Tag Archives: Bandaid

Half-Time

Beauty in the day: he got a little scrape, and needed a bandaid. I pulled out the Bactine, and gave a little spray. Then I got some nice, soft, gauze to clean it. I started to clean.
“But go slowly,” he said.
I cleaned it kind of fast, and looked to see if he was handling it okay, and said, “I should just go fast so it will hurt less.”
“Okay, go fast, but go SLOWLY.”
I slowed down, and cleaned carefully.
“But of course, my friends are all waiting for me,” he mused.
I cocked an eyebrow and looked at him.
“Should I go fast, or should I go slow?”
He peered up at me, and then said, with authority, “You should go fast. But SLOWLY.”

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Little Big Man

Beauty in the day: he is little. Teeny-tiny. He’s one of those teeny-tiny packages that pack a wallop. He came in before school with a nasty scrape on his forearm, the wound bright red. He was HOWLING. My poor assistant was trying to dab at the spot, which only made him howl more. Those little packages can make a lot of noise. 😉
I jumped in, if only to rescue my assistant and put and end to his misery. I grabbed some gauze, and got him to look at me while I counted loudly out loud, “1, 2, 3, 4,” and made some quick work of wiping away the redness.
“Here, buddy, hold this,” I told him, and grabbed his free hand to hold the fresh gauze over the scrape (at this point, it was medically unnecessary, but emotionally necessary).
His trauma scale was now at a 7 from the original 10, evidenced by the heavy breathing coupled with the FIERY level look he was aiming at me. I began to open a bandaid package. “I do NOT want a BIG bandaid!” he informed me in no uncertain terms.
I set down the big bandaid with great pomp, and grabbed up a medium one. I didn’t wait for his opinion, but started talking my way through it rapidly, having sized up my foe and determined the best course to confuse him. I placed it over his wound, and he took 3 even breaths, and then turned on his heel to head to class, muttering loudly to himself as he went.

At lunch, he returned. “Take it off,” he said regally and with great importance.

“Oh, no. No, we will not take if off, friend, because you have a scrape under there that needs to heal.”

“It is better now,” he dictated. “Take it off!”

“Nope. Sorry, buddy. Not taking it off. That needs to stay on.”

We had a short argument then, him wrangling to remove the bandaid, and me standing my ground. I came up with a compromise. “Okay, we can take it off so you can look at it, but then I will cover it back up with a new one.” He felt this to be preposterous (which it was), and opted to leave it on.
“Make sure you show it to your mom when you get home, and she can decide if you can take it off.”

I’ve never seen a 5-year-old master the technique of the double-take…until now. He screwed his face up tight and looked at me with the scoffing-est of scoffing looks. “I will NOT show it to my mother!” he said over his shoulder, as he exited the office with the swiftness of one who isn’t interested in getting caught up and any more ridiculous conversation.

It’s important that our jobs are not around the clock. I can likely use the down time to restrategize.

Beauty Squared

Beauty in the day: there was more than one. Or maybe it was that I was out of the office for the previous 2 days, so that the kids just seemed cuter? Nah…
Before school could even start 2nd grade girl comes into the office, and announced boisterously: “I just got the good news about ME.” Seems she is scheduled to receive not one, but TWO awards at our upcoming 1st Trimester Awards Assembly, and apparently she is getting an award for ART, as well as one for ATTITUDE. I didn’t even need to pat her on the back; she was doing just fine.

Not long after that I was approached by Daily 3rd grade boy, who came to me and asked, “Can I tell you something?” My eyebrow went up, and I said to him (I really did), “Well, if I say ‘no’, you’re just going to tell me anyways, right?” He confirmed this theory, and so I motioned for him to “please continue”.
“Never eat at Mcdonald’s. Or never eat at family restaurants – or, I mean, fast-food restaurants.”
I have to admit, I was curious.
“And why is that?” – it was a good question; I wasn’t disappointed.
“Because they put eyeballs.”
“They put eyeballs?”
“In the food. They put eyeballs.”
“And how did you come to discover this?”
“I saw it. On the menu.”
Since I had been gone the previous two days, I was clearly a bit out of practice, because I engaged him.
“I have seen the menu, and I have not seen anything about eyeballs on it. I am sure about this.”
He countered. “Well, what I mean is that I went behind the counter where they work, and I saw.”
This I could not refute. After all, I have not been behind the counter.
“And you saw EYEBALLS??!?!??!?”
“Yes,” he said with a marked air of authority. “But you can go to Red Robbin. They do not put eyeballs in their food there.”

~ ~ ~ So there was that.

Near lunchtime, Favorite 2nd grade boy who sometimes sings Spanish-Gaelic songs (forgive me, IRISH-Gaelic – the poor boy feels that I will never let him live that down) came in to the office with a small baggie in his grip. “I have brought some first aid things with me that I will use today to be a helper at recess, in case anyone gets hurt.” He had some bandaids, and gloves, and gauze inside. During the recess, he brought a girl in (he didn’t know she was a frequent flyer). He already had his latex gloves donned, and he escorted her into the clinic, setting about the task of providing her with an ice pack (note: the ice pack is the one tool that is used more than any other in the school clinic. If a child came in suffering from frostbite or exposure, they would ask first and foremost for an ice pack). He honestly had the bedside manner of a very fine physician.

Finally, 5th-grade-girl-who-was-doing-math came in with eyes that were bothering her. I came in to see that the school nurse had suggested she lay down and shut her eyes for a minute or two.
“I’m not sure,” I said, “but my eyes are bothering me too, I think, and I would like to lay down and shut them for a minute or two as well.” I laid on the other cot, and closed my eyes, remarking on how lovely that felt, which caused 5th grade girl (who was missing math) to begin giggling. Apparently I look very comical laying on a clinic cot.

Happy Day to any of you who had so many beauties in one day!