"Mommy, I have a piece of ear."
"What?" said I, unable to fathom what he meant.
The Boy pulled back from our hug and handed me a nugget of earwax. It was about the size of broken #2 pencil point. Not huge in general terms, but certainly huge in terms of things a three-year-old extracts from his ear. And a veritable juggernaut in the realm of things I really, really don't want to handle sans protective gloves.
As soon as he'd passed off the earwax, he laid himself back down upon me, pinning me to the couch and rendering me unable to divest myself of this chunk of bodily by-product. What's a mother to do? Well, I opted to stay put until his breakfast was served and he happily skipped away from me toward the waiting plate of chopped plum and cereal bar. At that point I discreetly disposed of the gunk, shivered, washed my hands, and zoomed off into the morning mist to begin my commute.