My intense dislike for sand began a few years ago when my oldest son started day care. You see, whoever designed our day care decided to use sand underneath all the school's playscapes. Not wood chips, not pea gravel, not recycled rubber, or any of the other options available. Literally the entire area under all the playscapes, from infants to Pre K, is sand. And it is in this sand that my two children play daily.
Consequently, my boys come home with sand in every shoe, pocket, crease, and crevice imaginable. Which is why there is sand in my car, sand on my floors, sand in the bottom of all my clothes hampers, sand in my washer and dryer, sand in my bathtubs...you get the idea. If they bring any more sand into the house, I'm going to have to lay out some brightly colored towels and start serving drinks with those little paper umbrellas like it's a beach club.
Then, to make matters worse, the playscape we have in our backyard has a built-in sandbox. When we got it, I was tempted to fill the box with something other than sand. But I figured I'd be getting into Mommie Dearest territory if I denied my kids a sandbox because of my OCD. In retrospect, I should have banned that sand like wire hangers. You see, the countless cats in our neighborhood apparently love sand, and have decided to use our sandbox as a huge communal litter box. I swear they must have posted an invitation on Feline Facebook. So now we have a sandbox that resembles a toxic waste dump and is completely unusable.
So we have no sand where it should be, and way too much where it shouldn't. I guess it's true what they say...life really is a beach.
2 comments:
You are such a great writer. You need to write a book.
i second that tina!
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