Bread Does Not Go In Your Ears. Noses? Maybe… Probably… Yes. But Never Ears.

Well, in an attempt to liven up an otherwise very boring evening last night, Thing 2 rolled his white Wonder Bread (Don’t judge me!!) into balls the size of BBs…

… and stuffed two of them right up his nose, exactly like a boss.

I’m not sure that I would’ve had any inkling that he’d just committed a parent’s worst nightmare, had I not SEEN HIM with his finger buried to the second knuckle, working furiously on his schnoz.  Because our kid isn’t known for his nose-picking tendencies, my Mother’s Radar went into high alert.  Red flags waved like a crash had just happened at Talladega.  I practically shouted, “What are you doing?”

Because Thing 2 has not yet learned the fine art of telling fibs to cover his tracks in pulling off a crime, he looked at me, with his finger still up his nose, and replied, “Well, I just put little balls of bread in my nose.”

(*insert parental face palm, right here*)

I grabbed the preschooler and a flashlight, and YES.  Yes, there were bread balls so high up that I wasn’t going to be able to spear them with anything other than a sword made out of a hypodermic needle.  Since we don’t have any of those just lying around the house, a giant safety pin was my next option for spear-fishing, but something just felt completely wrong about using the jack-of-all-trades tool known as the safety pin on a three-year-old’s nose.

So, my next path of GET IT OUT!  GET IT OUT! was to grab Kleenex, hold it to his nose, and tell him to blow his boogers out like he meant big business.  Because he’s not a professional nose-blower yet, Thing 2 INHALED DEEPLY on accident…

… and the bread balls disappeared.


Sucked into the nether regions of his sinus cavities.

Hubs wasn’t home, so this meant that I was alone to flap my arms like a frightened pigeon, as I tried to decide WHAT TO DO?  WHAT TO DO?

I ended up texting a good friend of mine, who’s a Physician’s Assistant.  She laughed (because she knows Thing 2), and said, “The blessing is that it was BREAD, and bread breaks down quickly.  Give thanks that it wasn’t something solid, like a peanut or a chunk of carrot.”

Well, at least there was THAT golden lining in the situation.  It wasn’t a peanut!

Here, here, y’all!  It wasn’t a peanut!  Let’s clink our champagne flutes together and give thanks that it was not a solid peanut, because we have the favor of the Lord in this.

Her recommendation was to let it go.

So, we sang some Frozen verses, and I did just that.  I decided that, for once in my life, I would be the laid back parent who can handle catastrophes with calmness and dignity, exactly like Princess Kate surely handles things with Prince George.  (Although I suspect that royal babes are quite above shoving bread into their noses, because HOW WILL YOU EVER GROW UP TO RULE A COUNTRY, WITH WONDER BREAD BLOCKING YOUR SINUSES?)

When Hubs arrived back home, I let him know that I was “letting it go,” and doing the “wait and see” method of handling this, exactly like my PA friend, with all of her medical knowledge, had advised.  Hubs was shocked that I hadn’t just called 911, because my tendencies lean more to LET’S GET TO THE DOCTOR’S OFFICE RIGHT THIS SECOND, rather than undoing my ponytail, shaking it in the breeze, and hollering out, “Let it go!  Let it go!  Can’t hold it back anymore!”  I think Hubs was proud of me.

And… I really DID let it go, until I rocked Thing 2 to sleep last night.  That’s when the thoughts crept in, right there in his darkened bedroom.

What if the bread is in his lungs now?

What if he suffocates tonight?

Never mind that he’s been fine for the past four hours!  WHAT IF HE’S NOT FINE WHILE HE SLEEPS, BECAUSE THERE IS WONDER BREAD UP HIS NOSE?  And what will I tell the EMTs, when they bring the ambulance around?  Would I choose the truth, and admit that it was WHITE, BLEACHED-FLOUR, WONDER BREAD, WITH NO NUTRITIONAL VALUE?  Or would I lie, and claim that it was organic, nine-grain bread, made by elves, with nuts and seeds and tree bark thrown in for extra nutrients, because WHAT KIND OF MOTHER GIVES HER BABIES WHITE BREAD???

