I’ve never been much a fan of soap opera’s, that is, until I had children. I realized at that point, my life had become just that…one big soap opera (Key music- Da Da Da!)

As I sat at the breakfast table with my two boys, I suddenly imagined the camera crew and director laughing hysterically behind us as my younger son began to feed his egg and cheese sandwich to his stuffed dinosaur. “He doesn’t like it either Mom,” he let me know with complete certainty.

After the kids were excused, I remained at the table contemplating a new title for our soap opera. Here are some of my top choices:

1) All My Children (Are for Sale)
2) Bold Children and Beautiful Mothers
3) Passions for Hot Baths and Cold Drinks
4) As the World Turns (So do the wheels on the bus…Bye, Bye!)
5) Three Temper Tantrums, Two Lost Causes, One Life to Live

I come to just in time to hear the crash. The crew closes in on my stair case. The sound guy looks confused. A close up shot of my younger son’s forehead reveals an egg which seems to be growing with the pace to his heart beat. The sound guy finally looks satisfied and adds: “Ba Bump, Ba Bump, Ba Bump!”

“No, No, No, this is all wrong,” the director yells. “We’re going to have to reshoot the crash again. This time though, we’re going to need a little blood.”

Screams as loud as sirens begin to resonate from my little one.

“It’s too late,” I think to myself. He said the B word. I take one look at my son. His eyes are so puffy they’re one step away from being shut permanently. A lake of nose sauce has collected above his upper lip and is now beginning to form its own streams.

I try to rush to his aid, but in my panic to find a tissue I accidentally grab a dirty napkin covered in no other but barbecue sauce. The screams get louder, the nose sauce runs faster, and now I too find myself weeping.

“And that’s a wrap,” the director yells. He jumps from his chair. The crew begin to pack their equipment.

“Wait just a darn minute,” I demand. “What happened to reshooting the accident scene? You wanted to see more BL—!” I stopped my Freudian Slip just in time to see the swollen eyes of my son bulge from their sockets. I’m smarter this time. I reach for a dish towel to help plug the flood of snot which is racing faster than a Kentucky Derby Thoroughbred.

I try turning my attention back to the director, but it’s too late, he’s already gone.

I swipe the last bit of snot from my sons cheeks. Suddenly, another crash is heard from the dining room. Mom and son hold stare (cue music and role credits).

Unidentified voice over guy begins: “Tune in tomorrow to find out: Will Mary’s son’s nose ever stop running? Can Play-Doh really be removed from carpet? And finally, When Silly Putty is found on your dog’s butt; is it really silly?