I Have Sand In My Hair.

Deep down. When I scratch my head, there is sand under the fingernails.

I got home from work and saw a sign on the couch written by my five year-old girl that they had "GONE TO PRCK". I hopped in the mommy-mobile and checked the "yellow park" (yellow slides) and they weren't there. I went to the parking lot of the community pool and jogged to the "baby park" where they also weren't. I kept jogging till I got to the "blue park" (guess the slide color) and I saw the Wife&Kids over at the sandbox. I whistled them up and kept whistling as I was walking closer, and then I heard "mumbleDADDY!" and the girl came running. The 4 year-old elderboy stayed put, as it turns out to keep from running barefoot in ant and sticker infested grass, and the girl got a big running-to-her hugs&kisses. They had been playing in the sand at a beach volleyball court. Lilly went for a walk with #3 in the stroller and I was left to play with 1&2. The sand had been rained upon and there were little clumps that could be carefully picked up and thrown, to dissolve on impact with the ground, volleyball net, or family member, where they hit. After a second admonition to my girl (who had been making "sand angels") not to get me dirty with sand, she stopped throwing it at me. Then I struck up a game with the olderboy of 'catching' the clumps. They disslove on contact, remember. Well, the girl found a few and tossed them to me. I batted them down and to both sides into clouds of sand in a most amusing fashion. Then she found one that was bigger than all the rest and tossed it to me. I batted it all right. Straight over my head. The shower of sand was most impressive and went all over me. Apparently, this was about as funny as anything.

And now, hours later,

I have sand in my hair. And a smile on my face.