In this very early morning, Ivy woke up and was talking to me, not really awake, but not asleep either at 3 a.m. As she was falling back to sleep she told me, “Mama, my piggies hurt.” I went over and looked at her toes and didn’t find anything wrong. I asked her if she wanted me to give them a magic kiss. She said, “No, prolly it needs a band aid to be all better.” I went to the cupboard and got her a large band aid that I put on top of her foot. She touched it, sighed, and went to sleep.
When Chris woke up I told him this cute story and we laughed. And then I really got to thinking about the power of a band aid for healing, and how early on it is ingrained in us that band aids do make things better. Then I remembered a band aid memory from not too long ago.
I can’t remember which surgery it was from, or which blood draw had left my arm looking black and purple. I do remember that the draw site kept needing to have the bandage and cotton replaced into the night. At one point, Chris returned to exchange the band aid with a new one. On the new band aid, he had drawn a heart, with a red permanent marker.
Just to see that on my arm did wonders for my spirit. Poor Chris then had to continue to draw on each replacement band aid after that, but I think that he loved the chance to be actively, visably helpful in the situation in which he hadn’t had a chance to before.
I still have that band aid tucked away in a box somewhere. At some point where my kids have lost their faith in band aids, I will draw them a heart to increase the effect, as a reminder of their magic.