Puddle Stomping

It is April at our house, the month that the snow begins to melt. It will be a month long process and by May we will still have patches of ice here and there but ground will have won the battle for the season. So what does this mean for a mother of 3 young boys…puddles, mud, lake eerie. Now I am a prepared and realistic mother, I know that they will get muddy and I appreciate the glories of stomping in the frigid waters of spring. But some things simply defy preparation. We set out to go on a walk the other day. I packed a bag full of snuggly clothes and extra undies for all three boys (yes every bit of clothing needs a replacement after a puddle stomp) and hid the bag on Grammy’s porch. And then I made a ridiculous demand. There was to be no puddle stomping until the return walk! I myself quelled as I issued the unreasonable demand, and yet experience had taught me that such Nazi-like regulations were necessary in the month of April. And so with the two youngest in the stroller and my oldest on his bike we walked the mile to the red sign, and then oh glorious fun, they plunged into a creek and play play played. Then a bit of return walking, another creek, a few full body falls into the ice strewn waters, a bit of snow in the boots from hiking through the foot-and-a-half drifts to reach the best puddles, an unscheduled trip into “lake eerie” the largest puddle on our road, and I had three crying near frostbit children on my hands, with over half a mile to go until we reached Grammy’s and our replacement clothes. It was a long long walk home, but finally we reached the coveted warmth and I reflected again upon my Nazi-like rule of no puddles until the return trip. I hate it when situations force one to be “no fun” and “mean” I hate being backed into that corner…but perhaps I haven’t gotten quite “mean” enough. Next time we might just try going there and halfway back before we brave the puddles. Who knows, the Nazi voice is certainly calling me today.