Today, my three-year-old and I met one of his friends at the park for a play date. It was beautiful, sunny, and warm. We had fun playing on the swings, running around the play ship, and climbing up, then sliding down the slides. It really was a great morning.
Until we packed up to go home.
No—there were no hysterics. No crying. My three-year-old was totally excited to go home and get lunch. In fact, he was so excited that after I pushed the button on the car remote to open the sliding side door, he accidentally pushed the interior button to close the door. And well . . . the door smooshed his wee little fingers.
His poor, tiny fingers! Oh, and the big, huge tears that rolled down his face. It was terrible.
I rocked him for about five minutes, giving his little fingers kisses—you know, the one cure all for everything is Mommy kisses. He finally calmed down long enough to get him home. I tried having him put his hand in ice water, but he said it was too cold. So we did the band-aide thing. Then, in typical three-year-old fashion, he went outside to play. A few hours later, he came in and asked me to take the band-aides off. So, I did.
Then he said, “See, Mommy. I told you the band-aides would make it all better.”
Huh. I think my Mommy Kisses cure all just got beat out by Hot Wheels band-aides.