Tape and Bandaids

In the comments on this post at Rocks in my Dryer, I expressed that we go through *lots* of tape and Bandaids. It was after commenting on this that I was reminded to pick up some Bandaids the next time I went to the store.

I did buy some (generic, of course) the next time I went out, and I had them home for less than 24 hours before I found the scene pictured above. I searched through the house for a child with a grievous, bloody injury, but found none.

What I did find was a 2 yr. old with a Bandaid barely holding onto a perfectly healthy big toe.

Bandaids seem to have a mysterious power that can make an injury, any kind of injury, feel better.

I say any kind of injury because at our house there needn't be blood involved to merit a Bandaid. It could be a toe that has been stepped on, or a finger that has been mashed in a drawer, or even a knee that is slightly red from a fall.

Apparently, it takes lots of sampling to find that special Bandaid capable of making certain injuries feel better.

Another thing we seem to be ever in need of around here is tape. Have you ever noticed how much tape a preschooler can manage to use on a drawing taped to the wall? Apparently, every inch of the perimeter must be covered with at least one layer of tape in order to meet the standards of Preschool Picture Display Standards.

Just the other day I was making waffles while balancing a baby on one hip, going through a mental grocery list, and listening to my 5 year old tell me what color party favors she wants at her next birthday party in SEPTEMBER(!).

All the while, I was vaguely aware of a familiar noise I was hearing over and over again. In the recesses of my mind, and in between answering the "birthday girl", I was sure I could identify the familiar sound if only I could have 3 seconds of uninterrupted concentration.

What was that sound?

I could feel the computer of my mind in "search mode" as I anticipated finally being able to identify the repetitive noise.

TAPE!

Yards and yards of tape being relieved of its tightly wound bondage by chubby 2 year old hands. I left my waffles and the 10 minute party favor monologue to round the corner and find a wad of tape the size of a large grapefruit dangling from its dispenser with no 2 year old in sight. She was off to accomplish another important task.

It's a full day helping out the family when you're 2.

I'll be adding tape to my mental grocery list.