I am drowning in sandpit sand. FFS!?
One grain at a time. FFS!?
We live in a townhouse, so while we don't have a yard, we do have a decent sized patio.
A few years ago, #1Pop decided to put a very large sandpit down one side of said patio for The Feral Threesome.
I will never ever forgive him for that. FFS!?
In addition to that, The Feral Threesome come home from school with the combined equivalent of a small island of the stuff in their shoes and pockets. FFS!?
The kids adore their sandpit. They have buckets and spades and all the usual standard kiddy sandpit tools.
Which they ignore, choosing to bury my spoons, platters, cups and bowls instead. FFS!?
The tiny grains have infiltrated every corner of my being. FFS!?
I long for the feel of cool, smooth tiles underfoot when I walk through the house.
Instead, I feel the brittle crunch of sand. FFS!?
Just once, I'd like to sit on the toilet without feeling tiny grains of sand all over my rear. FFS!?
It would be really nice if I could drape myself over the lounge on occasion, without receiving sand burn. FFS!?
I relish jumping into bed at night.
Except for when the kids have been in my bed, because then it's just like jumping into a bloody sandpit. FFS!?
And those grains are impossible to completely remove without changing the sheets - at 10pm. FFS!?
#1Hubby has long had the shits with the sandpit.
He's been campaigning to have it filled in.
He's told the #1Grandparents the kids are too old for it now.
He's told the kids they can have anything else their little hearts desire.
They wanted a new trampoline...and you know how that worked out....FFS!?
I've resisted his extensive campaigning on account of how happy the kids are in the sandpit. No FFS!?
It's about the only thing that will get them out of house and away from the various electronic devices. No FFS!?
I've persevered with living in a small, sandy dessert. FFS!?
I continue to freak out when I see small white dots in their hair, only calming slightly when I realise it's just sand and then having to scrub like a demon to get it all out. FFS!?
I sweep that shit up a couple of times a day, telling myself that at least the kids are outside doing something far more appropriate than Googling Hannah Montana and coming up with Miley Cyrus twerking tutorials on YouTube. No FFS!? / FFS!?
While I see no resolution in the near future, I do feel a little better for having a whine. No FFS!?
And the next time I'm talking to someone expecting their first child, and I'm prompted to offer up a parenting tip, I will give them a strong shake and sternly warn them to never, ever get a sandpit.