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.

High-speed chases never end well

Just to refresh your memories, I have two boys (Camden 3, and Cavan 17 months). Right now we are in the stage where every routine involving diapering, dressing, brushing teeth, or washing hands is an epic battle. I have tried everything, from singing songs to dangling shiny toys in front of their eyes, to try and slow them down long enough to change a diaper or wipe a nose. Hygiene is the biggest challenge we are facing now as far as I'm concerned. I can handle it if they can't yet grasp the concept of sharing, but nothing stresses me out more than trying to hold down a flailing toddler while attempting to remove a toxic diaper. This morning's attempt to wipe the oatmeal from Cavan's face almost resulted in another ER visit.

We enjoyed cinnamon oatmeal this morning for breakfast (Camden's favorite). At 17 months old, Cavan has almost mastered the spoon. Well, since I am not Betty Crocker, my oatmeal this morning was a little sticky and lumpy (hey, it wasn't instant). Cavan thought it would be more efficient to grab handfuls of the mush and shovel it in his mouth. He also delighted in in smearing the leftovers all around the highchair chair, as if he were working on his next finger-painting masterpiece. He signaled the end of breakfast by standing straight up in his highchair (he can unbuckle himself now, so there is no point). When he stood I grabbed him so he wouldn't fall. He clung to me with his gooey hands, and I hauled him to the sink. He performed his signature "Houdini" where he becomes limp and straight at the same time and slides straight to the floor, thus freeing himself from the chains of his parent's arms. He hit the floor running, and I followed with a towel thinking I could at least wipe his hands clean. He rounded the corner of the kitchen peninsula, and his little feet slid across the hardwood floor and out from underneath him. He tumbled backwards and fell head first. Poor Cavan, I can't even tell you how many times now that child has injured his little noggin! It turns out that he is fine, and we don't need to visit the ER. He didn't want my comfort, though. He went straight to his older brother who gave him a hug and kiss on the head. I give up. High-speed chases never end well!