Can I use this knife?

I was moving the kids' bedrooms. I had separated Byron and Rowan and now everyone was going to have their own room. In the "purging" of old toys, Rowan came across a toy he'd gotten at some holiday that (for whatever reason) had not been opened. My daughter Corbyn as always, wanted to be helpful, and asked to borrow the knife to cut the packaging. "Please be careful and don't cut yourself", I said it without even thinking. Seconds later "MOMMY". I didn't answer. In my defense, this child screams with same urgency whether a ladybug has made it into the house, or we're being robbed. It's a coin toss with her really. "MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY" and at this point she came to me with blood spurting (IS there a better adjective to describe it? I think not) from her left hand. I scooped her up and ran into the kitchen to rinse it out. As we're at the kitchen sink, I see that the cut is quite small, but is located in that webbing between the thumb and forefinger-making it hard to bandage. That, and blood's pouring out of it like lies from a Democrat.

While rinsing it off and trying to keep Byron from crying (he's the sympathetic one) I'm also trying to keep Corbyn's chin from bouncing off the granite countertop. Her knees are buckling because she made the mistake of looking at all the blood. With Corbyn wavering in and out of consciousness (she was getting pretty woozy at this point) I ask Byron to help me. Bubba (we live in the south, all brothers and sons are Bubba and YES we know exactly who is who), do you remember if we have any bandages? "No" he barely whispered.

Yeah, that's right. I have four kids and don't own not one damn roll of bandages or gauze. This was our first knifing, we're much better prepared now. Then I remember, I have maxi pads under the bathroom sink. "Honey, you know that pretty pink box under the bathroom sink? I need you to bring me one of the 'bandages' from that box". He comes back with a tampon. I pick Corbyn's head back up and say, "No honey, the OTHER pink box...they're in little packages. Please bring me one."

To make a terribly long story short, I bandaged my daughter's hand with a maxi pad and scotch tape and had her lie down. She was miserable. And I had a guilty headache. I went outside and burst into tears because of the happiness I felt at being such a wonderful mother. I mean who wouldn't let their daughter use a knife to open a box?

Her father came home, viewed the carnage, superglued the wound shut-slapped her on the butt and sent her outside to play. Why didn't I think of that? I used to think that the Dad's job was to just keep the kids alive until Great and Wonderful Motherness comes home....but I'm finding more and more that while unconventional, Dads are pretty handy to have around.