One for the Road

Buckled everyone in for a trip to the store for diapers.
It would have been a quick trip except for the four little helpers I brought.
So it wasn't a quick trip.

What he usually does with tissues.

Halfway down the highway there was a yelp from the back seat.
"My nose!"
The three year old sucked his thumb to console himself and blew a snot bubble.
I glanced back, concerned, but saw no blood or brothers poking the victim.
"Um, do you want a tissue?"
I tried to guess what concerned him so.  He wouldn't blow, just sniffled and whined.

A minute later, the rearview mirror's sight made me glance twice.
Bright yellow ooze trickled from one of his nostrils.
My mind started turning.  What had he found that could offend in that size and color?  I don't keep candy at hand, especially at little hands.  A tic tac?  A little toy?  Oh, something from the morning's activities at church with the kids was the likely culprit.

"Is there candy in your nose?" I asked, finally.
He nodded, miserably.  Sometimes I think lessons can be learned fairly quickly.  I guessed this was one of those that wouldn't need repeating.
The older brothers perked up at the mention of this interesting development.  They started guessing.  "Starburst?"
"Jellybean?"
"Gum?"
"M&M?"
He looked up sharply, and more yellow goo trickled down to his lip.  Bingo.

I giggled.  He grumbled, but it only made chocolate mix with the color below his nose.  I giggled again and handed him a tissue which he held limply on his lap.  "This is beyond me; you fix it, Mom." His silent message only made me smile.  His warm little body was resolving the issue on its own.

By the time we parked in front of the big store, most of the contents of his nostril had melted.  (That's a sentence I've never written before.)  It was largely smeared around the side of his cheek and hand.  I wiped him off with tissues as much as the dried chocolate would allow.  Gave him a once over; no one could necessarily tell the scruffy appearance of his face had originated in his nose.  Gone are those only-child days when I cared so much how we appeared to the general public.

We went in with a big cart.
We bought diapers.
We smiled sweetly at the strangers in the store who invariably must comment on my handsome little brood.
We went home.

He smelled like chocolate until bath time.

Sweet story, huh?