Yesterday, after spending a good deal of the morning on our swing set, my daughter shared a new discovery with me over lunch: a splinter.
She presented it simply enough, with little fanfare or emotion. It wasn't until I said, "Oh, that's a splinter. I'll take it out right after lunch," that things got tricky.
That's all I said. She doesn't even know what a splinter is, but that didn't stop the waterworks.
I tried to explain what it was and reassured her that it wouldn't hurt at all, but she would hear none of it.
I explained that if she didn't let me, we'd have to go to a doctor. It didn't work.
I decided to let it drop and decided to wait for my husband's help later at night. Letting it drop, however, proved most difficult.
Every hour brings questions: Mommy, am I going to the doctor? Mommy, are you going to take it out? Please don't take it out.
My heart was breaking right along with my sanity.
As bath time approached, I tried to remember all the childhood tricks for removing a splinter, knowing that burned needles and any kind of sharp utensil would launch my little damsel into further distress.
And then it hit me.
Stashed away in the far reaches of the pantry was a package of candy necklaces I'd picked up as emergency Valentines. Having forgotten about them proved to be a blessing as I designed my plan.
Boo boo bunny (to ice the area), an expensive and exact tweezers, and a candy necklace to bite on. I also included a promise to stop if it really hurt and unlimited bites of the necklace.
Thankfully, the splinter was not stubborn and the candy was just sweet enough.
I'd love to claim it was a stroke of genius; but really, it was just a stroke of luck. Much like biting knuckles, the candy necklace was much tastier and distracting.
The remaining seven has been returned to the pantry for future traumas.
I'm 32, a dad, and I am not a douchebag...
6 years ago