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...is that they're full of sand.
You'd think this fact would've been apparent when I placed the inherited pirate-themed attraction in my backyard this weekend and bought 200 pounds of the stuff to fill it (yes, 200 pounds. For that tiny thing. Let's hope the boys don't get into beach volleyball.) But somehow I looked past it and just imagined the fun my kids would have playing in it. I forgot what a mess our hotel rooms at the beach always become—we never had to clean them. I ignored how sandy they got when playing in the sandbox at school—the teachers somehow vacuum them (or something) before we pick them up.
Now, we're screwed. The good news is that the boys do love playing in the sandbox. Of course, that's also the bad news. For two days, they tracked sand all over the house. Our couch became a desert. Our hardwood floors had that gritty feeling underfoot all over.
Then we changed the rules. Now, after playing in the sandbox, the boys must get fully naked and endure an ice-cold hose rinse (and towel-dry) before re-entering the house. It's kind of a pain, but I think it's the only thing that will allow them to continue to dig for buried treasure and keep us sane at the same time. Anybody got a better idea?
