07 May 2008

The Road to Hell…

Is paved with good intentions.

Or so it is said.

You see, I bought the girls a sand box. Well, it's more of a sand table than a sand box, made by Step 2. But anyways, something for them to play with in the back yard.

See that? Good intentions.

It seemed like a brilliant idea, at first. We don't really have any toys in the back due to the pointy nature of the "gravel" landscaping our back yard. But then it came to me the other day- a sand box. We had looked into getting one last year but the idea was quickly kicked to the bottom of our "Hey, why don't we buy…" list due to other things.

So anyhoo, yesterday I bought them a sand table and this morning we went to Lowe's so I could buy sand.

I carried 50 frikkin pounds of sand from the car into our back yard. Twice. After a few minutes of rest (my arms were like jelly), I unceremoniously cut open the first bag of sand and dumped it into the table. And then half the other one (directions say this holds 80 lbs at the most).

The sand, I told the girls before I let them loose on the back patio, stays in the sand box. Inside of it. In. Side. Of. It.

So, imagine my dismay (although dismay doesn't really come close to describing the intensity of emotions I felt) when A. tells me S. dumped sand onto the patio less than an hour later.

It couldn't possibly be very much, I thought. I mean, the shovel that came with the sand box isn't exactly a work horse of a tool. Only a few teeny scoops of sand at a time.

I looked. And anger just filled me up so much I wanted to toss the whole damn thing into the wall. S. didn't dump the whole sand box out (thank God- I may have to give her away if she'd dumped 75 lbs of sand out of that fucking table). But there was much more than a few scoops. Enough to piss me off. Enough to leave me staring- angry, frustrated, disappointed- while I figured out what to do. I sent her to her room (and since she was apparently hiding sand in her shorts, A.'s bed is now awash with sand, too).

See, the great thing about having a sand table as opposed to a sand box, I thought, was that I wouldn't have to worry about them tracking sand into the house as it gushed out of their shorts, through the house, and into their beds and bath tub. Because they don't sit in it. They're supposed to stand up, and play with it.

So I have no idea how S. got sand in her shorts, or how she managed to track some of it through the house on the way to her bedroom.

All I know is that I'm starting to think this was the worst idea EVER!

How could I have been so naïve, thinking that the girls (S. in particular) would understand this one, very simple, very basic rule- Sand stays IN the sand table. Inside, like, not on the patio floor or even in our yard. It goes in the sand table. In. The fucking. Sand. Table.

Quite frankly, this makes me a little sad. Okay, more than a little sad- a lot sad. And possibly more sad than angry, even. Because I really thought I was buying them something that would bring them so much fun and me, so little heartache.

I'm sad because no matter what we do, or how we punish her, S. does not think that rules apply to her. And this is yet another example of her idea that she is "above the law" in this house.

I'm sad because every time I try to do something nice for them, it comes back to bite me in the ass somehow, and I end up wondering later if it was worth the effort or even money spent.

I'm sad because I feel like I can't do anything right. Not even for the girls.

I'm sad because I feel like anything that I do with or for or give to them is never enough. Never, ever enough. Because there's always something else. As in, "hey mom. Thanks for the table but I want you to buy me a (fill in desired toys of the moment)". Or, "I want you to do this, I want to go there and do that…"

I'm sad because I'm starting to think that the road to hell, as a parent, is most certainly paved with good intentions- fantastic intentions, even.

I'm sad because now I think- why do I bother? Why should I bother?

And just knowing that I think that at all makes me very, very sad, indeed.

(Note: I ended up making them clean up the sand with a broom and dumping the misplaced sand back into the sand table. Easy peasy. Kind of.)