Band-Aid Aid

I need to rant here.

We are running through Band-aids faster than popsicles in our house. It’s like there’s a hidden sniper following us wherever we go. The kids and I will be walking around just fine and then all of a sudden, for no apparent reason, one of them goes flying through the air and skids along the asphalt like a rock being skipped across a lake. Since it’s summer and there is more exposed skin, they do not handle these tumbles with grace and a quiet “ouch”. There is no dusting oneself off and moving on. No, they scream as if there is a blowtorch being held directly on the “wound” and beg for a Band-Aid to provide them some sweet relief. Or they’ll be swimming nicely when suddenly the blood-curdling screams begin. Lest you think a shark made it’s way into the pool, it’s simply my kids scraping their precious toes on the rough pool bottom.

Three Band-Aids to cover three “boo-boos”. Note that I couldn’t even see two of the marks and the third was a tiny scrape that had been there for at least a week.

The other day AJR fell at the park and got a minor scratch. It took a solid 10 minutes of convincing that we didn’t need to leave the park so we could go home and get a Band-aid for it.

“But it huuuuurrrtttsss I neeeeeed a Band-Aaaaaiiiiiddddddd!” he moaned

Me: “You do know that Band-aids don’t actually make your boo-boos feel better.”

But there is some strange placebo effect of the Band-aid that instantly calms them. They believe that the almighty Band-Aid contains healing powers. I’m fairly certainly I could put a Band-aid on a broken bone and they would take a deep breath and go back to playing knowing that the Band-Aid was there to mend their splintered femur.

They are not discerning at all about what requires a Band-Aid either. EVERYTHING needs a Band-Aid. Olivia had a two-week old scab that had almost faded and told me that she needed a Band-Aid. There also seems to be a direct correlation between bedtime and needing Band-Aids RIGHT. NOW. RIGHT NOW! The lights are off, Olivia is tucked into bed, and suddenly she discovers a random boo-boo on her shin that needs a Band-Aid and she refuses to sleep without it.

Recently I made the drastic mistake of allowing them to choose character Band-aids during our most recent run to Target. As a veteran mom, I’m honestly a little disappointed in myself with this one. We had been rolling with the clear/brown band-aids for quite some time and they didn’t ask for anything else because they didn’t know there was anything else out there. I let Olivia select a box of Trolls Band-Aids since she is sort of obsessed and AJR went with Marvel super heroes. Another awesome choice because I don’t know any of those guys.

Well, now Band-Aids not only need to be applied to anything that remotely resembles a scratch, scrape, or cut, but they’re also art and my children need to express themselves through Band-Aids. Clearly the opportunity to select the perfect Band-Aid is overriding the severe pain they were experiencing only a few moments ago. They spend an agonizing few minutes deliberate on which character they want. This requires me to squint while I hold the Band-aids up to the light and try to guess which character is behind the wrapper. Make a mistake and open the wrong one and the wailing begins.  I DON’T WANT THAT ONE! I WANT POPPY! I WANT THAT GUY ON THE BOX! NO – NOT THAT GUY! THE OTHER GUY! YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO THAT GUY IS! YES I DO! (*repeat for five minutes until the wounded are completely satisfied)

The Band-Aid wrapper has so many pieces to it. And no matter how careful you are there is always one of the white tabs floating around your bathroom that you swore you threw away last time you were in there.

Then, just when you think you are done with the whole Band-Aid ordeal and you can move on with your life, here comes the request to take the Band-Aid off. It’s either uncomfortable or they’ve come to the realization that they actually didn’t want that particular character. Oh yes. Band-Aids are passé now so don’t even waste your breath trying to explain to them the arduous Band-Aid journey you just went on together. Simply remove the Band-Aid and go in another room where you can silently scream into a pillow.

Repeat this process every day of the summer.

Band-Aids are the worst.

Channeling his best Lisa “Left-Eye” Lopez here.


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