I was once a master mud pie maker. I loved when it rained solely for the purpose of splashing in the puddles. One time out at Bon and Grandad's farm, I covered myself and a couple of my cousins in mud from neck to toes and I thought it was the best spa treatment in the world. Never once did I give a single thought at the poor person who had to clean up the mud spackled mess. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry!!!! Somewhere along the way of my parenting career, a switch flipped and dirt became the enemy. Something to be constantly washed off my hands, off of faces, out of clothes, avoided at all costs. Puddles became big no-no's and digging in my back yard was strictly forbidden. Then one day as we were taking out the trash after a nice rain, I got a glimpse of this perfect, oozing, squishy, squashy mud puddle and all those memories came rushing back to me. It made me sad to think that I was not the kind of mother* who would let her kids make messes and never ever yell about how dirty the clothes were or lecture about how hard she was going to have to work to clean it all up. So I did the only thing I could do, I told them to squish their toes through that glorious puddle and make me proud.
Notice I said "toes." By the time I got back with my camera Sayer had on mud gloves and had painted her brother. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose!!
*Thanks, mom for being that kind of mother!
