Isabella has this really weird obsession with band-aids right now.
She is currently sporting at least four on her right hand. It’s very possible, of course, that it’s because her brother has a broken finger and a very fancy (read: not fancy and kind of currently 11-year-old boy grimy) cast and is getting some extra attention because of it.
Although the attention is mostly manifesting itself in choice words such as
“AARON JOSHUA. Please explain to me how it’s possible that you LOST YOUR CAST at school today.”
Shrugs.
“Casts don’t usually fall off.”
“Well, maybe they do when you are playing frisbee and football behind the portables at recess.”
Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths.
So yes. Band-aids.
Lots of them.
MY FINGER IS GUSHING.
I see nothing, babe.
YOU ARE BLIND, OBVIOUSLY. IT’S GUSHING.
Where did you cut it? On your paper?
MY HOMEWORK IS TRYING TO KILL ME.
That’s funny, your homework is trying to kill me too.
THAT’S NOT FUNNY.
Either is your homework.
I NEED MORE BAND-AIDS.
Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths.
I guess today I’m feeling thankful for deep breaths.
And cheap band-aids.
And pie.

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