Every once in a (long) while I come up with a brainwave that makes me stop, pat myself on the back and think, "Wow. I am Superstar Mom." (It doesn't last long.)
Before yesterday, the last big one I had was Boychild's worry stone - a way to get him to go to school without the weeping and wailing we were experiencing on a daily basis. He carries it to this day.
Seems weeping and wailing is a big inspiration for me. Probably because when it goes on and on and on and on I start feeling a might desperate and my brain sends out little tendrils of panic in order to find something, anything, to make the crying stop.
This week's special on crying: a bobo on the finger.
Last Friday Girlchild was hanging with grandparents when she managed to find a tiny sharp spot where the seat of a step stool meets an uncovered leg. Dang short people - always finding things we tall folk can't see. Anyway, she knicked the inside of a finger right at the bend and drew blood. She cried and cried until Daddy got her a Barbie Band-Aid. Yay for Barbie and Daddy!
Every day since then this bobo has caused us nothing but grief. It is in a tricky spot and it looks quite sore. There have been HYSTERICS each night when Mama proposes we either remove the bandage completely (to expose it to air - because it had that soggy look to it) or at least put cream on it and a new bandage. Oh, and she refuses to get it wet, which is oh-so hygienic. Bath time had changed from a pleasant ritual signalling the opportunity to put the kids away - I mean - time to bond with babies through soothing baths and stories to an ear-grating, nerve-splitting experience fraught with Peril. (You know it's bad when "peril" is capitalized.)
So last night, just as I was getting to the point where I wanted to throw the banshee out with the bathwater, I came up with this gem: "You know, Girlchild, if we leave the Band-Aid off of your finger tonight, while you're sleeping the moon will sneak through your window and kiss your bobo and make it feel better."
She stops shrieking and looks interested.
"Oh, yes," I say. "The moonlight will come between the crack in your blind and kiss your bobo. But you have to be asleep, and you can't be crying because you will scare the Moon away."
"Okay," she says very quietly and seriously.
It was a miracle. We got the Band-Aid off (with a bit of a struggle), but after that she only whimpered a few times before bedtime. I reinforced the story when I tucked her in and, you know, I think the Moon did sneak in because today the bobo has finally scabbed over and there is very little complaining about it. Thank you, Moon!
So there you go. Gotta love the Moon Kisses. And hey - if you can use this story on your own little banshees, go for it!