Son #1 got Cars 2 band aids at the local Walgreens yesterday. He was so excited about the cute band aids and proudly showed me his minuscule scratch protected by his prize. I oohed and ahhed an appropriate amount of time and then made my way to the kitchen to start cooking our dinner.
Son #1 played happily in the living room until he bumped his finger on the coffee table. He came to me cradling his finger and said. "Mama, I need a band aid. Look! I cut myself."
I looked down and saw nothing but replied. "Oh, that is terrible. Hmmm. Let me get you a band aid but first we'll have to cut it off."
Son #1 looked at me incredulously. "Noooo." He laughed nervously. "You can't cut it off."
"But we will need to do surgery on it before the band aid goes on." I said as I prepared the butter knife for the procedure.
Son #1 assessed his finger and the situation. "I think I'm better now. I don't need a band aid anymore."
"I'm glad to see that your finger is healed." I smiled mischievously to myself.
It is amazing how the threat of surgery with a butter knife miraculously heals all minor wounds.
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