Sometimes a Mud Puddle Can Save Your Life

According to family lore, my grandfather’s brother drowned in a mud puddle when he was three.  After my aunt did some research, she discovered that it was really a small stream or ditch that ran in front of their house.  Nevertheless, I grew up being told that even a little mud puddle can be dangerous.

I let my kids play in mud puddles.  After a good rain, a delicious mud puddle forms at the end of our parking lot, along the edge of the yard where my kids kick their soccer ball.  This mud puddle has saved my life more than once.  The kids can play in it for hours.  Of course they are filthy when I call them in, but I’ll trade fifteen minutes to give them a bath for two hours of them being occupied.

Last summer our neighbor caught us playing in the mud puddle.  He carefully steered his eighteen-month-old son clear of my children’s merry mess making and led him into the grass to push his dump truck around.  This year I caught the neighbors playing in the mud puddle.  The little boy was not very dirty, but he’ll learn.  His dad told me, “Last year when we saw you playing in the puddle I thought you were so hard core.”  He’s learning, too, I guess.

I hope my kids grow up with happy memories of splashing in that mud puddle on a summer afternoon.  They’ll never know that I was nearly bored to death of riding bikes, swinging on swings, and climbing trees and how I prayed for rain.