Crabtot can swim! After mere days of splashing in Crabgran's swimming pool, she can swim!

Or so she tells us. Proudly. And indeed we are proud. She "swims" with water wings. She lets her face get wet. She isn't afraid of the Kreepy Krawly (pool vacuum cleaner thing). She wasn't even freaked when it suddenly went nuts and ate its plastic skirt! For us, this easy attitude is big. Born to cautious, neurotic parents, it's no wonder Crabtot has possessed a long-standing fear of lawnmowers and vacuum cleaners and hasn't attempted a backflip yet, unlike the swimming/skiing/gymnasticating three-year-olds of Crabtown, whose athletic prowess (and parental encouragement) knows no bounds.

Of course the other reason Ctot is only just donning water wings and gingerly testing the waters is that her mother disapproves entirely of tot swimming lessons and has spent far too much of your precious time crabbing about it here and here. So while mites one-third her age know about floating, bubble-blowing, and nose-pinching, Crabtot knows zero water tricks. And though I dreaded this summer vacation in Africa in a house with an unfenceable swimming pool—and thought perhaps under the circumstances we might benefit from some lessons—I found my incredibly anxious side overcome by my still more incredible laziness. So I never did enroll in classes prior to this trip. Instead, I did something that involved far less exertion: I bought the Pool Turtle.

How does it work? Quite geniusly. I've mentioned the turtle before, but now that I've tried it, I can report back and say it's really bloody swell. You have an alarm home base and a wristband remotely wired to it. When you attach the cute turtle band to the child's arm, you alarm your tot, so anytime water touches the turtle, the siren screams and everyone in the neighborhood thinks someone's being murdered! It's fantastic!

Seriously, the Pool Turtle, while stupidly named (since the one place it's not meant to go is in water), is a nifty solution if you're going somewhere with an open swimming pool. Or if you live on a houseboat. Or plan on taking your toddler to a picnic at the Hoover Dam. Or to a friend's water birth. Or anywhere that might turn you into a human hovercraft on account of large bodies of H2O. Truly if Crabmom—a person about as relaxed as a wasp—can go to the loo at my mother's house without going into cardiac arrest from fear for Crabtot's safety, then this is once heck of a product. FYI, you can get it heavily discounted through an approved dealer here.

So while you in the northern hemispheres freeze your bottom cheeks together, we're having fun in the sun. We're chilling around the pool, and in it too. Yes, I'm pleased to say that even in Crabgran's jungly modern treacherous home, with its crazy pool, we're having lazy summer days. What once we feared, we now enjoy.

p.s. No she's not alone in the pool as the pic makes it look, so don't have a heart attack (Crabgran is behind the foliage). On the other hand, don't think me too responsible with all this swimming stuff: I took tot for a swim in some sewage runoff last week so by all means heap the judgment! Give it to me! Why not? You know I love to give it to you!