My children and I could easily pass for vampires. We don’t gleam like those glittery creatures of lore; instead, we shine with a ghostly pallor reminiscent of people who’ve been tucked away in caves for decades.
Our heritage traces back to Eastern Europe, near the Tatra Mountains, while my partner, Jamie, hails from England and Scotland. We belong to the fair-skinned club. I once engaged in a pale skin contest back in college, only to find myself up against my Irish boyfriend. He had a charming mix of brown freckles and porcelain skin, but, unsurprisingly, I emerged victorious in the end. Jamie, on the other hand, is known for his bizarre tan lines, particularly where his shirt sleeves meet his wrists and where his sunglasses sit on his nose.
As for our little ones, they didn’t stand a chance against the sun. They arrived in this world as red, wailing bundles—like little bologna loaves—before transitioning to their natural skin tones around the six-month mark. This coincided with summer, sending me into a shopping frenzy. My solution? Mini Boden rash guards and pants sets, which meant my kids were more covered at the beach than at church.
Over time, I acquired a plethora of these stylish swimsuits, which got passed down from child to child. My youngest two still wear them occasionally. Now that my oldest tends to sit on his knees while kayaking, I’ve relaxed a bit. He wears regular swim shorts, but always with a long-sleeved rash guard—yes, even in the sweltering South Carolina summer. For us, swimming often means putting on more clothes than taking them off.
As youngsters, my kids were also born with barely any hair, which meant I spent an eternity slathering sunscreen on their naked heads or making them wear hats. I worried about missing an ear! Since they were often just playing on the beach, I opted for stylish straw fedoras from Target instead of the hotter baby bucket hats. Once I saw how adorable they looked, there was no way those hats were coming off. I enforced a strict rule: wear the hat or head inside. Soon enough, they grew accustomed to their hat collection—from gray to blue dinosaur prints. And, yes, my three-year-old now proudly sports his fedora everywhere, fully aware of the hat-or-inside ultimatum.
But the sun protection doesn’t end there. I have to slather sunscreen on every inch of their bodies: hands, legs, and especially their feet. I can’t bear the thought of them sporting sunburnt sandal lines. We make sure to lather up a full twenty minutes before heading outdoors, a ritual that surely makes me the most overzealous mom around, but I’m okay with that. We only use the no-fragrance, no-parabens sunscreen that’s safe for babies, even if it costs a fortune. And yes, I insist on SPF 60+, because even though the difference after SPF 50 is minimal, I feel better with that higher number.
Once my kids are squared away, it’s my turn. I rely on a good moisturizer and makeup for my face, while donning a long-sleeved cover-up and applying sunscreen up to my bikini line and between my toes. After enduring last summer with only one tan line on my neck, I am determined to maintain my ghostly glow this year.
If only I could tan! I admire the look, even if it highlights my stretch marks. With a family history riddled with melanoma, my father has had more than his share of skin cancer removals. I refuse to let my children face that fate due to my negligence. Thanks to my diligent sun protection efforts, they’ve never been burnt. As I keep an eye out for shade, I hope to keep it that way.
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In summary, my family navigates life like sun-averse vampires, ensuring we remain protected and pale while enjoying the outdoors. We’ve mastered the art of sun safety, and our collection of hats and sunscreen is a testament to that commitment.
Keyphrase: sun protection for kids
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