Two weeks ago, we took our first family trip to the beach. Little Colby and baby Riley had never been before, and Bryce and Brittany hadn't been in years. And while the larger-than-life ocean and never-ending sand box was fascinating to my children, I found it to be one of the most miserable experiences I'd ever had. Because when it comes to water, my eyes never leave my kids.
With the summer months has come summer fun, and everyone is hitting the pools and beaches for a chance to escape this heat wave. But one after another, this Southeast Texas summer has been filled with horrible stories of children drowning, and sometimes within mere feet of their family.
While Bryce and Brittany are excellent swimmers, Colby and Riley have yet to learn the skill. So, naturally, they never head into the water without floatation devices. But be aware that some "floaties" could be more of a danger than a life-saver.
The most common "floatie" for kids is the inflatable arm bands. They're small, easily transported, and inexpensive. But they're not life-saving devices. As I was recently told by a co-worker, these small rings often can slip off the child's arm, especially if sunscreen has been applied. And in the event the child suffers a head injury, these floaties won't prevent their faces from dropping into the water.
Waist rings are also popular with kids, but can prove an even bigger danger. When sitting inside an inflatable tube around their waist, the child can still tip over. And with the ring secured around their waist, they could end up stuck under the water and unable to flip upright again.
The best device is a Coast Guard approved one, but nothing takes the place of adult supervision.
If you're home has a pool, consider installing a pool cover. While often expensive, you can't put a price on your children's safety. Also, make sure the door giving access to the pool has a lock unreachable by children. In my home, we have a small bar lock at the top of the front door. While we don't have a pool, we do live on a busy street, and the younger two have both learned to open the deadbolt. The lock actually became necessary when we found our daughter trying to exit the home while sleepwalking at midnight.
Adults and older children should consider CPR and First Aid training. The local YMCA hosts classes by the American Heart Association, and the local Red Cross also makes certification a breeze. Call the American Heart Association at 1-877-AHA-4CPR, or the local Red Cross at 409-832-1644 to find a class near you.
Children can drown in just an inch of water. Once under water, they will lose consciousness in two minutes or less, and can sustain heavy brain damage in less than six minutes. And while we parents often want to relax and lay out by the pool or waterside, schedule that time for a solo trip. When with your children, please keep them in your sight at all times. It only takes a minute for an accident that could last a lifetime.
July 6, 2009
Water safety
June 29, 2009
Christmas in July
Have you ever heard the saying, "Christmas in July"?
Well, it actually was coined for me. Because that's what July in my house feels like. Christmas.
On July 10, my oldest child will turn 9.
On July 18, my husband will turn 32.
On July 24, my youngest will be 2.
And on July 28, my somewhere-in-the-middle child will be 4.
Of course the biggest problem with July is money. There is none that month. Every usable dollar is spent towards birthday parties, cakes and presents. In the past, we've had two separate parties - one for Bryce, and one for the babies. This year we're going to host a big summer soiree for all of them. Of course, we're going to have to ask people not bring presents, for fear that no one will come if they have to bring one for each child.
The second problem with July is the heat. Finding a spot for a birthday party is sometimes a struggle. Finding a spot when its 124-degrees out side is pretty much impossible. So this year we'll do what we did last year - get a big, inflatable water slide, invite every kid we know, and grill a bunch of hot dogs.
My daughter's birthday isn't until February. The only child not born in July.
We call her the milk man's baby.
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June 18, 2009
The naked truth about potty training
If you're driving through Port Neches early in the morning and happen to see a naked toddler dancing in a bedroom window, don't be alarmed. It's my son.
Having helped three kids transition from diapers to underwear, I've come to understand that each child will begin to display their own person signs when they're ready to potty train. Bryce was in underwear when I met my husband, but still using nighttime reinforcements. Brittany was direct with her approach; she took her diaper off and said, "I want to use the bathroom." When Colby came of age, he would hide in the bedroom when he needed to use the restroom, ashamed of his diaper. (And honestly, I can't blame him. The kid was nearing four-years-old.)
Riley seems to be communicating his readiness to potty training.
We can't keep a diaper on the kid.
Trying to put a diaper on Riley in the morning is like trying to put pantyhose on an octopus. A hyper octopus. One of these days I'm going to video tape the event and share it with all of you. Dressing Riley every morning takes 15 minutes, and that doesn't include the time I need for the other three children.
