Mud Puddle

Yesterday when D asked if he could get out his rain boots to jump in a puddle that was in our driveway I didn't even hesitate. This never would have happened when A was little and I don't remember N doing it too often either. This is, of course, not because they didn't want to jump in puddles too. It is because I didn't want them to. I don't know if it is because I am older or because D is the third child, but it doesn't bug me anymore. Let'em get good and messy. Who cares. Of course, I wouldn't let him jump in puddles in his Sunday best but go for it in plain old clothes. Rarely do I put D in clothes that he can't mess up. His life is usually spent in Granimals from Walmart.

I have loosened up with N too. Or maybe he has made me loosen up. Either way you can often find him with grass stains on his knees and really, really muddy shoes. I was so happy when the Easter Bunny brought N some knee high rubber boots. I don't know how many times this spring we had three pairs of sopping wet, winter boots in the house. That is not because I had three children traipsing around in puddles. It is because besides his own, N can fit into mine and A's boots too and when one pair was wet he went onto the next. UGH. Of course, by the time the Easter Bunny saved us with rubber boots all the snow had melted.