Insomnia hits me square in the face this morning. I lay in bed staring at the clock at about 2:30, finally getting up and dragging myself downstairs an hour later. I've done some laundry, cleaned off the bar counter top (where everything ends up and is never put away unless I have insomnia), put away some of the kids' toys, Googled gift ideas for my tween niece's birthday, and blogged.
Nature calls, so I walk into the bathroom. My sensitive naked feet complain about a dirty floor. I look, and yes, yet again there is sand encroaching on the white tiles and grout.
A couple years ago, we had our back yard relandscaped. Paul and I thought it would be a great idea to designate an area for a future swingset/jungle gym for the kids. We had a sandpit put in measuring approximately 15 by 18 feet. There is no swingset yet, but the kids do love to play in the sand (so do the cats, but more on that later).
My mother warned me early on not to have a sandpit. "Your going to find sand everywhere in your house," she would tell me over and over again. The woman never let up on this, and I would reassure her that we'd strip the kids down and shake sand out of their clothes before letting them enter the house.
Ha. Perhaps it's laziness, but that just doesn't happen. Most times we remember to take shoes off, but we forget to check pants and shirt pockets. Oh, and let's not overlook the potential for sand collecting in diapers (you'd think the wearer of such a diaper would complain, but alas, no).
The kids sometimes have a mind of their own, and will run into the house unannounced while wearing wet sand covered shoes. Ian has a knack of leaving a beautiful set of prints leading from the back door to the bathroom.
I have swept and swept and power-washed the patio and pool deck, and still sand can be found - not a comfortable thing to walk on in bare feet. We have found sand in every room of the house. There is sand in the van. Paul and I even find sand in our own clothes thanks to the sharing of laundry machines. You can imagine the surprise when putting your hands into your pants pockets and pulling out a small pile of sand.
I HATE SAND!!!
Thankfully, my mother is not exactly internet savy, lest I get a phone call today pretty much stating, "I told you so."