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Sunday, June 5, 2011

Sand on My Bed

Despite what has happened this week I still have to be Mommy and he still has to be Daddy. And that is how the story of how I found sand in my bed begins. Payday is Friday and our children ask to go to the Dollar Store every Friday. I don't blame them if once a week when I was a child I could go to a store and find amazing toys for just a dollar I would have begged to go too. Sometimes I find myself begging to go now. You never know what you might find there. Of course I don't think the toys are as amazing as my children do. To see their reaction of pure joy when they pick out a set of toy handcuffs or doll furniture that you know will break within five uses still amazes me.

They are never allowed to get more than two items. Some weeks my son will pick out a toy and others it will be a flashlight. He will have his item of choice with in minutes of walking in the store and want to pay for it and leave right away. My daughter is completely different. She will go up and down every aisle. She examines everything. She will pick an item up and inspect it like she is a customs agent. Then she announces "NO!" and puts it back. Finally when she picks an item and I think we can finally leave she changes her mind in seconds. She will the begin her second tour of the store and only when I set a final time limit will she pick her final item or items.

Daddy and I allow different items for the children to pick out. I think about what harm they can do to our house with their selected items. Items like playdough, which can magically end up in our carpet with neither child knowing how it got there. It can also end up on the ceiling, that I will never forget. They always want to buy Sharpies, I just see ink marks on furniture or skin that are difficult or impossible to remove. They also always want candy. I am not close to skinny. I don't want my children to ever weigh as much as I do so I tend to limit sweets in our house.

Now Daddy has one goal when he walks in the Dollar Store. He wants to get out as fast as possible. He encourages the children to pick what they want as soon as possible and if it is clay or candy or markers that's okay because he can pay and go. I cringe when they come home because I never know what items of destruction the children will find when they go to the Dollar Store without me.

This week my daughter comes home with a sandart kit. basically you pour layers of different colored sand into a bottle to make a design.
It can be beautiful and intricate designs can be made with the sand. However my daughter is six. I'm not saying she isn't creative, she is very creative. I just see sand indoors with a six year old as asking for trouble. Daddy let her buy it and I now have to let her use it. I suggested that she use it outside and that worked, but eventually the bottles of colored sand came inside. And I made it worse. I showed her a trick with the sand. I showed her how you can use a thin stick to push down a layer to change the look. We used to make birds like that when I was in Camp Fire.

Tonight I came up into my room and all over my bed is a layer of pink sand. I have some pickup sticks in my room and I showed her my "trick" with a pickup stick. Bonus in the middle of my bed she is sleeping. I didn't scream, I didn't yell, I didn't even wake her up. I wondered how could she sleep on sand? That can't be comfortable. But she is snuggled up in her bright pink comforter on top of a layer of pink sand. She looks so peaceful and happy. I wonder what I looked like? What would you look like if you found your bed covered in pink sand and the culprit asleep on top of it?

I managed to scoop her up and dust her off, I changed her jammies and brushed her hair. The amazing thing was that she never woke up. I stripped my bed and shook the sheets outside. I made my bed again and her I am. In the morning I will have to vacuums my floor, it fells like a carpeted beach. I tell myself no more sand art kits for a while. Well at least until Daddy goes shopping with the children again. I shudder at the thought.

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