The Boogie Men

Socially inappropriate content to follow. Read at your own risk.

I pick my nose. (May be worth noting that this is John’s turn at the wheel.) I’m not proud of it. But to be fair, I come from what I assume is a long line of nose pickers. My father is a great man in his own right, but passed along the vice… and I to my boys. Perhaps it passes with the surname (which of course would be to assume its genetic). More likely, however, is that it’s nurture - an acquired taste (don’t get carried away… haven’t eaten a booger in ages).

So Jack and Finn don’t have a chance… in more ways than one, but specifically as it pertains to the nose picking. We’ve tried to mitigate the damage by teaching Jack to avoid booger consumption with the phrase “pick it and flick it”. He typically responds by going to work to find more buried treasure and pipes up with a “wook daddy, I fwick it… no, ith stuck… I can’t fwick it!”

Our policy as it applies to nose picking is not unlike the defensive philosophy opposing teams used for Michael Jordan – “You can’t stop him, you can only hope to contain him.” And so with time we’ll try to teach the boys context. Pick it and flick it in the back yard: great. Pick it and flick it at a job interview, first date, funeral service, delivery room, or anywhere J Crew clothing is worn: really bad idea.

The point of this particular blog? Good question. Honestly, it does seem like a poor judgment call to air out our dirty laundry on a blog. That said, hopefully you’ll extend some grace to our boys on the off chance that they announce their discovery mid Sunday school. Some of the blame should be shared with their parents... or at least their father.