You would've thought it was the end of the world, or something.
Sam hurt his finger (we're still not sure how) and the drama surrounding the injury was intense. But it was nothing compared to hysterics Brian and I had to endure while trying to get the bandaid on his finger. Two days to convince him to put a bandaid on. TWO DAYS! Not wanting a bandaid's no big deal if your boo-boo's not bothering you, but that was not the case here. He'd cry about his boo-boo, then cry about a bandaid, over and over.
My second and third graders always wanted bandaids when they didn't need them. I've never known a kid to not want a bandaid. I tried telling him it was a pillow for his boo-boo. I tried telling him it was a sticker for his boo-boo. It came down to an ultimatum - no playground until you wear a bandaid. He'd been asking to go outside and it was very nice out, so I gave it a shot. It just barely worked. He was still pretty reluctant. The second -
- I got that bandaid on, he perked up, smiled, laughed and told me how awesome it was. I said, "See, it didn't hurt!" His response was, "Yeah! I told you so!"
No...I told YOU so. That's what I'm supposed to say. Grrr!!
The next day we scooted out to Target and got some pretty cool Sesame Street bandaids just for little people. With that came a whole new set of problems - wanting a new bandaid every five minutes and needing a bandaid long past when the ouchy had healed.