Thursday, July 7, 2011

life in snippets, and having something to do with sand

We spent all day Saturday and all day Monday outside in the sun, building planter boxes and a sandbox. (Well, Chip built planter boxes and a sandbox. I painted. And wrangled a three-year-old.) In all that time, I didn't get a stitch of sunburn. Not a bit.

I spent 45 minutes in the front yard with Bean yesterday evening, and managed to burn the backs of my arms, my neck, and bits of my back - through my shirt, mind you.

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We believe there is a conspiracy of Sand Box Sand Sourcing Companies to jack up the price of sand. Because SERIOUSLY.

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I always thought that two was the Age of Getting Dirty, and somehow we'd sidestepped it. But it turns out, the Age of Getting Dirty, Really Really Dirty, is three. And we are rolling in it, people. I'm talking two and three clothing changes a day because I won't let her back in the house and up on the furniture when I can't tell the color of her pants for all the dirt.

Which was the origin of the sandbox: if she wants to be playing in organic matter, why not give her SAND instead of plain old DIRT?

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In the grand scheme of things that Chip and I might have discussed over the weekend, some of those possibly were---- the sandbox sand pricing racket, the moral implications of a midnight run to the beach wherein a person (or persons) could liberate some of the perfectly available, and yes, FREE sand, and different methods for covering a sandbox to keep poop-burying creatures from turning a brand new sandbox into the neighborhood outdoor toilet facility. I'll let you guess which of those conversations took place more than once, each for an unseemly amount of time. Hint: there are a lot of details to plan for a fictitious midnight beach run.


Anonymous said...

Maybe we should put the swimming pool next to the sand box for a beach effect :)

Tamara said...

Totally agree with the age of getting dirty. I hope Alice is loving her new sandbox and it's covered so no one or no thing can use it but her :)