Earlier in the summer our neighbors around the corner offered us the dinosaur sandbox from their yard that Calvin has been coveting since we moved in and that their children have long since outgrown. They told us to just come by whenever we had time and take it home. A month went by while we hemmed and hawed about how to get the thing, still full of sand, back to our house—it's only half a block, do we carry it? Do we pull it on the wagon? Do we drive? Finally, after putting Calvin to bed one night, we decided to just drive over there, stash it in the back of the van, and drive it home. It was already quite dusky, almost dark, when we pulled up next to their house, opened the trunk, and started shoving the thing in, and that was when another of our neighbors drove by, slowing to a crawl to watch us stealing children's toys in the middle of the night. It's not what it looks like. Really.
We couldn't fit it far enough in to close the trunk, so we actually just backed up the street and around the corner into our driveway, trunk wide open, dinosaur peeking out. Then, after we'd carried it to the backyard and were softly discussing how exactly to settle it in its new home, I looked up at Calvin's window where I expected him to be soundly asleep. Instead, I saw, faintly outlined in the dark, the shape of our son peering quizically out his window at us.
"what are you doing?" I asked
"I'm looking at that sandbox there."
"At what?"
"At that turtle you have there."
"I don't see a turtle, I see a dinosaur."
"At that dinosaur there."
"What dinosaur?"
"That one behind you."
"I don't see a dinosaur."
"Behind you."
"I still don't see a dinosaur." (looking up and all around)
"No, look down. Down and behind you."
"Oh that! Yes, that is a sandbox for you."
"I didn't know that you would be bringing a sandbox tonight."
"No, it was a surprise."
"I like that sandbox."
"Good."
So now we have a dino sandbox, and it even came with a few toys.
