In the not too distant past, I finally got around to filling up the kids' sandbox. I purchased the sand from Lowe's. It was labeled 'play sand' but a more accurate name would be '50-50-mix-of-sand-and-gravel-that-is-impossible-to-build-with.' That rolls trippingly off the tongue, yes? Suffice it to say that Q often come inside with pockets filled with pebbles.
He was particularly proud of one 'shiny' pebble (translation: smooth) and presented it to me as a gift. It was promptly knocked off the table and lost forever on the remarkably pebble-colored carpet. Except that it wasn't. I located his perfect pebble and put it back on the side table for him to find.
Fast forward to dinner prep this evening. T and I were discussing his whirlwind trip to the ranch when Q came into the kitchen. I honestly can't remember what he was saying - a lot of his narrative is difficult to follow - when the words "rock in my nose" jumped out and set off maternal alarm bells.
Sure enough, upon further inspection, his shiny rock was shoved impressively far up his right nostril. I had a moment of blind panic when I contemplated swooping him up and rushing him to the ER for immediate removal of the offending nostril nugget. Then I remembered a similar situation on a Royal Pains. The PA dislodged a nose noodle by covering up the other nostril and blowing into the boy's mouth. She was immediately successful and not the least bit covered in snot.
It didn't go nearly that smoothly on my end. The blowing into Q's mouth, made him laugh like crazy, but didn't move the pebble. I finally just covered up the other nostril and told him to blow his nose. He moved it down a little and I squeezed it out like a zit. It was like his nose was giving birth. Shudder. Man, skin is stretchy!
So I guess that was a milestone. I was going to throw the nasty thing away, but T made me save it. Well, wash it off and save it. He wants to keep it for Q's baby book. Can you imagine that scrapbook page? Boys are so weird.