Danger Zone

It's no surprise that it has been over a month since my last entry, but I swear, I really do want to keep a blog- even if only for posterity's sake. My boys are too darn cute and funny not to!

We have been living in our Savannah home for 7 weeks now. I am still unloading miscellaneous boxes, and Ryan has just turned the back of the house into a "hard hats required" zone. We do have new lighting in the living room, and we have managed to get one wall painted and two others partially stripped. The boys require constant attention, so progress is slow. They want to be everywhere Daddy is, which is adorable, but Cavan really is too young for power tools. Camden, on the other hand, has already fallen in love with his Dad's new Dewault. The boys and I spend our days island-hopping while Ryan is at work. I can't get much accomplished without him, so what's the point in trying, right? Poor me. It's not a bad life, but it does have its hazards. For instance, while I was changing Cavan's dirty diaper this morning, Cavan, in one fell swoop, grabbed the diaper from underneath him and threw the wad of poo at my face. Thank goodness he missed. Motherhood is a danger zone.

Meet the Swim Team

I had my reservations about sharing this story, but I thought I should get it down just for the sake of posterity, and please, before you judge me, or worse call child protective services, just remember this: my boy tots are 19 months apart in age, and I'm pretty sure they are both geniuses. So, here we go.

We are about to make our third family move in 16 months. In the fall of 2008 we moved from Charlotte, NC to Fayetteville. At that time Camden had just turned 2 and Cavan was 5 months old and crawling. Cavan learned to walk in our Fayetteville house, and he was doing his best to keep up with his older brother. We lived in Fayetteville a whopping 9 months before we had to move again to Wilmington, NC. Fayetteville is not at the top of my list of the safest places for young children (no offense); therefore, our house had key locks, as well as chain locks on all doors.

When we moved to the Wilmington house, it never occurred to me that Camden might be able to unlock the doors and wander down the way to introduce himself to the neighbors. The locks on the house in Wilmington were dead bolt and could be opened with just the right amount of effort. Apparently, Camden had it in the bag. His fine motor skills were developing behind my back and his chubby little fingers had turned into slick, skilled digits.

One fine September morning, just a week or so after we moved into the new "beach" house, conveniently located 5 miles from the ocean in a quiet gated community of mostly retired transplants, I turned the boys loose to play in packing boxes while I took a few minutes to brush my teeth. You'd think a mom could manage a few minutes for those kinds of things, right? Wrong.

While brushing my teeth and enjoying getting comfortable in the new Master bathroom, I began to think that things were a little too quiet. I turned the water off and called for the boys. No answer. Oh, no. I ran to the living room and there was no sign of the boys. No problem, it was a big new house; they had to be somewhere inside. They were not. I quickly turned in circles around the living room, and I began to panic. In mid-spin I noticed the door to back porch was opened. "Oh, Dear Lord!"

There is a small ditch in the back yard that serves as a sort of border between our property and the neighbor's. There are no fences in the neighborhood-it's just a giant backyard free-for-all. It is designed so because the association pays for lawn care (where one guy can ride in and raze all the lawns in one giant sweep). It's a terrific service if you are retired and don't care about fences and such-not terrific if you have young tots and need boundaries. Because the drainage is terrible (non-existent), the ditch fills with water every time it rains even a little.

I ran outside to find the boys swimming and splashing like ducks in the puddles left by the early morning rain. I ran crying ran as fast as I could (which is pretty speedy considering I used to be a track star), and I swept up both boys, one under each arm, and ran straight to the house, their wet little limbs swinging wildly.

I dried them off and thanked God they were safe. I called Ryan to insist we have the locks changed immediately to a child-proof system. I now literally keep the boys under lock-and-key, and I keep the key on top of the mantel. The next day the boys and I met the backyard neighbor, and he informed me he had already gotten a glimpse of the boys splashing around in his backyard. Really? And you thought you'd just enjoy the show from your patio? Welcome to the neighborhood.

Rewind Charlotte: Our First House and Baby

Our first home in Charlotte was the house of my dreams: two-story foyer, ceiling-to-floor built-in bookcases, a bright wall of windows in the family room, and a fenced- in back yard filled with so many trees in bloom, that I would never know I had neighbors. I knew when I first saw it that this was where I wanted to raise my children (who were still a distant thought at that time). Little did I know that we would move after only three years in the house. The minute I learned of my pregnancy with Camden, I became so excited picturing my house with a baby. I daydreamed of a magical nursery like the one from Mary Poppins. After nine months off pregnancy and more than sixteen hours of labor, Camden blessed us with his presence November 30th, 2006. He was four days early. The moment I brought him home and snuggled with him next to the fireplace and Christmas tree, I knew that my home and life would never be the same. My house, still largely unfurnished with so much work still to go, all of a sudden felt so cozy and complete when Camden was in the room. It didn't matter to me where we lived, as long as he was safe and sound.