Gold Star

Confession: We do not have one single band-aid in our house. Not one. How a house with a toddler boy functions without the aid of bandages is a mystery, but there you are.

Confession #2: I am a picker, popper, and poker. I CAN NOT leave zits, scabs, in-grown hairs, hang nails etc. etc. etc. alone. I must pick and pick and pick until they bleed or puss or get worse or something.

About a week ago I jacked up my thumb something awful. It started as a little...I don't know...skin hang nail(?) (eww) and because of my horrible picking habit, I turned it into a bloody groove in the middle of my thumb. On my right hand. I am right handed. This is not the first time I have done this to myself.

I had to ask a friend for a band-aid. She pulled one out of a first aid kit.

Not only did she have a band-aid, she had a whole first aid kit. Needless to say, I do not have a first aid kit.

Flash to this afternoon. While P napped I organized the garage- who knew!? I'm not sure what I did, but at one point I looked down and my foot was bleeding. A lot.

I think I may have run over my own foot with one of P's car things, but who knows? Maybe a bat spider bit me or maybe we have rats and my dirty garage-floor foot looked yummo to them.

All I know was my foot was bleeding and I was (still) without band-aids.

Josh was out running errands, so I called him, informed him of the happenings since his departure and asked him to bring home gauze and tape.

WHY DIDN'T I ASK FOR BAND-AIDS?!!?

When he got home he tended to my foot and changed P’s poo pants as I could not possibly walk around and track blood through the house…(yes he fell for that line).

Since he played rugby and sustained many an injury, he thinks he can wrap my foot. I left the house after a bit, with Pman headed to a birthday party.

Though the cut is near my big toe, the wrap would lead you to believe I had some sort of ankle injury.
*****
P was not feeling the bath/bed routine this evening.

He cried- well fake cried, so really it was just wailing- through most of the bath.

Then I dropped a squishy rubber tub toy (read: one step up from a wash cloth) on his head sending him into a shrilly tantrum that could be heard from planets yet discovered.

I was about to join P in the no tears screaming fit. Just as I was about to curl up in a ball in the foyer and rock back and forth until the bad stopped, Josh came into the bathroom with a (clean) diaper on his head, like a hat.

Pman started to giggle.

No, he was all out laughing.

What a faker!

How did Josh come up with that? How did he know a diaper as a hat would be the trick to turn it all around? These questions will never really have an answer. Or maybe it a guy thing.

Either way you earned a gold star today Josh.