Lately, our second home has been the area baseball fields. With two boys playing ball, there are games nearly five times each week.
On Tuesday evening, I was in Loretto watching my 11-year-old son’s team play, and it was the third ball game I had watched in two days.
Admittedly, I was a little tired of baseball, and found myself easily distracted by things going on around me.
Little children were everywhere and, rather than watch their older siblings play ball, they kept their parents busy.
They asked for treats from the concession stand, they asked to go to the park, and they found many ways to keep themselves entertained.
One boy of about 3 years old kept busy by stomping on every single piece of popcorn that had fallen to the ground.
A little girl, of about the same age, kept spinning in circles and shaking her pigtails back and forth until she would almost fall over with dizziness.
There were two boys playing catch with a tennis ball, though they hardly ever actually caught the ball.
My eight-year-old daughter was getting extremely bored, and kept sighing to let me know every few minutes just how bored she was.
I happened to look over at her and noticed some Band-Aids on the back of her leg. Apparently she had scratched bug bites and then covered them with the Band-Aids.
When I told her she didn’t have to keep the Band-Aids on if they weren’t bleeding, she said, “But Band-Aids make you feel better, mom.”
She seemed surprised that I wasn’t fully aware of the magic and healing power of Band-Aids.
This made me giggle. How many times as parents have we put a Band-Aid on one of our children, just to- make them feel better?
Often, when a little one is crying (or screaming), there is barely a mark, much less blood, yet still they demand a Band-Aid.
While I smiled and thought about all those times Band-Aids made things better, I realized my son was up to bat.
He hit the ball, and though it wasn’t entirely necessary, slid into first base. (He would try to convince me exactly how necessary sliding was.)
When he got up and stood safe on first base, I noticed he was looking at his arm. He had scraped it on his “necessary slide.”
The coach asked him if he was all right and, of course, he said he was. While in the middle of a game, he wasn’t about to admit how bad his arm hurt. He is growing up, I thought to myself, because when he was younger, he surely would have run off the field to find me and a Band-Aid.
When we were driving home after the game, my son was going into great detail about the slide and his injury. He said he needed a Band-Aid.
Of course, I tried to convince him that a Band-Aid wasn’t necessary, and told him I didn’t have any with me.
To which his sister proudly announced she had some in her pink purse. I asked her why she had them and she quickly and ever so seriously replied, “Well, Mom, everyone knows that Mom kisses don’t really make you feel better, but a Band-Aid does.”