The volcano references just keep flowing here. We are a hotbed of volcanic imagery, a virtual mudslide of comparisons with the occasional lava bomb of humor.
Of course, we don’t like real lava bombs. They’re scary.
I never expected it, but all my newly gained knowledge of our earth’s steamy interior has been a parenting windfall.
For example, Little A. has wrestled with allergies all winter. His ears get stopped up and then he whines and whines and whines…and whines. When I’m feeling charitable, I remind myself that he can’t hear his own voice. He whines again. I tell myself it’s really uncomfortable when your ears perpetually stuffed up. He whines some more. I count to ten and suggest he should blow his nose.
“I don’t wa-ant to blow by dose!” he whines. That’s Stuffy-Whiney for “I don’t want to blow my nose!”
I count to twenty. “But it will clear out your ears.”
“Ho-ow will it do THA-AT?” he whines.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7—Inspiration wells up in the crater of my mind. “Hey, buddy. Your head is like a volcano.”
Stick with me here, he’s quiet and looking at me. “You have lots of magma inside—that’s your mucous, right?”
He’s still quiet.
“And then your nose is the main vent, right? That’s where we want the magma—the mucous—to come out. We DON’T want it to come out the side vents—those are your ears. So, if you blow your nose, all the stuff will come out the main vent.”
And then he…smiled. He smiled! And he blew his nose. And angels sang. And at bedtime, he asked for a volcano song.
A volcano song???
And, once again, Hephaestus—or someone—smiled on me. I sang Jimmy Buffett’s “Volcano” and he was happy.