band-aid

For the younger set at my house, there is a remedy they ask for repeatedly. One that apparently has the ability to make better all ills, aches, pains, you name it.

It is the band-aid. Band-aids are the solution to every hurt and pain imaginable. Every teeny scrape, every bump, every hangnail.

What is it about a band-aid? You scraped your knee? Of course, band-aid. You nicked your finger? Band-aid. Your sister pulled your hair? Your brother broke your favorite toy? Band-aid. Mom drank the rest of your juice? That’s a tough one, but perhaps, band-aid?

My children insist they will not feel better unless they have a band aid. That piece of fabric (I don’t like the plastic-y ones) with some sticky substance on one sides and some absorbent padding in between, they are magic. It seems like my kids go through them faster than the air they breath.

Sometimes I think it would be beneficial to my finances were I to purchase stock in band-aids because it might compensate for all of the band-aids I simply purchase.

(I avoid band-aids with any sort of design or character on them. If for some reason they are ever near my children, the incidences that require band-aids increase substantially.)

There are times when I, foolishly of course, suggest that perhaps a band-aid is not the answer. That at the rate we are flying through them means that when someone really needs a band-aid we probably won’t have one. Today I took off four band-aids stuck tightly around the fingers of my daughter because her poor skin needed some air. But I had to put one back on before bed, despite my reasoned arguments against it.

If only band-aids were the answer to all of our difficulties.

Heading into labor? Nurse! Get this woman a band-aid and stick it on her belly button! Hey, now that would be nice, and cost effective at the same time! Feeling a little down today! Band-aid! The Sesame Street ones will do the trick! Better than chocolate!

Actually, the more I think about it, I’m all for it. Where do I sign up? I want to be a part of the Band-aid-Cures-All Club.

Here is the biggest bummer about band-aids. For the scraped knee of a five year-old they work great. But it's the future events I know aren't covered.

When my daughter comes home from school after her best friend has moved on to join another. When someone says something cruel and unkind. When her sister is left crying because she wasn't invited over to play. Or when she doesn't make the final cut at a dance audition. When my son gets his sweet heart broken for the first time. When he loses that basketball game. When someone close really disappoints them. When a dream has to be let go for something else, even if that something else is better in the long run.

Then I'm going to be wishing for the magic power of the band-aid; the magic power that makes everything okay.