For some reason, I was up disgustingly early. So early, in fact, that the coffee machine hadn’t yet gone off and was still a good hour or so away form doing so. I was forced to kick start it manually. Which meant stumbling around waiting for it to beep me so I could pour my MUG of coffee, rather than the usual just stumbling into the kitchen to pour my MUG of coffee.
Therefore, I was well into a good chunk of work whilst the rest of the household went about its business of waking up, getting up, weeing on toilet seats, not doing what they were asked, laying on the guilt trip and drawing a “picture for you Mummy” instead of having breakfast and the usual stuff.
Monkey Boy, despite knowing better and having been told six times already this morning, came in and said:
“It’s a good idea to keep blu tack handy so you can have some when you need it,” and tilts his head back.
Aside from the small scratch on his chin, I can’t see anything.
“I can’t see … what are you talking about? Where … oh, for fu... You didn’t stick it up your nose, did you?”
“You’re an idiot,” I add as I see a small blob of Blu Tack stuck up his right nostril.
“YEP!” he proudly informs me.
Then does a big sniff in. Followed immediately by “Oh oh” (who’d’ve thunk it?) and sticking his finger up his nose with a frantic “It’s gone up my nose!”
He digs away with his finger as I simultanseously feel woozy and yell at him to “get a bloody tissue and blow it out, you dill!”
And mutter for fuck’s sake some more.
“You’re an idiot,” I hear Grumpy Pants inform him from the kitchen. “You’re supposed to get smarter as you get older.”
Sounds of Monkey Boy blowing nose and saying “It didn’t come out!”
Although it is highly possible it did and he’s flapped the tissue around in despair and flung a snotty blob of Blu Tack up the wall.
I’m increasingly feeling woozy, as I can’t handle things up noses – not that I’ve ever had to deal with it before – and laughing. A lot. It is possible to have two conflicting emotions at exactly the same time.
Grumpy pulls the torch out (a large Dolphin for camping and other things we don’t do and have no inclination to do), tilts Monkey Boy’s head back and has a look. Nothing visible, but as he’s already done the forceful suck and shoved his finger up his nose, I’m not surprised.
“I don’t want to go to school now,” he tells me.
“Now I’m scared and worried,” he continues. Scared and worried.
Yup. Me too. Add queasy and woozy to that for me, as well.
“I’m going to have to lie down all day and contemplate my stupidity,” he finishes with.
Yep. That’d be a great idea. At shool you can do that.
And off we go to school.
As my worry – a gut feel – gets worse and worse. Although it’s possible that I’m tired due to excessively early start and a resulting inability to determine head from heart thoughts. Also, I need to decide whether to inform his teachers or not.
My worry got the better of me. So I slinked into the classroom and had a brief chat to one of his teachers. She had to confirm I was talking about him and not Littlest Person.
I left with “So, just thought I’d let you know, you know, in case he has a seizure on the floor. It’ll just be the Blu Tack has reached his brain.”
Although, given he did it in the first place, I wonder that there’s not something wrong with his brain already.
She said she’d let me know if anything happened.
As we walked home form school dropoff, I still felt not quite right about the whole thing. Really, I’d like to take him to the GP or emergency department, just to get it checked out.
The thing is, this would be a totally acceptable thing to do if he were, say, two. If I take him at the age of ten, I’m gonna be the one that looks like a fuckwit.
Ok, so will he. But that’s not the point. I’m not the one that did something stupid.
He has no idea what he’s put me through this morning.