Sandbox shennanigans.

Zeke had soccer today. His soccer class is held on the field at one of our favorite parks, so we decided to pack a lunch and stay afterwards for a little extra fun. We met a few friends and hung out for a bit. As my friends and I were getting lunch ready, there was a pretty large group of boys digging a very, very big hole in the sandbox. We thought absolutely nothing of the very, very big hole. As long as no one was arguing, hitting, spitting, or kicking and as long as no one was going head-first into the hole...no problemo. That was our big mistake. If something is interesting to a group of 4 year old boys for an over-extended period of time, it should raise a bright red flag. Today, for some reason, it didn't. And that's where the shoe trouble enters. As it turns out, the 4 year old boys were burying something. Something that wasn't theirs. Something that wasn't supposed to be buried...very deep...in a big hole...in the huge sandbox. They buried Gracie's shoe. Her tiny pink Croc. And when we finally discovered that Gracie's Croc was missing, there was absolutely NO sign of a hole ever existing in the sandbox. That is how amazingly well these 4 year old savages cleaned up their mess (for the first time in their small lives). So, the next 30 minutes were spent by 3 adult women and a few tiny little girls digging and shoveling on hands and knees in the very big, very deep, and very gross sandbox until finally the tiny pink Croc was found. When asked why the Croc was buried, Zeke only replied "because it was treasure."

Argh.