Sandpoo

The kids reveled in the warm spell we've had. Last week it was warm enough to open the sandbox. Then it stayed warm for several days. Eventually it was warm enough that I agreed the Engineer could have some water to add to his sand box fun.

Since it does snow every April, we have not yet turned on the exterior water or connected any hoses or anything. So I filled a large pitcher and set it outside near the sandbox.

Little did I know that on my son's agenda for the day was pretending to wash his hair.

When I called him indoors for dinner I noticed a little sand in his hair. The whole idea of sand in the hair sent cringing tingles down my spine. I told him to bend forward and I thought I'd just tousle it out of his hair and bathe him before bed time.

But the plan changed abruptly when my fingers touched wet sand. Yuck. Then I complied my horror to find there was not just a little of it, but a whole lot, packed in and held in place with water and this thick, wavy, starting-to-get-longish hair.

Just when we needed to eat quickly so the Artist could get to her Tae Kwon Do class.

I tried another tactic. I asked the Engineer to sit down and close his eyes tightly. I went for his comb. The first swipe through his hair was much more difficult than I expected. And the sand-clearing results were not nearly what I'd hoped. In fact, I discovered that more sand than I'd imagined was packed in there. I took this photo after I started to comb. I wanted him to remember this. Well, it was really getting late now, so I had him disrobe on the porch (of course, all the sand I'd dislodged from his hair was now mostly on this clothes), wrapped him in a big towel, and carried him to the tub. Then he had to submit to three separate hair washings with shampoo.

Finally the rinse water washing down his back was not adding to the grit at the bottom of the tub. When he was drying off I was replacing my watch and ring. Then I heard "Oh Great. Now we have to clean out the bath tub."

I jumped on the opportunity! "Yes, and who do you think will clean it?"

With a big grin and a the look a child had when he knows he is announcing the correct answer, "You are!"

I shook my head, "No, I'm not cleaning this tub," and his smile fell. "Who do you think will clean it?"

"Daddy will?"

"Hon, I don't think Daddy is going to clean the tub. Now who do you think should do it?"

"I am," he mumbled as if he could hardly will the words to come out.

"I'm afraid so, but not now. We need to eat quickly"

The next morning, the insult of three shampoos was added to with the insult of having to use the vacuum cleaner hose to clear all the dry sand from the tub. I don't think we will be repeating this episode at our house.

Money Memory

Today Rick had excessive loose change in the little cubby where he stores such things. It was time to give a large handful of change to the children. First they sort it into two piles, and then each child takes possession of a pile. My photo caught the kids in the middle of the first division. Then each child must divide their pile into some for their bank and some for their offering.

Apparently each coin must be individually examined. I was amazed at how long this process took this morning.

Once the children had all the dividing accomplished and they were stuffing their banks and offering envelopes a distant memory of mine came to the surface of my consciousness.
When Gene and I were little we lived in a parsonage. The parsonage adjoined the church through a door in a hallway. When it was time for Sunday School, mom would open the lock and we would scoot through the door to church. But as we went through, she would give me a dime and give Gene a nickel for our Sunday School offerings.

This did not sit well with me. A nickel was obviously bigger than a dime. And I was the older child. How unfair!!! Every single Sunday, as we headed down the wide stairs to the Sunday school rooms in the church basement, I would demand Gene's nickel of him--and give him that little dime in trade.

As I think back on this now, I remember that my brother never balked at the trade or told on me or anything. I wonder, did he know?