grace loves band-aids

Grace loves band-aids. She proudly tells random strangers about the scrape on her knee, the bump on her elbow, and the cut on her finger. “But you can’t see them,” she says, “cuz I got a band-aid.” Random strangers can be far more sympathetic about “ouchies” than me.

Before bath time I threaten to pull them all off as I launch into my imitation of a brow wax… “Just imagine helplessly lying there while the nice lady smooths the warm wax covered strip on the delicate skin just above your eyelid – smooth… smooth… smooth… Zip – She tears it off leaving your skin painfully red and happily hair free. You’re going to pay money for this in the future,” I tease.

I quickly have Truman laughing and Grace requesting that dad give her a bath.

That’s nothing compared to my mother who would not let us near a band-aid unless we could produce dripping blood. She’s much nicer now that she has grandkids. In an effort to repent she has Barbie band-aids at her house – one of the many reasons that Grace adores Grandma.

As I move through the house, I’m finding wrappers from the band-aids applied already this morning. It would be easy to get aggravated by her wastefulness, but right now a kiss, a band-aid, a little patience, and Grace can face the world again. Life has a way of not staying so easy, so for now I guess its okay with me that Grace loves band-aids.