Dear Runny Nose,

Oh, it’s you again? I thought we had gotten rid of you. But I suppose, with three school-aged children, that would be close to impossible. It is winter after all, and with the drop in mercury comes the rise in disgusting effluvia leaking from my children’s faces.

I never realized what a pestilence you were until I had children. I dealt with you only rarely and you didn’t affect my life too much. A pack of Kleenex and I was good. Now, my entire day revolves around whether you darken my door. Why’s that, you ask? Because mucus-containment is not something children under five really excel at, and pre-school teachers don't exactly welcome with open arms a kid with snot, literally, dripping off his face. The irritating part is not keeping a sick child at home, which I do gladly, enjoying the snuggling and movie-watching that permits me to do guilt-free, but rather the keeping home of a child who is, except for your continued presence, completely recovered and running circles around the dining room table and climbing on the entertainment center. And taking said child out is also not an option, lest I be stoned to death by fellow mothers at the bouncy playland as my son coats every ball in the pit with his primordial ooze.

You take many forms, all of which I am too familiar with. You start out, the clear, continuously runny faucet-type mentioned above, that runs into the mouth, making me want to gag as my son licks his upper lip. Then you progress to the slow, yellow ooze, that when wiped with a shirt sleeve mid-Hot Wheels race, drags across my child’s face like a stretched rubber band. This particular type includes the added bonus of drying into a solid ring of booger overnight, basically sealing my kids’ nostrils shut, treating us both to a bout of bathroom wrestling as I attempt to dissolve your leavings with a warm, wet washcloth. Then there is the last stage, my least favorite - the thick green sludge. You hide up there in my kids nose all morning, not rearing your ugly head until we pull into the preschool driveway. My kid sneezes and blows a sticky green bubble out of his left nostril forcing me to decide right there if I should gamble and send him to school, since he has been home for four days and we are both sick of each other, fearing he will blow another snot geyser during circle time, or keep him home again.

I am almost done with you, you plague. My older two have mastered how to keep you under control, allowing their rapid return to activity. I would assume, once Little Man masters ass-wiping, without caking his nails in crap in the process, he will learn how to use a tissue effectively, not just swipe it across my maw and throw it in the floor for the dog to eat. Until then, I will keep wiping, or being wiped on, as the case may be. Apparently, a leg is the preferred receptacle for preschool snot, since my thighs currently look like they are covered in donut glaze.

-MM