There is no way around it---we are a house of sand. We pick up sand everyhwhere we go---all the parks we visit have it, the beach has it, I think even the Palace of Fine Arts and Discovery Museum have it. The worst is when we come home after the house has been cleaned--(yes, for the first time in my life I have a housecleaner once a week and it is AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME)--we walk in the door and I can hear the little pitter patter of sand smattering the hardwood floors.
Hard to complain about sand from the beach when the weather has been this amazing though. I honestly don't know how people in really cold or really hot climates do it. C/D are outside usually twice a day. I'm guessing mothers in less forgiving clients are a lot more clever than me. (and yes, we don't get weather this nice that often, so when we do I put on the wonderful warmer weather clothes that I'm too practical (i know, whooda thunk it) to buy (the rompers are Aunt Linda/Uncle Dick gifts and those bloomers are more G. Pegster)
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