Yes siree, winter is here, in all its freaking glory. And how do I know this (besides the fact that it’s cold … and June)? Because our humble house has transformed into Snot Town, population five (that’s me, hubby, son, dog and my mum’s dog, which technically makes her my half-dog , or is that a step-dog, or half-sister? I’m confused …).
Frankly, the annual transition from a “Scene out of Saving Private Ryan War Zone” (lots of mess and blood and limbs and rubbish and rubble and gore, but no snot) to Snot Town (see previous description BUT add a gallon of snot) is right on cue. About now, every year, we officially take out shares in Kleenex. Incidentally, we’re fans of the super soft, super smelly, super expensive tissues that come with aloe vera plus eucalyptus plus eye of newt plus lavender plus vitamins plus anything else that will scare off snot.
No Homebrand tissues in this house. Nope. Learned my lesson last winter when my son’s nose turned into a giant coldsore and I realised it was completely my fault because I bought sandpaper instead of tissues. Whoops. My bad.
When your nose is red raw and dripping like a tap, you really don’t want to blow it on a flimsy bit of combination sandpaper-greaseproof paper. Ouch! Lesson learnt. Posh tissues only in this house from here on in, thank you very much.
And we have tissue boxes everywhere. Next to our bed (for midnight visits from the Prince of Snot Town, our three-year-old). In the bathroom (amazing how they need to blow their nose as soon as they sit on the loo!). Next to Hudson’s bed (beside the Nurofen, next to the cough mixture, close to the Baby Balsam). In the lounge room (as ABC for Kids seems to really encourage nasal evacuation). And in my handbag (for “Mummy I got a booger – can you get it … NOW!” situations in public).
But no matter how much I encourage my son to “uses his words and tell mummy when your nose is running”, one of two things happens. Either a) he completely forgets, until I notice that 11 inches of snot has escaped from his nose and travelled over his lip, down his chin and is quickly making its way to his belly button. Tissue – stat!
Or b) he decides to employ the “I’m a boy so I can totally do it myself” method, choosing a DIY snot fix-it job, courtesy of his t-shirt or jumper (and he does this ONLY when he has his good clothes on, of course). Suffice to say, his shirt sleeve ends up looking like home to about a million snails. Yuk.
No matter how diligently I try to stay on top of the snotty tissue situation, they seem to breed. Seriously – one minute there’s one snot-soaked Kleenex on the couch, the next there is a pile of 20. Bam, just like that! I can’t stay on top of it. They’re like freakin’ rabbits!
And don’t even start me about tissues in the wash. I wore black to a meeting last week and looked suspiciously like I was dressed as a lamington, heading off to some kind of crazy costume party. Nope, just forgot to check my pockets people. It’s winter. Don’t look at me like that! We all do it.
Must fly – I can hear the Prince of Snot really sneezing up a storm.
Has your house transformed into Snot Town too? Any tips for scaring off the Snot Monster?