My daughter is obsessed with boo boos, Band-Aids and stickers. Anything with an adhesive backing is as good as gold to her. I’m afraid if I give her a roll of tape, she might tape her eyelid shut. I’m afraid if I give her a post-it, she’ll be the girl who pastes it to her forehead.
When I was a kid, there was only one type of Band-Aid. It was the original, ugly, flesh colored type with no special padding or shapes. Now, I spend almost $3 on a box of Disney princess Band-Aids that she puts on fake boo boos. 99% of the time, there’s just nothing there. She didn’t even break skin. I need to look in the light to see any color variation.
I will not be signing her up for acting classes anytime soon, because the overly dramatic and non-existent bumps and bruises she receives aren’t fooling anyone. I’m just waiting for her to smack the back of her hand to her forehead and glide onto a fainting chair somewhere, every time she stubs her toe. Vivian Leigh was reborn!
She is constantly hamming it up and crying wolf over her boo boos. She’ll get a little scrape from the back of a new shoe and she suddenly wants to be Pig Pen’s soulmate. It will take at least 30 minutes and possibly a sticker just to get her to step into the tub to scrub the dirt off. It’s like the water is tainted with acid and she’s afraid it’ll enter her bloodstream through the tiny cut. I’m talking about one layer of broken skin here; no blood ever surfaced.
I follow the act. I play my part. I ham it up, break out the Band-Aids and respond in baby talk, showering her with hugs and kisses. This is the only time I’ll ever kiss anyone’s smelly feet. I mean, when did her feet start stinking? They used to smell like baby wash. Then, boom, one day, strawberries, sweat and sand (yes, I think sand has a distinct scent, for you non-believers. I know because the backseat of my car has become a sandbox).
One day when I was at Toys R Us and standing in line looking at all of the things they try to hock you at the last minute. The ones that scale the checkout line and are under $5, so you think they’re a steal and buy five (I need horse blinders just to checkout at Sephora). Well, I spotted an ice pack called a Boo Boo Buddy. This was like someone handing me a glass of wine in the middle of a park, when my daughter is screaming (Yes, I know that never happens, but a girl can dream, right?).
Okay, it was more like finding an ice pack with Belle from Beauty and the Beast on it. This would be a $3.99 blind shot at saving $2.99 per week on Band-Aids. If I could convince her that the ice pack was better than a Band-Aid, it would be a good long-term investment.
So, I stuffed it in my purse before an employee could see me. Okay, I didn’t really do that. My daughter stuffed it in my purse and I took it out and paid for it.
We talked about the Boo Boo Buddy on the way home. By the time we put it in the refrigerator, she was probably convinced the thing had magical powers. I’m sure they could sell the thing at Zonko’s in Universal Harry Potter-land for about $25.
So, I waited and waited…about 5 minutes…until she got an imaginary boo boo. The ice pack wasn’t even frozen yet. She cried without tears. She oozed in melodrama over bumping her elbow on her toy kitchen. She opened the freezer and grabbed the Boo Boo Buddy with a sigh. If I had closed my eyes and just listened, I would have thought a zombie took a bite out of her leg and she had just found an antidote (yes, I know, I am obsessed with zombie references).
She brought me the ice pack and sat next to me on the recliner. “Mommy, will you put this on my boo boo, so it doesn’t hurt?”
I placed the Boo Boo Buddy on her elbow and cuddled with her. All the while dollar signs flying out of my head like I was a cash register. Each time I repositioned the ice pack, more dollar signs. We would save a fortune thanks to her obsession with a Disney princess. Thanks to Disney charging me $3.99 for a 2×2, miracle ice pack.