But diapers don't stay on Riley all that long. Just under two-years-old, he's still sleeping in a baby bed. And that baby bed is still in our room, next to our bed. Beside his baby bed is our bedroom window, facing a busy street, and covered in vertical blinds. (And before you suggest it, the layout of the room won't allow us to move his bed anywhere else.)
Almost every morning I wake to the sound of the vertical blinds being pushed aside, and the sudden rush of sunlight on my face. And there, like an angel surrounded by bright light, is nothing but a T-shirt and a tiny hiney. Riley likes to dance, so usually he's swaying from side to side, singing to himself and all the cars that drive down the road. I'm surprised he hasn't caused a pile up yet.
This morning, however, I woke to the sound of water. Half-asleep with my eyes still closed, I thought to myself, "When did we get a water fountain in the bedroom?" And then my under-caffinated brain snapped. We didn't. It was Riley, sans diaper, standing in the middle of his bed and marking his territory - to put it nicely - on his pillow.
I'm sincerely hoping this is his way of telling us he doesn't like diapers and is ready to potty train. Because if dancing in the window butt-naked every morning is going to be his personality, we're going to have to find a more secluded house.
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June 10, 2009
Mark your calendars!
Some of you may recognize my friend Heather Curl as a Beaumont Enterprise guest blogger. She was diagnosed with Hodgkin's several months ago, and has been blogging about her experience ever since. Friends and family members will be hosting a fundraiser for Heather on June 27 at the Market Basket in Port Neches from 10 am. until 2 p.m.
So mark your calendars and plan to be there with us!
You can view Heather's blog at: http://heathercurl.livejournal.com/
June 9, 2009
Taste of the "terrible twos"
I never truly understood what "terrible twos" meant before Riley.
I missed Bryce's two. He was three when I met my husband. I was there for Brittany's two, but her two was more like a five. She was the brain of a six-year-old and the attitude of a sixteen-year-old in the body of a two-year-old. When Colby reached two, we had a newborn baby. No one knows if Colby was bad or not when he was two, because we were all half mad and suffering from sleep deprivation.
But now Riley is nearing two, and there's no newborn to distract me. It's just me against him, and he's winning. I've lost my patience. My mind will be next to go.
My husband calls Riley "the most into-stuff baby" he's ever seen. And that's got to be something coming from a father of four. But he's right. That's exactly what Riley is.
Pull the books of the bookshelf. Pull the DVDs down. Grab the instruction booklet out of the Wii game and rip it to shreds. Giggle. Turn off living room TV and make siblings scream. Run for the bathroom. Break in. Grab some toys out of the bathtub toy bucket and shove them in the toilet. Add brother's toothbrush. Flush. Giggle some more. Climb toilet to grab book on shelf. Tear it. Get Q-tips out of drawer. Shove them up nose. Run through house. Turn off living room TV and make siblings scream. Open pantry. Open freezer. Take crackers out of pantry and put them in the freezer. String out all the diapers and empty the wipes case. Climb up bunk beds in boys' room and worry Mom half to death. Take every pot out of the kitchen cabinet. Turn off living room TV and make siblings scream. Climb couch. Turn light on. Turn light off. Turn light on. Turn light off. Turn off living room TV and make siblings scream.
And honestly, that's just in ten minutes.
One of these days I'll look back and say, "I wish they were little again. Time went by so fast." But for now, I'm just surprised my husband and I haven't landed a top spot in an insane asylum.
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June 5, 2009
Brief absence
I apologize for my recent lack of posting.
My grandmother passed away Wednesday, and I am spending my time with my family as we prepare for tomorrow's funeral.
We appreciate your thoughts and prayers, and I will be back here next week.
June 1, 2009
Happy Hurricane Season
Hurricane season has officially started, and we'll spend the next few months watching the waves to see if Rita or Ike has a wayward cousin coming this way.
As a native Southeast Texan, I've become quite accustomed to hurricane season. And while the past few years have been a little overactive compared to years before, I've come to expect at least one evacuation each year.
After Hurricane Humberto sneak-attacked Southeast Texas, I was convinced my children were bringing the storms. When Rita hit in 2005, I had an 8-week old son. When Humberto hit in 2007, I had an 8-week old son. But I haven't had any children since (and won't again), so I can't take responsibility for last year's Ike.
