You know you're a mother when...

Please welcome Mrs. Chicken, who wrote this post as part of the monthly blog exchange. You can read my post at her blog.

Last night we attended a party for the doctoral students in my husband's department at the Huge Midwestern University. Hosted by one of his professors, the event was scheduled for 4:30 to 6 p.m.

In the good old days, The Poo would sleep like an angel during those hours. Oh, how glorious it was! Three hours every day to clean, shower, write, nap or watch The Gilmore Girls.

Those glory days are behind me now, and the same time of day is currently set aside for crazy. Unless, of course, we need to be somewhere.

Yesterday, The Poo fell into a deep sleep during the 10-minute drive to the party.

I carried her in like a sack of potatoes, lying her down on an unfamiliar sofa in a house full of doctoral candidates jockeying for face-time with the faculty bigwigs. I left her there to doze as I watched the competition from the sidelines, and just as we were getting ready to leave, she woke.

Eyes huge from slumber and cheeks rosy from playing in the hot sun all afternoon, she made a pretty picture. Snuggled into daddy's shoulder, she flirted shyly with Mr. Chicken's mentor and waved goodbye as we trundled her off to the car.

Where she proceeded to have a huge meltdown.

There we were, driving down the town's main drag, me half out of my seat and twisted backward to see what was plaguing the child so.

She was hitting her nose frantically.

"Yuckas, Mommy! Der's yuckas in my nose!" she screamed.

So I reached back as far as my (freakishly long) arm-span would allow and pulled from her nose the largest, grossest, most man-sized booger in all the land. This was not a delicate little snot from a tiny, girlie little nose.

This was a booger for the ages.

I turned back into the front seat, the aforementioned booger on my index finger.

"Look at that!" I held it up for Mr. Chicken to admire. "That is one huge booger!" At that moment, precisely, it dawned on me.

This was a booger only a mother could love.

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Mrs. Chicken is a freelance writer and mother of The Poo. She is learning to love life on the prairie while her husband pursues higher education at a Huge Midwestern University. When she isn't ridding the world of gigantic boogers, she is blogging at Chicken And Cheese.