Some families have Game Night.
Some families have Movie Night.
Our family, as announced by my son Logan last night, has Ear Wax Night.
If I haven’t completely grossed you out yet and you are intrigued enough to keep reading I will paint the pathetic picture.
The conversation over dinner dishes last night started harmless enough. Somehow we worked our way around to what could be a new Oscar category, Most Dramatic Simulated Torture Scene as Performed by a Child.
Our daughter Whitney would have won that category no contest when she once had to have her ears irrigated because of ear wax build up and a possible ear infection. You would have thought the doctor was tearing her from limb to limb the way she howled, screeched and begged for her life. It was an impressive performance indeed.
My mother-in-law (MIL), who was over for dinner, harmlessly asked the sporting question that degenerated the evening. “Does Whitney normally have excessive ear wax?”
“Good Gravy, you think she grew potatoes in her ears she generates such a field of ear wax!” I said.
“That’s why she doesn’t listen,” Hubby surmised. “Probably can’t hear a thing through all that ear wax.”
Just then Whitney came into the kitchen bringing her dinner plate to the sink. Grabbing a nearby flashlight I said, “C’mere Whit. Let’s see what you’ve got growing in there now.”
Still suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome from her last ear wax encounter, she started whimpering and backing away.
“You can have a treat if you let me just look,” I tempted.
She immediately took the bait. “Okay!” She came back, laying her head on the kitchen counter.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph girl! How does one person generate so much ear wax?” I marveled looking at a fertile field of wax potatoes.
Hubby and MIL rushed over for a peak. Duly impressed, but needing a control group subject to compare, we all swiveled at once toward the boy child on the couch. “Hey Logan, c’mere for a second,” I said.
“What?” said Logan.
Once we got him under the flashlight we could see Whitney had some competition for potato farming. Hubby decided he did not want his kids cultivating ear wax potatoes and promptly ordered irrigation.
Logan really wanted to see what would come out of his ear so he was game. MIL decided to stay for the harvest on the pretense of medical support (she used to be a nurse), but in truth she too was morbidly fascinated. We got Whitney to go along with it by offering chocolate syrup to add to her treat.
With warm water, nasal bulb syringe left over from infant days in the kids’ medicine bag, and Tupperware to catch the run-off, the irrigation began.
And what an impressive crop it was. Logan set the bar high and it true 9 year-old fashion was giddily grossed out by his mammoth offering. I was just flat grossed out and glad I kissed their lips and not their ears at bedtime.
It was while we were flushing Whitney’s ears, all eagerly poised to see what the girl child’s ears would produce, when Logan happily announced, “It’s Family Ear Wax Night!”
At that moment I knew, we, as a family, excitedly comparing crops of ear wax potatoes, had truly either sunk to an unprecedented low or had stumbled upon a novel new family bonding ritual.
After a good laugh we decided we were all just gross.
However, I can’t help but think if I had the foresight to film it and put it on YouTube, Family Ear Wax Night would right now be the hot new sensation.
Darn. I should’ve also saved that one wax potato that looked like George Bush to put on eBay.