Band-Aid Torture

My daughter comes up to me, big smile on her face, Band-Aid on her forehead. I size up the situation and know what I must do. My fingers tingle as my whole being fills with anticipation. Maxie steps closer saying something about Black Doggie. I quickly ignore her two year old prattle, and focus on the task at hand. I only have one shot, and I don't want to blow it. One more step, her face open, her eyes full of trust. DON'T. I can't afford any sentimentality. Sentimentality clouds the judgement. And it is clear...abundantly clear the course of action I must take. Now I'm in the zone. Maxie begins to lean in. Her mouth parts, eyes blink. Wait for it. All my focus goes to ripping off that motherfuckin' Band-Aid. Three...two...

Why do kids go ape shit over Band-Aids? (I probably should have written adhesive bandages instead of the brand name, but like most Americans I also refer to tissues as Kleenex, gelatin as Jell-O, and change as Obama.) Every time I buy a box of Scooby Doo or Dora or Sponge Bob Band-Aids, at four dollars twenty-nine cents a pop, I am certain only about twenty-three percent of the box will be used for physical wounds.

What happens to the other seventy-seven percent...

Child falls. Child cries. Says he/she has boo-boo. Hysterics will not go away until child is bribed with cartoon Band-Aid. Peace restored. There is no wound, of course. In this scenario the Band-Aid heals emotional scars.

Or they are used as stickers. Band-Aids on cabinetry. Band-Aids on shower stalls. Band-Aids on the dog. In my house, a fresh box of Spidey Band-Aids will be gone in less than a week. Doesn't matter where I hide them. Their currency is worth more than candy, ice cream, bubbles and indelible marker combined.

For my own scrapes, I prefer the Sport Strip. They have tremendous sticktoitiveness. Seriously, they stick anywhere in any kind of conditions. You can sweat, you can take showers, you can sandbag a levee, and that sucker will stay stuck.

This was the Band-Aid my daughter was wearing on her forehead. And Sport Strips on a little girl's head is bad news. About a year ago Maxie found my stash and put a Sport Strip on her belly. No boo-boo this time. This was artistic expression. Even though it wasn't an accessory I'd choose, I let her have her fun. I figured I'd wait for the thing to fall off naturally. Four or five days later, it was still there showing no sign of loosing its stick. I knew I had to take action. At first, I gently tugged, but that mothersucker wasn't budging. The adhesive had become an industrial epoxy. So, I pulled harder. Maxie scream was blood curdling. I might as well have been flaying her skin. A whole afternoon went by that included alcohol, cotton balls, treats and cuddles, and shots of scotch. An irritated red mark was left on her belly.

I wasn't going to let that happen again. I had to rip it off her forehead. I thought of it as a blood sucking leech, and this was a life or death situation. Three...Two... Riiiiippppp. First the silence, followed by...SCREEEEEAM! Between my thumb and forefinger the limp leech dangled impotently.

She still has an adhesive oval on her forehead and a third of her eyebrow came off, but other than that, she's fine. To calm her, I plopped her in front of the TV. Curious George is really better for emotional scars anyway.

Side note: As I was putting this piece together, my daughter saw that I had a picture of a Hello Kitty Band-Aid and insisted I print it out for her. My son then wanted the Scooby Doo. And neither would go to sleep without holding those pieces of paper with cartoon Band-Aids on them. Think of the money I would have saved, had I known this years earlier. Next time my kid gets a boo-boo, I'm printing out a picture of a Strawberry Shortcake Band-Aid.

Side side note: Neither was interested in sleeping with the Jesus Bandages.