Like many children (and uh…some adults) Lars is a nose picker. He finds joy engaging in the utterly satisfying act of locating and removing those pesky mucus wads and indulges in it readily. Luckily he has never decided to take a taste of these green goodies, but his efforts have caused problems in another area.
He picks in the morning, the early afternoon, he picks at the dinner table and whilst playing in the paddling pool in our back yard…I am now convinced he even picks in his sleep.
This morning I woke up to something that would cause any mother to have a near heart attack.
I hear a subtle moaning coming from our main bathroom. I stumble my way towards the sound. Upon entering the darkened room I find the body of my boy perched atop the sinks counter, in a hunching position over the sink. I flick the light on, and am close to screaming in terror before I see the weirdo smile that resides on my sons face.
There is Lars, he wears a fat streak of blood that reaches from his chin up into his hair. The sink is running and he gingerly splashes water upon his sullied face…However his attempts are accomplishing nothing.
The room in which I have just entered, looks like a scene out of a bad eighties horror flick. A bloodied hand print streaked ravishingly across the mirror, the toilet’s clean white porcelain has been violated by dark crimson drops, and my very lovely…Very new cream colored bath mat? Well I don’t think any amount of OxiClean is going to remove the amount of blood thrust upon it.
But Lars….Lars is where my glance directs back to. The boy. The boy whom sits delicately atop the sink, the boy who is smiling, and despite this dire condition he has been faced with, he still wears a joyful look upon his bloodied mug.
I feel unnerved. The scene, the boy…
The fact that I had just been having that strange recurring dream…
The one about that creepy cab driver from town, he’s speeding down the road towards me. He has a Lassie dog in a headlock hanging from the driver’s side window, whilst signing the commercial theme song for Chia Pets. You know how it goes, ‘Cha Cha Cha Chia, Cha Chia!’ But in a really terrifying voice, and he is relentless as he screams it out the cabs window…
I pull myself together, I have to, I have no choice at this point.
“Lars what’s happened are you okay?
“Oh I’m good Mama.” I realize he is in especially good spirits as he calls me Mama…I can’t remember the last time he called me Mama. “I just woke up and had a bleeding nose. But I’m a big boy, and I am fixing it myself.”
Ah, there it is.
It is now coming together. I am finally waking up…getting my bearings.
Lars must have woke up with a bleeding nose. He was Trying to clean himself up, so not to have to wake me. And that weirdo smile? Actually a smile of pride and superiority.
Well bless his little heart for trying, but I must explain that this type of..er…state of affairs, calls for either Mom or Dad.
I give my little Man a hug and begin cleaning up the mess that is my sons stab at independence.
As I am cleaning, and have directed Lars to go and sit comfortably on the couch now that his flowing nose, has slowed down to only a pea-sized dot on the Kleenex…I spot something.
It is a trail of small red dots leading out of the bathroom…Leading strait towards a locale I should very well have considered, but in my sleepy state did not think twice about.
The boys room. Where it all began.
I move towards it, not really wanting to go in, not wanting to know what will lay in front of me. But knowing deep in my mind that I have no other choice.
So with cleaning apparatus’ in hand, I make my way towards ground zero…