Sand, Hot Wheels, and Diapers

Cats love it and so do children of all ages. What is this amazing thing that brings machinations to the forefront? Sand.

Ethan's first exposure to sand was His first birthday when his aunt and uncle gave him a bulldozer sandbox and his grandparents filled it with sand. He had the usual reaction that a one year old would have; he tried to eat it. This brought us to the next reaction crying and spitting.

After the first experience trauma was behind us he quickly learned that sand falling through his tiny fingers tickled and was thoroughly entranced with the process of letting sand fall through a funnel onto his fingers and back into the sandbox. This simple pleasure was greatly increased when he discovered some of his other presents; tiny little cars and trucks that go by the name Hot Wheels.

Rolling up and down the hills mom and dad made in the sand brought that sweet little squeal and the cute little squint-eyed smile that always brings folks to say, "Oh, isn't he adorable!" Soon the family went home and I picked up the toys and put the lid on the sandbox. Only one thing left to do now, clean up little Ethan man.

Sand + baby = scary diaper rash. Simple math problem brought about by the application of fun to a one year old. One fun experience led me to the discovery of the most wonderful product of all Boudreaux's Butt Paste!

Since the sandbox was so much fun and the scratchy sand lent itself to bad rash we devised a plan; must wear pants in the sandbox and no throwing sand. Instant fun and safety, hooray!

Grand Opening!

As a twenty-four year old walking through Wal*Mart with my newborn I heard the infamous phrase the very first time, "Honey, you've got your hands full!" It wasn't five minutes before I heard it again and spun on my heels to see who was saying it this time. A package of newborn diapers and some baby wipes in my basket and its time for those trying words to leap from yet another person's mouth, "You've got your hands full."

It seemed strange to hear this phrase; I just had one child and didn't think that I was too overwhelmed by my situation but I continued to hear the phrase over and over again. You've got your hands full has become a phrase that has been the song of my life; its my intention to sing this song in words for you.

Ethan is my firstborn, an adorable little boy with a cowlick that swirls on the right side of his forehead. He would cry like a wolf at the fullest of moons whenever he was overstimulated, which was quick and often, the only way to console him was to place him in his pumpkin seat with a 2 pound buckwheat hull pillow on his tummy. His cries were so intense that a trip to the store meant earplugs for me and a baker's dozen you've got your hands full.

Once we discovered his sensitivity to stimulus we were able to work with nursery staff and others to keep him calm, but before long we were looking at crawling and walking and talking and his very first birthday. Oh the joys of that first cake and digging in with your bare hands scooping cake into your mouth like the finest of bulldozer buckets; not for this little guy.

No that first hand full of cake was me placing his hand in the cake and bringing it to his mouth only to have him scream and cry and throw his hand about wanting, hoping, praying that somehow he could shake free from this icky frosting torture to which I had thrust him.

Moments later frosting cleared from hand and fork taking up residence in its place he was thrilled to eat his birthday cake. After cake we arrived at present time and yet another interesting opportunity to engage his senses in a new and traumatizing way. The paper was too loud and crinkly and was everywhere and before we were two presents in he was out and thoroughly disturbed by the sensory input that was so outputting.

Until next time, I've got my hands full!