The other night we put you both soundly to bed and adjourned to the couch. Not 2 minutes later Kitten was at the top of the stairs complaining that she couldn’t sleep…like she had tried so hard.
After negotiations broke down, I got out of my extremely comfy spot on the couch and went upstairs…where I passed Buddy’s room. The door was wide open and I could just make out the dark shadow of Buddy sitting on the floor in the middle of the room.
“What are you doing, Buddy?” I asked curiously.
“McQueen!” Buddy shouted with glee. Curiouser and curiouser.
I flipped on the light and saw that Buddy was surrounded by Band-aid wrappers (how can a handful of bandages produce so much trash??). You were doggedly trying to extricate and apply a Lightning McQueen Band-aid to your (uninjured) finger.
Only…these were not Lightning McQueen Band-aids. In the clarity of light Buddy saw to his chagrin that he were holding a very pink, very girly, princess Band-aid.
His face fell for a second as he put it all together. All that work – sneaking in to the bathroom undetected, scaling the toilet to the bathroom sink, maneuvering around the awkwardly opening medicine cabinet…all for naught!
Not one easily discouraged, Buddy shrugged it off, lifted his finger and said, “Bad-aid pweeze.”
McQueen or princess, he had earned himself a Band-aid, darn-it! Unnecessary bandage applied, Buddy hopped back in to bed, content.
I was halfway down the stairs back to my comfy spot, when I realized I had not put down the child who called me upstairs in the first place. Ugh. And we’re all out of princess Band-aids…