It’s not that I’m not a fan of the Red Sox, because OF COURSE I am a fan of the Red Sox. I find that down here in the south I am even MORE of a fan of the Red Sox because it rather feels like more of my identity is hinging on it, somehow; and so this has nothing to do with my love of the team, or even how it just never stops being funny to me to poke Otto and say, “Hey! There’s my favorite player, COCO CRISP! I bet he turns all chocolatey in milk!”
And I am delighted that they won the Series. Truly, I am. In fact, I would like to extend a very special, heart-felt thanks to them for sweeping it the way they did, because GOOD LORD I AM TOO OLD TO STAY UP THAT LATE NIGHT AFTER NIGHT. Honestly, the baseball, it is killing me. Er, was. Now I can go back to my normal geriatric schedule.
Not that I REALLY stayed up most of those nights, anyway. I would dutifully watch the first three hours or so with Otto out in the living room, and then a commercial would come and I’d suggest we get changed and watch the rest in bed. And then I’d fall asleep the second my head touched the pillow.
Otto claims he roused me last night to let me know we’d won, and that I gave a small cheer, but I remember nothing. There’s loyalty and then there’s stumbling through your day as a zombie, and at some point, I just cannot give my all anymore. Not even to the Sox.
Part of the problem is that I am suffering the equivalent of Chinese water torture during the day, and this is sapping me of energy faster than even normal life tends to. You see, Monkey has a cold. And while I would love to chalk this up to Monkey’s sensory issues, I think it’s really more about his having a Y chromosome than anything else (though I could be wrong): This child doesn’t seem to understand how to blow his nose.
Oh, it’s not that we haven’t explained it to him. A thousand times. Or that he doesn’t understand the explanation. There’s just some sort of disconnect between understanding the mechanics and actually accomplishing this task in a way that doesn’t drive me utterly batshit insane.
First of all, he would much prefer to sit around going SNNNNNNNNNNNNTHXTHXTHX all day long than deign to get a tissue. Why blow out when you can just suck it back in? OVER AND OVER? So what was supposed to be my nice relaxing weekend was oft-punctuated with the eardrum-shattering SNNNNNNNNNNNNTHXTHXTHX which I SWEAR TO YOU can be heard ANYWHERE in the house no matter where he is.
“Please go get a tissue if you need one,” I shouted out, reflexively, each time I heard the tell-tale snort.
Once Monkey has the tissue, it seems impossible that this is true—though I promise you IT IS—but things actually get worse. Now instead of SNNNNNNNNNNNNTHXTHXTHXing IN, he holds the tissue about a foot in front of him and KKKKKKKKTHXTHXTHXs out, one nostril at a time. After each KKKKKKKKTHXTHXTHX he then wads up the tissue and jams half of it up into his sinuses, where it presumably touches his brain and picks up one one-thousandth of a gram of mucus. He repeats this procedure on the other side, after which the tissue is mangled beyond repair and needs to be thrown away. (I then get to remind him to wash his hands.)
The problem is that he finally blew, but his technique in terms of removing and disposing of the resultant bounty is extremely ineffective. All that he has done is move all the snot right to the forefront of his nose. Where it then begins, I suppose, to drip. And you know what that means!
“GO! GET! A! TISSUE!!”
Periodically I will hold him down and smother him with a tissue while exhorting him to BLOW! BLOW! and he will scream and cry because this is not only cruel and unusual punishment, but he’s almost 8 and he doesn’t NEED me to help him. Except that when I use this method it seems to hold off the next round of SNNNNNNNNNNNNTHXTHXTHXing for at least 15 minutes, so it’s often worth it. And if he complains too much I tell him I just want to make sure he has plenty to discuss with his future therapist.
So between the “relaxation” of spending my weekend on Snot Patrol and the baseball games that go until one in the morning, I am just really in need of some rest. Lord knows I am not going to be able to train my child to deal with his cold in a more socially acceptable (or at least quieter) way, so I’ll just have to be delighted that baseball is finally over.
(Go Sox!) (Go get a tissue!)