I knew the corruption of my children still had lingering affects when Kristjana called me the other day. “Mom I hurt myself. I have a huge blister. It popped and now it’s bleeding. I have no Band-Aids and it’s your fault.”
“Kristjana you are a big girl now you can buy Band-Aids.”
That’s not the point mom. I know I am adult but the fact that I have no Band-Aids is your fault.”
Of course it was my fault. I was a regular fault line. I wonder if this is how George Bush was beginning to feel.
Kristjana was still blathering. “I called my friend to tell him I had no Band-Aides and he wanted to know why. I said it was because when we were little if we needed a Band-Aide we had to go through the General.”

I started to laugh. Kristjana spewed on. “Who is the General?” he asked. “My mom.” I replied. “You had to write an essay about the wound, explaining why you needed a Band-Aide and then give it to her for inspection. Before I showed her my wounds, if I thought she would say no to a Band-Aide I would pick at my sore and make it a little worse.”
I was laughing hard now but her little rant was still going on.

“Guess what he said, Mom. ‘Were Band-Aides a luxury item in your house?’”

I was laughing so hard I had to sit down.

“The reason I don’t have any Band Aides, Mother, is because you made me learn to live without them. Well, I want you to know I finally broke down and bought some. News Flash, they don’t cost that much.”
I stopped laughing long enough to respond. “That is because you are not papering the walls with them Kristjana.”

Once I had grandchildren, I actually tried to reform my heartless ways. I bought several thousand of the sticky little things. I gave them out like they were cotton candy and then counted slowly to ten as I walked around the house and yard constantly picking up the wrappers.

The day I went outside and found Sponge Bob, Looney Toons, and every Disney Character ever invented paving my driveway was the day I marched into the house, grabbed my Generals hat, a stack of paper and pencils and re-opened triage. I am damned to a life of guilt.


Jane Isfeld Still said...

The winner of the blog contest was Debbie. Congratulations :) Will be contacting your for information to send the book out.

tammy said...

This was great! I remember my kids wanting band-aids for the littlest things and me wanting to save them for bigger emergencies and then wondering why, when they don't cost that much.

Small Town Shelly Brown said...

Fun! Congrats Debbie!

Connie said...

Now that brings back memories. The errant bandaid wrappers, the little white pieces that came off the sticky part and the discarded used bandaids seemed to litter my house and yard when the kids were small. But then again a bandaid usually quieted a hysterical child when blood was present. No amount of money and a mess is too much for peace and quiet.

LisaAnn said...

Oh, thanks for that laugh!

I need one of your general hats because currently my youngest (4) thinks she needs a band-aid if her skin is anywhere near the shade of red. Her right hand alone, at this moment, has three band-aids and her foot one--which is an improvement since this morning she added one more then an hour later took it off informing me she was healed.

I tell myself the picking up is easier to deal with than the whining when I say no. Yeah, I'm a weakling. I call it "Picking my battles." Good cop-out, right?


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...