Wrapped, Like a Band-Aid

The night before last, after I had been with Buzz putting him to bed, I came out to find a band-aid on Abby’s finger. It seems she had her first papercut, inflicted as she was ripping pages out of a book.

“Mommy! Boo-boo!”, she exclaimed as we made our way in to bed. I looked at it, immediately deeming the band-aid unnecessary, and thought of taking it off. She seemed content with it there, however, so I decided instead to wait until morning.

When we awoke the next morning, I pulled the small bandage from her skin. There was a sliver of a slice in the crease of her small index finger. It clearly didn’t bother her anymore, as she trotted off to play and didn’t make another mention of it for the rest of the day.

That is, until J came home from work later.

As soon as she saw him walk through the door, her first reaction was to hold out her hand and sensationally announce, “Daddy! Boo-boo! Finfer!”. Little Miss Drama Queen brought this suddenly reawakened nick to his attention a few other times throughout the night as well. Then, as I came out again after putting Buzz to bed, I noticed another band-aid on the same finger. Covering the same papercut. “What? She wanted it”, he told me in his defense.

Now a band-aid, next a pony. He can try to deny it all he wants, and he does, but someone has him wrapped around her little bandaged finger. “It doesn’t work on me”, he’s been known to say with a tough exterior. Obviously, though, it very much does.

Beware

This is what happens to Barbie in our house.

It isn’t pretty.

Deep Questions

“Is Grey Kitty going to die?”

This is what Jedi asked me the other morning. My first instinct was to immediately search for our cat, to make sure he was still in good health. I’m not Kitty’s biggest fan, but we’ve had him for 12 years. We picked him and his brother, which we creatively named Orange Kitty, up as kittens when J and I first moved in together. Orange Kitty passed away a few years back.

“Um, sometime, yes”, I replied carefully.

“What will happen when he dies?”

At this point, I was preparing myself for a grand tale about running free on a farm with all of our other deceased pets from over the years. I thought it might be time for a deep discussion of God and heaven and heavier questions of spirituality and mortality for a 6 year old. I paused briefly, treading lightly into intense territory. I also considered apologizing to Grey Kitty for discussing his death when he was very much alive.

“Well, he’ll go to kitty heaven”, I told him as an initial step. I figured he’d surely have more questions where we could elaborate and delve further into the circle of life.

“OK”, he said in turn. “But what I meant was, if Kitty dies can we get a dog?”

Where a Kid Can Be a Kid

Saturday afternoon, J suggested the bright idea of taking the kids to Chuck E. Cheese, a place we usually try to avoid as much as possible. Except this time, I said sure, sounds fun. Sounds fun? Clearly, neither of us were in our right minds.

I came home with a few alternate takes on their “where a kid can be a kid” slogan:

  • Where a mom can lose a kid, and her last nerve.

  • Where your 4yo can score higher than you at skeeball.
  • Where a kid can be truly indecisive.
  • Where a kid can be terrified of a pigtailed robotic chicken.
  • Where it’s impossible to look cool drinking from a cup shaped like a crown.
  • Where you eat your already non-appetizing pizza while staring at a giant mouse.
  • Where you wish you brought hand sanitizer.
  • Where you realize how cute your own kids are compared to everybody else’s.
  • Where they play music from KidzBop. Need I say more?
  • Where random kids will follow you around, begging for tokens.
  • Where your entire self-worth is based on how many tickets you can accumulate.
  • Where a kid can be a kid, but the parents feel really, really old.
  • Where a kid might, possibly, pee his pants.
  • Where a kid can be a screaming wild animal let loose out of it’s cage.
  • Where it might be a good idea to keep a kid on a leash.
  • Where they should really serve alcohol.
  • Where a kid can spend 4 hours playing and racking up tickets to win some foam rocket piece of crap that was destroyed within 5 minutes of being home.

The things we, as parents, go through with a smile on our face. The kids had a good time, though, which is what counts. That’s what I’m supposed to say, right?

Ride Like the Wind (Or a Small Puff of Air)

There was a group of kids riding their bikes past our driveway. Their ages ranged and sizes varied, but they had pedals in common. Handlebars glistening with the sun. It’s a scene that never seems to change. Two wheels and a child who believes they can fly like the wind. No matter the era, there’s just something about a kid and his bike.

Jedi has a bike that was handed down from his nephew. He won’t go anywhere near it. Last year, J made a few feeble attempts to teach him how to ride. He was wobbly and petrified and practically drowning the evil in holy water and garlic.

I was glancing out the window watching this group of kids as they passed with Jedi by my side, relishing in a brief interlude of childhood nostalgia.

“You see those kids? That should be you”, I said to Jedi.

“Nuh-uh, not me!”, he declined.

“Riding a bike is fun. You really need to give it a try”, I tried to enforce.

“No it’s not! Not for me!” He wasn’t giving up.

“Yes, for you, too.”

“No, not for me. I’ll fall down and get run over by a car!”

On the other hand, maybe bicycles just aren’t his thing. I suppose I shouldn’t hold my breath on skateboarding, either.