The wall next to Crappy Boy’s bed is covered with boogers.
It is gross.
It is also super hard to clean. You have to rehydrate them with hot water otherwise the paint peels off. No good.
So I try to teach him not to do it.
That we don’t wipe our boogers on the wall.
I tell him that I’m going to leave a box of tissues next to his bed. He can use those. Simple. Problem solved.
Only two weeks later there are even more boogers on his wall.
And the box of tissues is untouched.
So I get desperate. And offer another solution:
This way, at least I can wash them easily.
It isn’t that gross. We all do stuff like this on occasion. I mean, just look underneath the driver’s seat of my car. Actually, don’t.
I also reiterate the point I’m trying to make:
Time goes by. I continue with my anti-wall booger campaign.
We’re all in the family room.
Crappy Baby is digging in his nose:
Before I get up to grab a tissue…
He pops it into his mouth. He eats it. My own flesh and blood. A booger eater.
This will not stand.
In shock, I say:
Then Crappy Boy chimes in with:
And well, sometimes you have to pick the lesser of two evils:
I actually remember wiping my boogers on the wall as a child. My grandpa used to laugh about it. So I think they’ll grow out of it. And if they don’t, well, eventually they’ll move out and will have to clean their own damn walls.