Sand, Glorious Sand!

I switched off the blow dryer this morning, bracing myself for the typical dull roar that is my house when the kids know that I am temporarily hearing impaired by the noise of the blowdryer. But the house eerily quiet. No squeals, arguing, or yelling previously masked by the blissful whir of my blow dryer. I peeked out the window and saw all three of them blissfully, companionably playing outside together in the cool morning shade.

Glory hallelujah.

Awhile back I had clipped a photo out of a magazine and gave it to my dad. The man can build anything and look at the price attached to that particular model. Ouch! Now that the real estate market is in the crapper and we're saddled with this house until we die, why not add a more permanent-ish fixture to the backyard?

On Saturday morning my parents showed up with a little surprise. My dad had returned from a trip with the itch to head into his shop to create something (sounds like a girl I know with sewing machine). Two days later he arrived with the perfect sandbox, a genius cover, and a truck bed full of the softest sand ever.

We staked out a location that stays shady for most of the day.

We lined the ground with landscape covering to keep out the grass, and began to fill it with sand.
But not until many rides around the yard had been given. Seriously? My parents rock.
Move over California Screamin'.
But the rides didn't stop there . . .

Cool came home from his friend's house in time to help with a few loads of sand.

Hours of fun. H O U R S. I need to get a picture of how snug and perfect the cover straps down over it. Perfect for keeping out excess moisture and the cats. So much fun that not even Daddy can complain about the sand sifting around in the carpet and sticking to the kitchen floor.

Thanks, Dad. You're a hero. As usual.