Second Thoughts . . . .

Dennis at Snow Canyon

So we have a little secret to share with you.  We still want to name our blog The Sand Bucket List. There’s a slight problem though—somebody already owns the domain name and they are willing to sell it—for a price.  Maybe someday, we’ll get enough traffic to buy the name. 

Today I’m wistfully writing with the sand bucket list name.  I hope it’s not too confusing.  PLEASE weigh in our comment section on which name you like best:  The Peter Pan List or The Sand Bucket List.   Really, the pictures are not here to sway you or anything.

A few of my friends and I got together this summer, writing lists of all the things we wanted to do with our kids before they grew up, teaching kids to make foam swords, getting out our puppet show, playing water games—-


By the end of the summer, I hated my sand bucket list.    All the sand bucket projects we had started, hoping to spend more quality time with our kids were now just part of the household mess.  Our puppet show theater was getting soaked outside in the rain.  A huge mound of homemade play-dough, discolored and grainy, lay on our patio table getting wetter and grosser by the minute. I walked out to the car and saw a pile of sand on our driveway.  This was sand I had recently had delivered, not the coarse sand that fills your average sandbox, but the fine soft sand that the professionals use.  We had high hopes that our kids would build sand amazing castles with their fancy tools and detailed instruction books.  The pile had been popular for a day or two but since then had been untouched except by the leaves and twigs that fell on it every day. 

 This is the most amazing story EVER!  I’ll share it with you tomorrow

I had meant well.  Really I had.  But I was a busy mom of five kids and I was dealing with school meetings, doctor’s appointments, wedding receptions, Costco trips, homework, piano lessons, etc., etc.

So when I saw the play dough, the puppet theater, and the sand, I felt angry, resentful, and just a wee bit like a failure.  We had gotten all of these things out to enjoy with our kids—to give them a proper childhood (who needs video games?) and perhaps to give us a second chance at our own. 

But how could I think about getting into that sand when I didn’t even have time to practice piano with my kids, when clean underwear was becoming a precious commodity, and no one had seen a vegetable for days?

The sand bucket idea seemed frivolous and irrelevant.  I felt like I was trying to say afloat in a life raft while dreaming of a cruise ship. 

Just in case you were wondering who we were. 

But still deep within me there was something more I wanted for my family.  What was it really, really that I wanted with my kids?

(continued tomorrow)


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