Here is my latest parenting doozy from last week: the time that Luke fell headlong into a bucket of crabs.
And, yes, I was standing right there.
It was his second day at the beach in Isle of Palms, South Carolina, and everything was going really well.
First off, thank God for tide pools. They are like the kiddie version of the ocean. They are a somewhat safe place where toddlers can frolic and explore. Careful adult supervision is still required, of course; but it’s a tame alternative to the salty smackdown of the real thing. Luke would sit and splash contentedly in the tide pool. Dig in the sand. Pick up a piece of broken shell and try to put it in his mouth. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Unfortunately, we weren’t the only ones on the beach that day. In our particular zone, there were probably 10 to 12 children of varying ages running around and enjoying the tide pool. It seemed like they all knew each other; I think three or four young families were vacationing together.
While I consider myself a social person, sometimes I’m really not. Like at the beach with strangers. I don’t really want to know these kids’ names and where they’re from. I don’t really want to make small talk with these 40-somethings from New Jersey. I just want to hang out with my kid and flash a polite smile from afar every once in a while.
But of course, my son waddles right up to these foreign big kids and gets all up in their beach business. He forces me to get off my sandy butt and engage. They have a cool toy? He’d like to play with it, too, thank you. They are collecting something? Why, we must take a closer look.
Some of the boys were collecting hermit crabs and starfish in a huge blue tub filled ¾ with water. I’m not sure whether to call it a tub or a jumbo-sized bucket, but it was not some dinky pail, ok? It had big rope-like handles. It was just a little shorter than Luke.
Luke toddles over to the bucket and peers into this makeshift micro-aquarium. He can even reach over the lip, dunk his hand in and splash. I reach in and pull out a orange-red starfish for him to touch. By this time, it’s not just me by the blue bucket. My mom and aunt are standing near it, too; there’s triple coverage. We’re chatting with these kiddos and parents about their catches, no big deal, and I’m thinking, this is a cute beach anecdote. He saw crabs and starfish; how idyllic.
Then I must have been kind of over it, because I grab our Paw Patrol ball and give it a good toss and say “Luke, let’s go get the ball!” This type of distraction normally works when it’s time to shuffle along.
When I look back down from where I’ve hurled the ball, Luke has tipped into the tub headfirst. He’s probably at least waist deep in saltwater, keeled over the rim. Surrounded by nasty crabs and starfish.
I yank him out as fast as I can and scoop him up in my arms. He’s gasping a little for air between cries of distress. I wipe the water from his face. He’s shocked and I am, too. I knew I needed to be extra vigilant watching him at the pool, but wasn’t expecting our close call to be a tub full of crabs in such close range.
My storytelling has been lighthearted, and the circumstances were random, but there is a critical takeaway for me and everyone else with a little one: you cannot watch your child too closely around water. All water. Not just pools. Bathtubs. Toilets. Buckets big and small. It just takes a second, and drowning can be silent.
He is and was fine. I’m sure I got some interesting looks from the moms of those boys. Your toddler fell into a tub less than a foot away from you; way to go, Mom of the Year! Needless to say, we high-tailed it to a more isolated sector of the beach where we could regroup.
So the lesson here is do not socialize with strange children on the beach. Keep your child to himself or herself, sitting and splashing in the tide pool until they’re about 15.
Seriously, though. Please be careful. Pretty much never avert your eyes. Don’t put too much stock in those floaties. And always have a buddy (actually, not a bad tip for every scenario in life).
Sarah Weller 