Bad Mom 101 and sand, sand, sand

Here are some terrible things I do as a mom:
1. Pay the kids to read (not all the time, but sometimes...$1 per 3 books or one hour)
2. Let them sleep in their swimsuits in the summer
3. Count swimming as a bath
4. Let them use each others' toothbrushes and share abc gum
5. Buy pulp-free orange juice (which means every other place we go, they drink the juice and say, "OOOH! There's something in here."
6. Give the kids the chores I hate like taking out trash, feeding dogs and picking up dog poop in the yard, and sometimes making MY bed


Hmm...I know that list is just a start. I've just been thinking about it.

This cottage is one big layer of sand. I need to do some serious de-sanding today on the floor, in the sheets, in the shower..even the toilet in the kid room has a pile of sand in it (someone took off his bathing suit and dumped it in there, I suppose). Even our circular staircase has this whole centrifugal force thing going where all the sand collects on the outside. It's pretty cool, actually, but the sand must go. I saw a cottage one time with a sign that said, "Sand is the enemy." but I don't mind sand so much--that's how it got so out of hand, I guess. Sand is clean, by and large. I get a whole body exfoliation treatment in bed every night(FREE--have you seen the prices at the spa?) , my feet are sand-scrubbed as I walk through the house every day. My husband got down on the floor the other day to get something from under a cabinet. When he stood up, he had a layer of sand on his belly and a little seashell in his belly button. We laughed and laughed. Now where else can you get that kind of entertainment?

Except now the time has come for all good men (I guess that would be me) to come to the aid of their country, er, cottage, and de-sand. It's kind of sad in a way because lots of memories were made with that sand. Some of this sand has been in the house so long that it once clung to younger versions of my children, precious toddling ones who lived close to the sand, in the sand, sometimes even fed themselves on sand. This sand is a part of our family, in a way. It's spent more nights here than most of our extended family, touched parts of our bodies, like our feet and legs, that our closest friends never touch. It's come with us to special events. A bit of it left the house on my feet, no doubt, when we attended the wedding of friends. Some of it was probably in my son's bathing suit the first time he tried to surf or in my daughter's hair the first time she tubed in the sound. Slumber parties have been held here where the sand welcomed the feet of all the guests. Some of the sand has gone home with our dear friends and family members, like a part of us, each time they visit.

So it is with great sadness that I take up my broom and vaccuum cleaner and begin the de-sanding process. It seems callous and insensitive, as if I'm ignoring the sand's contribution to our lives. I mean, what would the beach be without sand? But still I must.