Whoopsie, that'll need a bandaid

Why can you never find a bandaid when you need one?

Ah, yes, I remember now. Because four year olds like bandaids. Just for the fun of it.

So the bandaids have either all been used, or have been put somewhere safe.

So safe, that I can’t immediately recall exactly where whilst holding a screaming child with blood pouring out of his finger, yelling “dere’s blood dere’s blood, I don’ like it, dere’s blood” because he is totally incapable of understanding the concept of “in a minute!”

And I’m wearing a light coloured shirt.

Locate bandaids in high up place, almost impossible to reach with said screaming child in “mother hug” – but being a mother, of course I managed to reach them.

Applied three, all of which soaked through, removed and applied damp facewasher and several more bandaids, replaced and succesfully managed to staunch flow of blood with shirt whilst administering more Mummy Cuddles.

Allowed impatient child to sleep, recover, then fall off bluestone wall out the back, scraping back of leg and inducing further tears.

Bugger the bandaids, time for cotton wool, methinks.

And a nice chilled chardy for Mummy.

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