I'm a former TV news anchor who is raising quadruplet daughters. I don't claim to be an "expert" parent, but I think my tips, triumphs and struggles will give you some insight to my life. Have ideas for this site? Email me at email@example.com
There are certain noises which make most people cringe: nails on a chalk board, for instance. But as a parent, there is one noise that makes me close my eyes and hope when I re-open them I am not faced with a gruesome scene. I'm talking about the sound of flesh connecting with cement, usually a sidewalk. There's really no way to describe it, but if you have ever raised a toddler, then there's a good chance you've heard the sound plenty of times. I try not to be an overprotective parent. Children should run, jump and, yes, fall down. But that sound... oh that sound. As soon as I hear a knee, palm or elbow scrape across the cement I want to run and hide. Inevitably there will be tears and most likely there will be blood. I remember the first time one of my daughters skinned her knees. We were at a cookout and all four girls were running around with their cousins, having a grand ol' time. And then it happened... scraaaape.... waaaahhhh. Fortunately I had already stocked up on Care Bear bandages, so when we arrived home the girls without bloody knees were wishing they had been the one who had fallen. Just a few weeks ago we were outside having a fun afternoon filled with sidewalk chalk and running around. Hubby had been doing some yard work and turned the sprinklers on, so of course everyone had to run through them. I turned my head away for a fraction of a second and then I heard it... scraaaape... waaaahhhh. I didn't want to look, but I knew I had to. Tortilla had fallen and now had two skinned knees. My daughters believe every little "owie" requires a bandage. In their minds, even bruises need bandages. Sometimes I'll humor them, which is why we now have a medicine cabinet full of Dora, Snoopy, Tinkerbell and Disney Princess bandages. The good thing about this bandage obsession is that I can usually stop the flow of tears in a matter of seconds by promising them a bandage. As much as I can't stand the sound of flesh on cement, I would much rather hear that over the sound of breaking bones. Hubby, even for the daredevil he was as a child, has never broken a bone. My sister and I, however, each broke our left arm when we were four-years-old. I'm fully prepared to have at least one broken bone in the bunch... but would rather deal with scraaaape.... waaaahhhh than a toddler in a cast.