Friday, July 20, 2012

Sandboxes are Awsome

Sandbox Psychology

Three mothers form an unlikely in-group.
Sometimes I take my 3-year-old son to Seagrove and Powerhouse Parks in Del Mar, a tony community about 20 minutes north of San Diego. The parks are cool—they’re nestled between the beach and railroad tracks. Every 20 minutes, kids and adults stop whatever they’re doing and run to see the train pass by—I once saw a 6-year-old jump off the top of a slide because he got so excited. (Fortunately, the playground is matted with some spongy material that absorbs the force of any impact.)
At the parks, there’s this sandbox filled with sand from the beach. Every time we go, my kid makes me bring a bunch of toys—toy trucks, shovels, pails and even the errant stuffed animal. (My son burdens me with so many toys that you’d think that we were leaving our home never to come back.) When we get to the park, my kid beelines for the sandbox and sets up his territory in one corner—always the same one located nearest the water fountains and foot showers where he draws water in his pail...

if you want to read the full, here's his website