Skip to main content

The Band-Aid

The Band-Aid has an allure all its own.  Over the past six years, I've come to learn about new dimensions of the band-aid and they continue to bewitch my kids.  Decorated by characters or not, the band-aid and its non-brand name counterparts, fulfill numerous roles. Only one of them involves healing wounds.

The Band-Aid is a craft supply, a temporary tattoo, a sticker, an adhesive (when tape cannot be located) and an agent that binds two uncooperative objects (i.e. Barbie and a tiny Barbie hat or cell phone).  Somehow, I thought they would have stopped giving after all this time, but on a semi-regular basis I come to find the tell-tale signs of their use (some argue misuse). The plastic tabs litter the couch where they have been peeled back and chucked hither and yon.

The Band-Aid has certain properties that I was unaware that they possessed before I had children to teach me about them.  Apparently, when applied correctly, they can make a minor pain anywhere on your body disappear.  Without medication of any kind, they soothe pain, even bruises.  Bump your toe? Get a Band-Aid.  A parent's kiss cannot match its healing salve. They do such a good job,  that sometimes we feel left out.  The misuse of Band-Aids really bugs my husband.  He sees their flagrant use as a negative attention seeking behaviour.  I tend to think that they are, as fixations go, rather a benign one.  By taking it upon themselves to seek out the band-aid and determining when it is needed, I kind of see their use as a tactile way my kids make sense of injury and healing, evaluating pain and subduing it.

We try to explain that they should be reserved for when the skin is broken and there is blood, but the response is always along the lines of  "oh but Mama, there IS broken skin and there IS blood."  "Where?"  "There, right there, can't you see it?"

You sticky oblong thing you, you are held in high regard*. Your powers are unseen but felt, your ways beyond my comprehension.


*Tara Anderson, takes the Band-Aid thing to a whole other level at her blog, The Pink Couch.

Comments

  1. I, too, fluctuate between loving the power of the band-aid and disliking their wild misuse/waste.... but I am always amazed by their power over kidpain...always.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I entered August without you.

 I won't visit you this month.  You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you.   I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.

Fists full of lettuce

 It is a pot of a variety of lettuce plants. It was planted by my mom.  She has been living with Stage 4 bile duct cancer for at least 1.5 years (that we know of, probably a lot longer).  Standing and gardening are becoming harder as time goes on. She learned about gardening from her dad as a kid and kept on gardening every year of her adult life.  Sometimes the gardens were tiny or rudimentary, but with the help of my dad , they have become major and, at times elaborate, growing projects over the years.  Now it is a collection of raised beds and regular beds that hold a host of plants, vegetable and flowers. Something that was clear that first spring with Stage 4 cancer is that gardening would continue in a big way, cancer or no cancer.  It was important to order the seeds and start them inside and get them planted outside, no matter what. Spending time together in the summer with cancer now consistently involves gardening and following instructions. Plant...

Keep telling yourself that.

We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still.   We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue.  Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision.  They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped.  Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...