This is probably not news to most of you. Kids eat crayons on occasion. I get it. Generally don’t most kids find them distasteful and give them up for Lent?
Easy Bro. It’s just colored wax.
But my kid, and I think we all know who I’m talking about, my kid shells them like shrimp. She eats them with a regularity that boarders on the bizarre. If I see crayon paper on the ground I know it’s time to inventory the box to see which poor color was condemned that day. I find myself feeling sorry for the little wax sticks. “Oh, magenta bought the farm today. Damn it! My favorite extra-spectral color is no more.”
Are there conspicuous crop circles drawn into the carpet in the majestic and recognizable Crayola color of Burnt Sienna? Need to inventory the box. Does she appear to have a mustache or Van Dyke in the unmistakeable color of Periwinkle? Box inventory time.
So of course the one time I noticed a few bits of paper on the floor from the Green, yeah just Green, and I paid it no mind, it unravels into a giant adventure. When I see chunks of Green on the coffee table a little while later I realize Green was invited to the tea party but not as a guest, as the main hors d’oeuvre.
I’m looking at her trying not to get mad that she ate another Crayon, especially so close to lunch, and then she smiles at me. Sometimes things can’t be unseen. Lodged in Anne Marie’s chicklets (read teeth), was the remains of Green. Wish I could tell you it was a quick and painless demise for the basic but faithful color, but evidence suggested otherwise.
I’m not exactly sure why, but the dénouement of Green was my bridge too far. I could not let this go unchallenged. Maybe it was because I took Green for granted and failed to inventory the box when his papers were found in the living room. Maybe it was because I was tired of the senseless carnage. Maybe it was because of the strange neon bright colored diapers I found myself changing recently. Who knows.
For whatever reason I drew my line in the sand. “Anne Marie! Why are you eating all the crayons? Why must you peel them and make a mess? Why are you putting them in your mouth!?”
“Crayon up my nose.”
“Crayon up my nose.”
“Ok now that I’m looking, your left nostril does look like the first half of a Rhinoplasty gone wrong. Are you saying the Green crayon is up your nose?”
Alrighty then. My first thought was needle nose pliers. I backed off that for a minute. Flashlight first. Oh yeah, there he is, half way to nasal town. Maybe a Q-tip. If I can get along side of it and sort of wedge it down I might be able to get it close enough to the opening in her beak to grab it with tweezers.
Ok so after a few tries and some blunt force trauma to the inside of her nose, one screaming kid, one laughing kid, and 3 perfectly good Q-tips wasted, it’s off to the doc. They were more than happy to take me, giggling as they did so.
Sounds cool. It ain’t.
All of a sudden it’s not so funny to her anymore. Anne Marie can’t be liking no doctors. She pitched a few fits, nothing earth shattering. Then a nurse not assigned to us came to say hello. She went to pick up Anne Marie and AM’s protest move caused her to snort the little green bastard right out onto the examining table. Doctor visit concluded. Let’s go home.
Not really, they checked her ears and mouth for any other foreign bodies. None detected but that reminded me to inventory the crayon box when we got home. We left them to deal with the remains. Aside from already documented casualties, all other crayons accounted for.
All in all a mild afternoon as far as Anne Marie adventures go.
She starts pre-school in August.
I feel sorry for the paste.