In the end, I took a deep breath, put the babe to bed, and promised myself that I wouldn’t think about it.

At 5:20 this morning, Thing 2 woke up, sneezing over and over and over and OV-AH.  I kept trying to see if a Wonder Bread BB was being forcefully shot out of his nose, but when the nose is going off like an automatic weapon, it’s hard to see things that are flying OUT.

In all honesty, I had no idea at 5:20 this morning if we’d just dislodged some Wonder Bread, or whether we were in the initial phases of needing emergency medical attention.

And THAT, people, is when Thing 2 informed me, “My ear hurts, Mom.”

His ear hurts?

Would that be one of the two ears that we JUST PUT TUBES INTO THE WEEK OF THANKSGIVING?!


I’m fairly certain that I used the voice that’s mostly just reserved for horror movies, when the wicked stepmother falls off her wagon of Pretend Niceties, while her head spins full circles on her shoulders, like an owl who has been doing crack all night.


Thing 2 looked at me in shock, because WHO IS THIS CRAZED WOMAN, SHOUTING AT 5:30 IN THE MORNING?!  He shook his head and said, “No.  Bread doesn’t go in your ears!  I just put it up my nose.  I didn’t put any in my ears!”

Because.  Bread.

Doesn’t go.


Your.  EARS!!!

But obviously, it was designed to be rolled into tiny balls and pushed with the heel of your hand, straight up your nose, right to your brain, which you weren’t using when you concocted this brilliant idea yesterday to pack your sinuses full of cheap, GMO-filled flour.

If I live to be three hundred, I’ll never understand boys.

At 7:30 this morning, I texted my dear friend, Mary Kay, who runs our local ear, nose and throat office, because WE HAD BIG SNEEZING.  I explained that YES!  IT WAS WONDER BREAD, AND I’M SO ASHAMED THAT IT WASN’T SOMETHING HEALTHIER!  She had a good laugh on her end of the phone, because she also KNOWS Thing 2, and shot back in a text message that the official recommendation from the ear, nose and throat clinic was to use some saline drops three times a day… and then just LET. IT. GO.

Unless it started to stink like a dead animal.

Apparently, stinking like a dead animal means that we’ll have to haul our preschooler in to their clinic and have the bread extracted with plumbing tools.

So I think I’ve earned my status of being the Proverbs 31 woman today.  “She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family, and smells little noses to see if they carry the scent of a decaying raccoon.”

And then, apparently, that Proverbs 31 woman just let’s it go.  Well…  Not if the nose really does end up smelling like a raccoon who’s all laid out on the highway in the August sunshine.  Apparently, if that happens, we have to quit with all the letting it go, and just let our money go, in exchange for services rendered to dig Wonder Bread out of the schnoz.

But, in all honesty, I think we’re on the right path, because our ear, nose and throat doctor is quite smart.  With our first squirt of saline drops up the nose today, we had one ENORMOUS comet tail of white bread slime pour straight out.  Oh, yes.  White.  Bread.  Slime.  (You’re welcome for that visual.)  I think things are dissolving nicely.  I texted Mary Kay at the office, and she said, “The doc says, ‘Oh, good!'”

(Ear, nose and throat doctors seldom flinch at white slime pouring forth from the face.  Their stomachs are stronger than mine, because I will barf like a shot of lightning if I had to look at the snot they see every day.)

Of course, everyone at the clinic all had a good laugh at our expense, and went home to the unnecessary glasses of wine at their houses this evening, because they’re not the ones parenting a preschooler who shoves bread up his nose.


Y’all have a good Monday evening, and if you suffer the shame of actually having white bread in your home, may it remain in your pantry, far away from the sinuses of your preschoolers, exactly like it does in Buckingham Palace.  I just can’t envision Prince George ever pulling off such a stunt.

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