Band-Aids Fix Everything

When the early winter flu swept through our home, it hit everyone. Thankfully, the household mostly fell ill in twos and threes. Otherwise, I suppose if we all got sick at once, you would have read about it in the obituaries. As it was, we were simply a pitiful sight of sore throats, runny noses, and headaches.

When #8 came down with it, he toddled over to my knee and touched his throat with one finger. “It horwts,” he complained.

“Does it hurt here?” I asked lightly touching his throat.

“Yeaaaah…” #8 whined. “I neeeeed Band-Aid”

Oh yes. Have you forgotten how Band-Aids fix everything at a certain age? Stubbed toes. Cut fingers. Bumped heads. Bee stings. Bruises.

No. To tell the truth, I do not remember either. But, I remember it with siblings. And now, I cannot get away from it. For the last eleven years, I have had children at that age. Whether they need it or not, they want a Band-Aid.

I knew a Band-Aid would not help #8, and told him so. He responded with a, “Noooohohohohoo, I neeeed Band-Aid.”

I realized he was at a point beyond reason, somewhere between laid-up-in-bed and too-stubborn-to-listen. So, I did the next best thing. I took him to his mother.

Wife took her little boy in her arms, laughing out loud as I told her #8’s solution to his sore throat. She kissed the top his head and said, “A Band-Aid won’t help you with your throat, silly boy. But come with me. Mom knows how to help you.”

#8 frowned, and I could almost hear him think out loud, “Why can’t Band-Aids help?”

Wife took #8 by the hand, impossible to escape. She led him to her arsenal of vitamins, oils, and all-around-will-make-you-better. The vitamin C went down easily, and #8 asked for a second. The vitamin D, which is a nastily white goo that tastes like chalk mixed with lime, was a challenge for the little boy swallow. But the purple antioxidant powder caused the most trouble, and #8 did his best to refuse it.

“Good boy,” Wife cooed once he finished swallowing. “Now I’ll get you some vinegar and honey to soothe your throat.”

Oh… why can’t Band-Aid fix everything?

Of Presents and Children

As you are all aware, Christmas, and its entire season, has since passed. But, I had written little about our holiday experience, and still wanted to share. And so, like Rip Van Winkle, better to show up late than never.

Christmas gifts! Yay!

Christmas gifts! Yay!

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How Seasons Change

I remember a time when the children’s comfort was our daily goal. To keep the child happy and dry held our undivided attention. Unless she was sleeping, the baby did not leave our arms. And Heaven help us if the toddler’s socks got wet. I suppose you might say we learned that the children are not as breakable as we first thought.breakable Continue reading

Tug-Of-War

Ever since #10 joined our club, I have had a little trouble with some of our members. Well, really only two, #8 and #9. It is not that they dislike their little sister or resent their mother. It is a problem of space. They cannot occupy the same space at the same time, despite how hard they push each other.

Displaced

Displaced

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The Wonder of Daddy’s Desk

I walked to my office, followed by my deathly, silent child. As I sat at my desk and switched on the computer, #8 settled at my elbow. The quiet of the morning was shattered; not with the rising sun, but with the exuberance of the nearly two year-old. The wonder of daddy’s desk! desk Continue reading

An Early Morning Visitor

In the early morning, before the sun peeked over the valley, I dressed quietly by the dim light of a small lamp. While I dug into a drawer for a clean shirt, the bedroom door rattled. That of itself was not abnormal. Our house is an odd combination of home improvements and old construction. A creaking section of floor or a settling door is expected. But then the door rattled again. I saw the doorknob jiggle.And the joor rattled

I’ve seen this horror film… Continue reading

Salt In The Wound

Wife has been close to pulling her hair out for the last few days. She is quite the accomplished little home doctor, but when her patients won’t follow the prescription, well I guess that will drive any doctor insane. So, the two little boys, again, took off their Band-Aids. Continue reading

The Different Faces of Mischief

The children all seem to pass through some mischief phase or another. With all our children, one right after the other, I would have thought that Wife and I would be able to correct any misbehavior almost before it happens. Well, it so happens that while all the children fall into the same patterns, they, very cleverly, find very different way to execute them.

One little face.

One little face.

Wife, now seven and a half months pregnant, waddled out to the porch like a penguin in high-gear. The screams that modulated between annoyance and terror, all stemming from the miniature lungs or #8, were the cause for Wife’s swift pace. And when she burst through the screen door, she was met with a sight that sent her temper up to match her quickening stride. The fourteen month-old, #8, was pinned down by his two year-old brother, #7, who was attempting to run over #8 with a big-wheel.

Another little face

Another little face

Like an avenging angel, Wife swooped in and with a blur of motion had #7 by the scruff of his shirt. He looked up with an expression of horrified amazement, as if to say, “Where on earth did you come from?” But after that he had no time for conscious thought, for he was caught in the whirlwind of his mother’s wrath; and before he knew what happened, he was whisked away in a tornado of arms and legs and left nearly spinning on his bed with the strict command to, “THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU DID!”

GET OUT OF THE WAY!

GET OUT OF THE WAY!

Wife then lifted up and comforted #8, and as he laid his head on her shoulder she turned and notice #5 and #6 for the first time. #5 piped up, “We saw him runnin’ over the baby, we saw him!” And next to his brother, #6 was nodding his head. It would have been better if he had said nothing.

Wife’s motherly instincts became indignant, and her flash-powder-temper had already been ignited. “Then why didn’t you stop HIM!”

At that point, the National Weather Service satellites recorded a second tornado blowing through my house which has taken hold of two little boys.

Here I must stop my wit for a brief moment and declare a wisdom that I had previously overlooked. The children’s bedrooms consist of bunk beds, sheets, and pillows. No toys. No books. No stuffed animals. All Wife’s design. Which means, when children are sent to bed, they have nothing to do but sit in bed… and start the crying that always accompanies discipline.

When I got home at the end of the day, all three boys were still in their beds, fast asleep, some four hours later. And bed-time-out worked. I know now #7 learned that #8 is not a speed-bump, for he has not tried to ride over him again. On the other hand, #8 keeps his distance when #7 in on his big-wheel. And #5 and #6 have learned that they are their “brothers’ keepers,” or at least they plead ignorance after the fact…