Chewing and Wrecking

Today’s career aspiration:  Child Safety Expert

Over this past year, I read a lot of things written by child safety experts.  I met a few as well when I went to the fire station to ensure my son’s car seat was installed properly.  We were standing beside a fire truck and I had burning questions.

If I call 911 and I’m home alone with my son, will they transport him along with me in the ambulance?  Do they have a car seat, how is it installed in the ambulance and what is the weight limitation?

I tried asking these same questions at the admitting department the last time I had to have some tests done. The lady behind the glass looked at me suspiciously and said “Why?  Are you planning on doing something?”

I’ve also wondered how many people have died from choking on their gum after they have a car wreck?  Survive the crash but take a big gasp of air in and inhale the wad of Hubba Bubba you’ve been chawing on.  It’s one of my biggest fears.  I stopped chewing gum because of it.

The folks at the fire station took my questions quite seriously and answered them and a million others as well.  They weren’t firefighters as I had assumed.  They were licensed by the state to inspect car seats. 

I can’t imagine taking on that responsibility.  They have you sign forms declaring exactly what they told you, what type of car you drive, what type of seat you have, age and name of your child, if you wore your own seat belt on the way to the inspection – it was incredibly detailed.  They won’t actually install your seat.  They will show you how to do it, then unbuckle everything and have you do it.  I guess then the liability lies with you since they weren’t the last person touching the seat.

When I was pregnant my partner and I attended a child safety seat class.  I was so shaken by the video of what COULD happen, most of the information was a blur but we did ‘take’ the class.  Even though we went back with the car seat after the class and had the instructor check it and verify it was properly installed before we even had the baby – I still wasn’t sure.

The seat had to be removed and hosed down after a particularly bad spit up and when we put the seat back in, I never felt quite right about it. 

There are about six different towns here that hold seat inspections and I kept going at the wrong times.  Nope, it’s Tuesday at four, not Saturday at noon, you’re thinking of Milton, New Hampshire.  UGH.

By the time I got the time right, it was time for the next size up in car seats anyway.  Still rear facing but good for another twenty pounds at least.

We are now officially inspected and installed and I watched how to do it so if the seat needs to come out again….I will be staying at home until my partner can do it again.  But I hold the final say on how safe it looks.

Back to the safety experts though – one of the folks was a former police officer.  There was also a woman who taught classes in fire safety to small kids.  We were in baby proofing mode at that point and I ventured a few questions about chewing through electrical cords and testing smoke detectors…and if they knew anyone would come to our house and do a full sweep and install whatever precautionary tools we needed.  Nope – that doesn’t exist.

Being a safety expert isn’t just a notion, it’s a requirement in my life right now.  The older generation used to say “You’ve got to have eyes up in your arse around youngsters.”  Well that’s true, except I can’t imagine what you’d see up there.  In fact, if you’re head is up there to start with, perhaps a little safety education wouldn’t go astray.

My background kind of sets me up for this field anyway.  Not to mention the years of experience I have judging everyone’s parenting methods and safety practices.  Everything from ‘that child should have a hat on’ to ‘should she really be drinking two glasses of wine and a Guinness every night if she’s breastfeeding?’

I’m working on an article at the moment about safe holiday decorating.  I counted myself way ahead of the game in this department until I took everything out of the closet this weekend and literally everything I own had a warning label that said either POISON IF LOOKED AT THE WRONG WAY or NOT FOR CHILDREN UNDER THREE.

The problem I run into with this new career field is that it only tells you what not to do.  I need direction.  I’ll throw away all the saved garland from the 70s to avoid the possible lead poisoning and dog stomach knot tying, but what is there that can still make my house look sparkly for this, my first Christmas with my son?

Gotta run.  The safety container that replaced the coffee table has been pushed to the safety gate and is being climbed up on to get to the remote control.  Why aren’t any of the child-designated toys half as much fun as this?

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Bring on the snow, baby!

