American Mothers, Inc.

   I knew life had come full circle when my daughter shoved a pea up her nose. I still remember the day my mom took me to the doctor – clearly in desperation, because we just never went to the doctor. I smelled so terrible she didn’t know what else to do, and suspected the offensive odor was the result of an object, likely food, lodged…somewhere. The amiable doctor found the offending object in no time. A green pea had mysteriously found its way up my nasal passage, and I don’t think details are necessary to assure you it was not pretty. But the doctor had the right tools, extracted the offending and offensive pea, and sent us on our way with me smelling distinctly better and Mom not much poorer for the time in his office. Mom gave no cautionary lecture, and never once showed how frustrated she must have been, or nervous that Dad might be angry about the cost of a doctor visit they couldn’t afford. But I don’t think I ever stuck anything else up my nose.

Fast forward a generation, and find me as the mom, my fifth child (I was also the fifth, but that’s merely a coincidence – I think) as the pea shover. But I had a few advantages mom didn’t have. First, I had children who served as perfunctory reporters, keeping me informed of all vital and otherwise useful household happenings. Read: Tattletales. So, even though I wasn’t close enough or fast enough to stop her, I had the information before fermentation or putrefaction began.

Second, I ran a household with infinitely useful, though often mysterious objects, at my disposal. Read: I had a hemostat, and I knew how to use it. I guess it’s okay to be grateful that another sibling had previously needed stitches, and that I had kept the doctor’s sterile suture-pulling device – the hemostat – for such a time as this. Further experience in the mothering realm taught me that a pair of tweezers will often suffice; external evidence that all children don’t learn from their siblings’ experiences.

Third, I had a great husband with an offbeat sense of humor, who laughed at a situation I was not laughing at – but whose humor helped my little pea shover see that it’s okay to laugh at mistakes – as long as you don’t repeat them. In less time than it takes to say “Wow, I’m glad we didn’t have to wonder for a week or more about what stinks, make an appointment, drive to the doctor’s office, wait and hour or so, and pay lots of money,” I had the historically relevant pea in a tissue and out of the olfactory tunnel. 

And, my fifth child happily resumed her carefree life by heading out the door with her siblings to play, while I patted myself on the back for a job well done.  I also said a silent prayer of thanks for my husband, who kept me (and still often keeps me) from losing my cool.  And, for my mom, who dealt with far more traumatic and difficult things than a pea in a child’s nose, yet nourished me with nothing less than unconditional love.