Emily's Nose. Plastic Bead.
Every Monday night Patti teaches yoga and if I am not traveling I watch the kids. It is right around bedtime so Patti puts the baby to sleep before she leaves and I take care of the older two. The following took place earlier tonight.
Ethan (2 years old) was in his room. I let Emily (4 years old) fall asleep in our room because she had a very good day and it is kind of a treat. Around 7:45 I was downstairs in the living room doing something and Emily was upstairs in our room.
From the top of the stairs I hear Emily say something. I had the TV on so all I could make out was "bead" and "stuck".
I put the TV on mute and walked to the bottom of the steps.
Me: What?
Emily: I was playing with my bead and I got it stuck up my nose.
Me: (I heard her fine but was hoping I heard it wrong) What did you say?
Emily: I was playing with the green bead in bed and it got stuck up my nose.
Earlier in the day Emily and Patti's mom were making jewelry with this toy jewelry kit she got over the weekend at a party, the kind that has beads and string so you can make your own necklaces and bracelets.
I walked up the stairs and looked at her. I took her out of the hallway and into the bathroom where the light was better. I kneeled down in front on her.
I was hoping she was joking or that it got stuck in her hair or something.
Me: Show me where it is.
Emily points to the outside of her nose, about the point that a small 4 year old finger could push something.
Me: You got a bead stuck up your nose?!?!
Emily: (laughs). Yeah.
I was in a pickle. I had heard of things like this before. Cheerios, marbles, beads, things that require an embarrassing trip to the emergency room. Patti left about 30 minutes earlier and here I am, the other adult, in charge of the three kids, and I might have to take Emily to the hospital to have the doctors remove a plastic object from her nose. Wonderful.
So I tilted her head back and looked up. I'll spare you the a-parent-can-only-relate-to-how-gross-this-is details, but I could not see past the natural nose substance.
So in a moment of glory, a moment of clarity that only one dreams of, a miniscule and forgotten thread of genius that a man can only hope to realize once in a life, I said:
"Blow your nose like with a tissue."
She did.
The green bead came out like a poison dart shot from a blowgun. It rolled on the bathroom floor. In slow motion it came to a stop. We looked at each other and both laughed. We high-fived. Emily took a tissue and wiped her nose, I threw the bead in the garbage and washed my hands, and off to bed she went.
I never did get around asking her why she put a bead up her nose.