MoonSand

I owe my sweet hubby Mike an apology. I gave him a hard time for buying a bag of 100 balls that roll in every direction, get thrown from one floor to the other, float over the pool's infinity edge, and require picking up over and over again.

On that same trip to Houston in August when we acquired the balls, I picked out something called MoonSand. It's in one of the many shopping bags on the luggage cart.

Now it's my turn to receive the award for Most Gullible Toy-Buying Parent.

I had read about MoonSand on a chat group and thought the idea sounded great. A lot like playdough but lasts a long time; good for small kids; ya da ya da.

Plus, isn't MoonSand just the most fabulous name? How can you be twins on an island without some MoonSand?

Today we opened it for the first time. (I was saving it for when I needed, as my sister calls it, "a moment," and that came this afternoon.)

Fortunately, our new nanny Jesse was here to help. Turns out MoonSand is much more high maintenance than 100 Balls in (or out of) a Bag.

Yes, it's like playdough, but a more obvious thing to point out is that it's also like sand. No one on the chat group bothered to mention that. Or to suggest putting down yards of plastic sheeting under the table before starting because two 19-month-olds are not going to keep the MoonSand in the inflatable sand box it came with.

I did get my "moment" to call my Mom and Dad, but when I was finished, my freshly mopped terrace looked, and felt, like the beach. Jesse and I spent the next hour trying to sweep up MoonSand and keep it from migrating into the house. Hayden and Delaney found this more fun than playing with the sand itself. Here's a picture of them "helping." Jesse is standing in the doorway trying to get the darn stuff off her feet. Ultimately we had to wash everybody's feet under the shower, something the babies also loved immensely. So overall they thought MoonSand was a great success. I, on the other hand, have hidden it away.

Tomorrow we'll just stick with the balls.