This year, I am waiting to see what Hurricane Larry does. That's my husband's name, and he expects that to be our big 2009 storm. I, too, expect Hurricane Larry to make landfall somewhere, but if you just turn your televisions on to the History Channel, he'll calm right down and completely ignore the world around him.
After evacuation with four children twice last year, I've come to learn a few things about storm season to pass along to our local hurricane newbies.
1. Don't wait until the last minute to prepare. Head to the store now and pack up your hurricane survival kit. If there's anything worse than Wal-Mart at 6 p.m. on a Friday, it's Wal-Mart two days before a hurricane hits land. There is nothing left but Spam and Diet Root beer. There is no finding water, flashlights or batteries. In fact, people are usually lined up outside the vending machine trying to take whatever water they can find.
2. Don't forget to get bleach. No one really knows what the bleach is for, but it is part of the suggested storm kit, so get it anyway.
3. If you're going to be evacuating with children, pack a travel kit. Bring colors, coloring books, travel games, books, etc. Yes, there's a good chance one of them will color on your car windows or leave a crayon to be melted in your seat. But honestly, if you've ever been through a 15-hour car trip with small children, you'll sacrifice almost anything to keep them quiet.
4. Another way to keep your children pacified on the car ride is to leave late at night. Children can't resist sleeping in the car while traveling at night. But make sure either you or your spouse sleep as well, because once you get where you're going and wake them up, they won't sleep again for two more days.
5. Clean out your fridge before you go. Rita produced a refrigerator graveyard, and most of us have learned since then. But in the event you forget something hidden in the produce drawer, head to the store for coffee. Coffee will remove almost any smell from the fridge, if left open inside for a few days.
Most importantly, don't forget to check in with your friends at www.BeaumontEnterprise.com. We have a team of unstoppable journalists here who have perfected the method of updating pictures and information from storm damage by running their computers off a car battery. They'll be here to keep an eye on the storm for you, even when you're on the road.
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May 22, 2009
Hair-raising holes
As a wife and mother, I consider myself a lot of things. I'm a chef, a doctor, a maid, a psychologist, a teacher, a monster-chaser, an architect (with Legos, of course), and an accountant.
What I am apparently not is a beautician.
Not at all. Not even close.
My almost-four-year-old (that "almost" is very important, you know) doesn't like loud noises. This includes vacuum cleaners, garbage trucks, and hair clippers. The first two don't bother me much, but the third has become quite a problem. Colby didn't inherit much from me, but he did get my naturally curly, always unmanageable hair. It's a little softer than a Brillo pad, but not much. And it grows at a supersonic speed.
So Colby needs haircuts a lot, but he won't sit through them. He can go with his dad, or his older brother, and be as tickled as a pig in mud. But when it's his turn to sit down in the chair and the woman turns the clippers on near his ear, he starts wailing in ultrasonic tones and starts clawing his way out like a cat in a bathtub.
I decided I would cut it myself. I trimmed it a bit when he was younger. And while I never got it exactly even, and sometimes there were a few hairs that didn't match the others, he always looked presentable.
So this past weekend I propped him up at the kitchen counter and started trimming away. Within five minutes he had three visible lines where the hair was bluntly cut across, and two gaping holes in the back of his head. It was absolutely terrible. (In the pictures above, "before" is before the haircut was corrected. So that would be his holy hair, styled by Mom.)
Of course, my first thought is to get the rest of the hair even with the ones I messed up. This just continues the cycle and my poor son starts looking like a badly trimmed Banzai tree.
Thankfully his father is good at everything. Larry is truly the example of "Jack of all trades." He pulled out the clippers and had Colby hold them while he turned them on, showing him that they wouldn't bite his fingers off. Once Colby was comfortable with them, he started trimming things up while Colby and I traced his hand on a sheet of paper and decorated it markers.
The thing about me is I have a short memory sometimes. Or sometimes I tend to think I've somehow seen the light, and something I couldn't do before will be easy breezy this time. So thankfully, if I ever decide I can be Betty BetterHair and give everyone fantastic do's, my husband will be around to trim things up. I won't take my chances with Brittany, though. She wouldn't look good in a 2-guard fade.
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