I had to give in and just ask the cashier at Old Navy.  What do people buy for a baby under one year old for the winter months?

My vision of being a mom in winter included buying a bulky winter (waterproof) jacket, mitts, hats, heavy socks, winter boots and snow pants.  I expected to start fresh every Fall – without complaining about how fast kids grow.  This year is a little tricky though.

First of all, my baby has been in 12 month clothes for the past month.  He’s nine months old.  At that rate, I draw a blank on what sizes we’ll need.  For shoes, we’re in the same boat.  He fits into a size four and is sort of walking (three or four steps here and there, enough that sock feet time is over).  Obviously size four boots won’t fit in another month or two when there’s actual snow and slush on the ground.

AAAARRRRGGGHHHH!

Baby snow suits are mostly fleece.  I imagine rolling around in the snow with him and I have waterproof snow pants that I, at this age, will never grow out of.  He’ll get soaked in fleece.  A full snowsuit for a 12-month-old baby runs around 80 dollars.  Places like Wal-Mart didn’t have outside winter clothes that were small enough so we ended up at Reny’s looking at Columbia brand clothes for babies.

I really didn’t know what to do and if money wasn’t an object, I’d just buy two of everything.  One size that will fit now and the next size up and cross my fingers that he’ll still fit into them in April or May when the snow is finally gone.  Or possibly June, depending on the winter we have here in Maine.

Knowing that the short rompers that got us through the summer won’t cut it, I had to buy something.  I bought some sneakers and a warm waterproof jacket from Wal-Mart.  They fit him now.   I have a rain slicker and rubber boots for later in the Fall and lots of sweaters I knit during the long wait for baby’s arrival.

I don’t have the brain space to commit to predicting what we’ll need so I guess we’ll be that family running into LL Bean when there’s just one bright purple alpaca snowsuit left sometime in January and because it’s still in season, it’ll cost about 200 dollars.  The good news is that they have matching boots for 75 more.

One thing’s for sure - come February, I’m stocking up for next year!!!

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For good kids - you know, all of them

Day Six

I have a real hard time separating myself when I meet troubled kids.  I see similarities from my own life I guess and my head just jumps to so many conclusions and assumptions.  I have to remind myself that in family situations, things are not always as they seem.  Who knows what really goes on in other people’s homes.

Recently I saw a particularly good kid get berated on Facebook by her dad.  She’s a real sweet kid, very involved, very socially conscientious and the type of teenager you hope your kids grow up to be.  It’s not the first time I felt humiliated FOR her.  This time what I read stayed with me for days and I so wanted to email her and tell her she could come live with me if she wanted to. 

Chances are she would defend her dad and tell me to mind my own business.

Maybe she really is a jerk and if she was my kid maybe I’d publicly tell her what a disappointment she is and how hard she is to live with in front of her entire friends list and my own as well.

I just wonder who picks up the slack there.  Parents are supposed to be advocates for their kids.  The ones who defend them and brag about every accomplishment until you want to yell at them “Enough already!”

I happened to overhear a conversation just a few days ago between a mom and her son and his attorney.  He couldn’t have been more than fourteen - a real punk with an ‘I don’t care about anything’ attitude – who’d gotten caught breaking in somewhere and had been also charged with drug possession.  The mom was nodding and listening to the court orders that had been handed down and not once did she glare at her kid or make comments about the things she could have spent her day doing instead of being in court with him that day.

The mom and I made eye contact for a second and I saw something in her face that was part embarrassment but mostly just sad.  Even standing there with a court-appointed attorney, you could see how much she loved her kid no matter what he had done.

I don’t know what brings people to a point where they can cut their own kids down and send them into the world, expecting them to be confident and wonderful.

Check back with me in fifteen years and perhaps I’ll be singing a different tune.  I just shudder to think of anyone hurting my son and it turns my stomach to think I would ever let my life get so messed up that I’d be the one losing sight of how awesome he is.