Save a few hot summer days, rainy days are not my favorite. I understand their importance, but it’s still challenging to avoid becoming hyper-focused on the daily logistics of trudging along with kids in tow.
There was a time that I welcomed inclement weather with a smile. I remember my red floral umbrella, puddle stomping, and fully-drenching my delicate ruffle socks. And when the weather turned I’d get snow getting stuck in that spot around my ankles where my moon boots and ski pants didn’t quite match up. Sure it was cold, but rarely uncomfortable enough to make me stop the important work found in childhood play.
There isn’t a puddle that this little guy doesn’t want to voraciously attack.
Here is NYC, like many other places, we recently experienced what I like to call the sloppy melt; the time when the heaps of snow finally begin to dissipate into a wet, slushy, slop.
A puddle-jumper’s dream.
A few weeks ago, after school, my son looked at me with a giant mischievous grin, upon spotting a course of puddles. His expression quickly changed when he met my eyes. My mind was with his non-waterproof shoes and the walk home from school that we had ahead of us. Without saying anything, he sensed my thoughts.
In that moment, thankfully, I caught myself.
And as arms flailed and water propelled into his face with each stomp – I marveled in his laughter, the repetition, and the refreshing gift in a four-year-old perception of the world.
My goodness, how childhood innocence reflects in those ripples.
Don’t let that joy evaporate.