Ricki loves to apply band-aids to any minor scratch that she might have. Sometimes the “sore” is so miniscule that I can not even see it. Or it may be a type of closed-skin hurt that does not need a dressing at all. But in general, Ricki is adamant about applying the treatment, and that is that. Well, almost.
Afterwards, there is always the need to tell her to pick up the band-aid wrapper, which inevitably gets thrown on the floor. I am simply amazed that she has not yet realized that it is easier to throw the wrapper away herself, than waiting for me to insist that she return to the scene of the crime and dispose of it properly.
Anyway, the other day she really threw a “Plaster (Band-aid in Hebrew) Party”. She had applied at least twelve plasters to her hands, and, as per her custom, had left the outer papers strewn across the floor of her room. Of course I had her pick them up.
Than, a few hours later, she suddenly removed all her band-aids, and reapplied one to the one sore the warranted it. And she even, without my telling her, gathered all the used pieces of dressing up, and deposited them in the garbage. “Eureka!” I thought. “She is LEARNING!”
No chance. A day later the wrappers appeared on the floor tiles again, as usual….