For Scott's birthday we got a sandbox in the back yard. The kids love it and I love that they'll actually play in the backyard now. Of course, the mess is significant.
I know, I know. I brought this upon myself. But please indulge my whining for just a moment. Claire is no big deal, but Scott. Oh, Scott. I have to make sure I empty Scott's pockets before he comes inside since he dumps sand over his head and it fills them up. The front pockets on his shirts sag under the load. The sand is nearly impossible to get out of his hair, so I've practically stopped trying. I'm sure people think my two year old has a severe dandruff problem. The kids' bathtub perpetually has a thin layer of sand in it. The other day when I changed Scott's diaper after a little romp in the sand, I felt like I should go check the sandbox. I wanted to make sure there was any sand left in it because it looked like he'd smuggled it all inside in his diaper. Trying to wipe him off was more like sanding his behind. I felt like telling him that while his crotch is not antique furniture, it was ready for a coat of polyurethane. (Hmmm. That might make future diaper changes easier...)
Okay, I'm done complaining. They love it and I have all tile floors downstairs. It's all good.
3 comments:
And that is precisely the reason we passed our sandbox on... I mean, I know they find it enjoyable, but the cons outweighed the benefits right now for me.
My kids sometimes beg me for a sandbox. I ignore them and tell them stories about how neighborhood cats like to use sandboxes as their litterboxes. Make sure you use that cover!
As long as he's not eating it! :)
I must be hungry; that first picture reminded me of cookie dough.
Post a Comment