resting...
hello everyone!
daddy is writing the blog today cuz tUcKe
R is
resting...
i could say that he is
tuckered out...
and daddy is
really not feeling it...
really?
really.
rilly....
not.
feeling.
it.
so he
re is one of my favorite stories of all time...
brought to you by the letter
r...
that sure is a lot of bandaids...
When my daughter was young, she loved Band-Aids. If it hurt, it needed a band-aid. I never understood why. I still don’t. I fought this affinity for about three minutes.
Or three years.
I can’t quite remember when I just gave in and gave up. I had no idea that this was even an issue when I re-married eleven years ago.
One day my daughter asked me for a Band-Aid.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
“Yes.” She replied.
“Are you bleeding?” was my next query.
“No.” she responded.
“Then you don’t need a Band-Aid,” was my logical response.
“Yes. I do” She replied.
This went on for what seemed like hours. It was probably more like three seconds.
I gave in.
When I went to the linen closet to get a Band-Aid I found that we had approximately seven million of them.
Geez that was a lot of Band-Aids
There were Barney, Scooby, and Hello Kitty band-aids. There were pink ones and blue ones and even a couple boxes of flesh colored regular boring band-aids.
I remarked to my wife, “Why do we have SO many Band-aids?”
“Libby likes them.” she replied.
I guess so, I thought to myself.
I gave my daughter one and thought that was all I had to do.
“Put it on me.” She said.
I asked her where it needed to be adhered, and she pointed to what appeared to be a spot of perfectly healthy skin.
Again I asked, “Why do you need a band aid?”
"I have a boo-boo." she replied.
Over the years she had several boo-boos and apparently the band aid was the magic elixir that made it all right. I am not a kiss it an make it feel all right type of guy. I reluctantly obliged. What can you do?
Too soon she won't need me at all, for anything, let alone making it feel alright.
I am a carpenter by trade. I still have all my fingers. However, I often get cut, scraped or draw blood. Lots of boo-boos. Sometimes I am bleeding and I only figure that out when I see blood on the floor or the object I am working on.
My idea of a band-aid is duct tape. In lieu of duct tape there is electrical tape. If those two items are not available there is always a strip of a rag.
The dirtier the better, that’s how you build up tolerance to infection.
When I sold my Toyota, I found three boxes of Band-Aids in the back seat storage compartment. I think I put them in there to make room in the linen closet. Maybe it was to make sure I had a Band-Aid in case my daughter needed one. I traded in the Toyota for a Ford Ranger and I have a first –aid kit in my truck.
I am not exactly sure what is in it.
I put it in there when I bought the truck. I have no idea where it came from. It is not big enough to hold a roll of duct tape.
A few months ago we were playing Hockeyball. My daughter took a tumble. She skinned her knee. It drew blood. She left the rink, and cleaned up her wound.
She is s tough little cookie. She made more of a fuss about the hole in the leg of her newest pair of skinny-leg jeans than the bleeding spot on her knee. She came back on for her next shift, and played thru the rotation.
She never even asked me for a Band-Aid.
My little girl is growing up.
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