when we were in the car and Mom proceeded to pick her nose, daintily I might add, as if no one could see us through the windows. At a stop light.
This is a common phenomenon actually and if you pay attention to the cars around you when you are stuck in traffic or at a stop light, you will see all kinds of things meant to be done incognito. I am guilty as well so I think I am qualified to speak for the people who do strange private things in their car when I say sometimes you just feel like you are in your own little world safely ensconced in a bubble which nobody sees into. I would bet money if I had some that at least 99% of the population has slipped up at some point or another.
You are picking your nose, in the car, At a stop light.
(blank stare that clearly says) And?
People are watching.
Oh! Sorry, I just, it’s so hard to ….my nose, these ..things get in there and it’s just like glue I tell you. So hard to get out.
Yea Mom sure , whatever.
(exaggerated eye roll well executed to register maximum disgust. I know because I practiced it in the mirror. What? At least I didn’t practice french kissing on my pillow. Although I did think I maybe should have a few years later as my first kiss loomed imminent..darn)
After that, I think Mom tried really hard to be more aware of her surroundings and not pick at her nose so much. In fact, I noticed that it was becoming an almost thing of the past. I was so relieved. I could let my guard down. Of course as teenagers we think our parents embarrass us because they are just big dorks unable to control their dorkishness even for a moment that our friends might hover into the picture. This is true in some cases, in others I have learned , being a mother and somewhat prankster and mischievous natured one at that, it’s just plain fun to make them squirm. I don’t know why. It’s not their fault we had to squirm so much when we were kids so we should have pity, but a little harmless goofiness never actually caused death by embarrassment.
One after noon we happened to be at Target. It was a relatively new store back then. The whole chain, not just that store. I am not sure if it was new new or just new to the area. Does it really make a difference? No. Not so much. By we, I of course am referring to Mom and I. I had enjoyed my moms company for once. That is not as mean as it sounds if anything it shows my immaturity more than anything bad to her. Immaturity then. Not now. And we were in line to pay for what ever it is we bought.
This is a moment when time stood still in my teenage brain and I remember wanting to just open a hole in the ground and jump. Poof! I probably shouldn’t be mortified, or shouldn’t have been. Clearly I am over any form of embarrassment. Sure hope Mom is too. In this family bodily functions are nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, we brag about them. Compare and contrast, and discuss the best ones fondly years afterwards.
We got on the subject of dry cracked noses. So it seems I had one at the time as well. And I soon discovered why Mom had been successful at stopping the nose picking. I must have mentioned that my nose was dry and Mom, gladly told me how to fix that. In a rather loud voice I might add. Although looking back it is subjective, as well as crowded lines. Again, it may be that my mortified mind exaggerates but I don’t think so, . If you ask Mom, I can guarantee you my answer is the closest to the truth.
Oh, I will tell you , you need to get a q-tip and some KY jelly and stick it right up in there. It takes away the dryness and feels so much better.
Yup works great up there and I keep KY right in my nightstand drawer so I can reach it when I need it.
Slightly awkward moment as I realized not only did my mom tell me something I really didn’t want to know albeit inadvertently, she told everyone.
I am sure I said something snarky and meanish. I am positive I rolled my eyes at her. She didn’t like it when I did that. Other than that, I was the golden child. She looked directly at me and said…and she was mad no doubt.
Just wait til you have kids of your own!
I, of course, thought that if I ever have kids of my own, I will never pick my nose, and NEVER in front of them. I most certainly will not need KY Jelly and would never, and I mean ever embarrass them.
I am pretty sure I can just be one with the moment here. Yea, that’s nice isn’t it? Let’s just think about what we learned.
We are not doomed to repeat history with our kids. We may be destined to repeat the same thing with only the roles changed to you as the parent. And it is It is probably true we might get it worse or at least equal to what we gave our parents. Whatever it is you can never truly appreciate how much crap your parents took from you no matter how great you were, like my brother, until you are at the receiving end of same such crap. And then while we want to poke a little fun at the stories of our youth, it is wise to remember that we now are on their side and to apologize for any glaring obvious stuff you gave to your parents. Confessions fit well here too just because they are already softened up. Just Saying……
Sometimes though, a moment so perfectly designed by a mother, that passes then to her daughter must be shared for reasons that are beyond words. To not would be just, sad. I do believe my 18 yo is taking note of ironies such as these because she was much kinder and gentler in her delivery to me about my nose picking than I was to my mom. Kinda wonder now if my grandma ever picked her nose….ok ENOUGH!
Here is where I have to say, I love you Mom. I just had to tell this story because well, I did and you shouldn’t look at it as telling everyone your secrets…after all you did announce it to Target yourself. Look at it as a bit of satisfaction that I have yet again, got my comeuppance. Or whatever it is I so richly deserve.
Now I am trying to find the ointment for my nose and it has disappeared.
Well she was right about all the other crap, maybe she is about this one too.
Where the hell is the KY Jelly when you need it? Probably in the night stand drawer…
- How do you get hard boogers stuck in nose out (wiki.answers.com)
- Kids Are Weird and Delusional: A Generalization Based Entirely on the Weird Delusional Kid I used to Be. (didwedosomethingtodeservethis.wordpress.com)
- I Pick My Nose When No one’s Watching (jessicasperspective.wordpress.com)
- How bad does getting your nose peirced hurt (wiki.answers.com)