Wednesday 11 September 2013

The plastebo effect

I'm sure it used to be a kiss.

You climb a tree and scrape your knee, your dress has got a tear.  And what do you need (other than Julie Andrews)?  A kiss. Obviously.

Only not for the modern child, apparently.  Oh no, the panacea for all ills is not Mummy, or Daddy; not a cuddle, or a kiss.

It is, as any parent knows, a plaster. 

Blood not required.  No break in the continuity of the skin (technical legal term - don't say you never learn anything here) necessary.  Bumps, bruises, mild indignation, there's nothing that can't be cured with the application of a small piece of thin porous polymer-coated adhesive bandage (thanks wikipedia).  Ideally garishly coloured.

Or, even better, as I now know, a cool gel pack.  Preferably Mr Bump branded, but failing that the generic variety will do.

It all started with Boots, who emailed me over the summer asking if I would give them my health tips for going back to school.  There wasn't anything in it for me other than fame and glory if they used them but I wasn't busy that day (another tough day fishing the children out of the paddling pool probably) so I sent them something inspiring like:

Use a plaster for everything or
If no-one's looking  and you haven't got a cold it's fine to lick your finger and then wash their faces or
Make sure they go to bed early (then you get some peace and quiet) or
Catching vomit in your hands is better than have it go on someone else's carpet

Unaccountably, none of those made it onto the wallchart of tips and handy ideas they've produced (and of which you can see a small part below), but I do get a credit, and, even better and completely out of the blue, they sent me a goody bag (well, more of a goody massive parcel actually - does that make this a sponsored post?).


So I've got the wallchart, featuring my credit (though not, as I say, any of my tips - it's got lots of useful ones instead), some of those vitamins the children will actually eat, antiseptic wipes to save my sleeves, blister plasters (because one of us doesn't wear sensible black shoes with velcro), an enormous first aid kit (actually a bit scared to open that), and the blessed hot/cold compress, which, if I'd let her, A would be taking to bed with her.  As it is, she's inventing an ever more unlikely series of injuries all requiring it.  Munchausen's syndrome for the under fives...

So for that and for everything else (including all the bottles of own brand "calpol" and Peppa Pig sticky bandages I've bought over the years), Boots, I thank you.

14 comments:

  1. At what age do they start to like plasters? H has the screaming heebie-jeebies if I go anywhere near him with a plaster, even if it's one of the totally unsticky Peppa Pig variety. We're still on the "kiss and magic Mummy dust" for all ills short of broken limbs (which, I'm pleased to say, haven't loomed large so far).

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    1. Maybe it's a nursery thing?

      Or maybe it's just that actually I am both deeply unsympathetic, so unless there's actual blood (and therefore plasters) they know they're getting only a "yes, yes, get up, you're ok really". Therefore plasters equals being taken seriously and as such has currency...

      Essentially, on that theory, you're just a nicer person than I am, so it's probably true!

      Delete
  2. Last year we brought for my mothers Christmas present (among other things) a box of plasters that have Jesus heals written on them... (She is a Methodist minister, I expect them to crop up as a sermon illustration some time soon)

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    1. I'm glad you said "among other things". Just a box of plasters might have seemed a little ungenerous...

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  3. There were great plasters... And a Moses action figure that when you pressed a button on his back, held up the 10 commandments...

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    1. I want both of those. Is there a Christian kitch shop? If so, how come I've never found out about it until now? Details please!

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    2. I can't remember - some little shop in an arcade in Leeds - genius though, right! Got to love a bit of Christian kitch...

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  4. Around here they're known as "Band-Aids" (it's the brand name I guess). And yes, a kiss just won't do - it's either a band-aid or ice. My kids saw the fancy colourful variety at the chemist/pharmacy/drug-store (take your pick, I'm having fun with this) and I refused to buy them.

    Talking about being unsympathetic, I espouse the "Yes yes you're fine" school of thought as well. If my kids want sympathy they go to their Daddy :)

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    1. This comment has been removed by the author.

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    2. Refusing to buy Peppa Pig/Thomas/Disney Princess (I draw the line at that one) plasters is clearly child cruelty. As I'm sure your children have told you!

      Still, at least they've got a sympathetic Daddy. Mine haven't even got that!

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  5. I recommend spray on plaster, it really stings. That stops the little blighters running and asking for a plaster......

    oh, hang on...you mean I was supposed to be, like, sympathetic with her....oh....whoops

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  6. I did leave a comment here the other day, but I obviously didn't hit the right buttons to make it happen. It was very inconsequential. I don't even know why I am bothering to tell you this.

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    1. Because it's ten past eleven and you really should be going to bed but doing so would take up more effort than standing up and going upstairs.

      That's why I'm replying anyway...

      Delete

I know. I'm sorry. I hate these word recognition, are you a robot, guff things too, but having just got rid of a large number of ungrammatical and poorly spelt adverts for all sorts of things I don't want, and especially don't want on my blog, I'm hoping that this will mean that only lovely people, of the actually a person variety, will comment.

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