“The muddy puddle…”

 Shared by Breanne Smedley

At some point during most weekends, Charlee and I try to find breaks in the rain to go take a walk outside.

We have a nice ¼ mile walking trail behind our house that leads to two different playgrounds along the way.

This weekend, though, it rained almost the whole time.

Except for a tiny break Sunday when I saw some sun come through the window.

Charlee! Let’s go for our walk!

“Walk. Outside. Boots.” She said back.

When we got out there, we were immediately met with huge puddles and mud along the trail.

Charlee started to make her way to a puddle and noticed she could make some fun splashes with her boots when she stepped in it.

It quickly became the thing she wanted to do.

Moving from puddle to puddle.

Splashing water in the air and laughing.

As she gained more confidence, her stomps became bigger.

Splashes became larger.

And my instinct was to stop her.

Especially as she began to move towards the deeper puddles.

The muddier ones.

“No, Charlee, stay with this puddle” I started to say, pointing her towards the smaller, clearer looking ones.

She was determined, though, to take her new skill to the “big” brown puddle.

I kept resisting.

“No, that one is going to get you dirty,” I told her.
“Go back to the other puddles.”

She looked back at me, confused as to why she could stomp in every puddle except the one she really wanted to be in.

I didn’t want to argue with a toddler.

I also didn’t want to just give in and let her do what she wanted.

But in that moment, I also had to take a look at myself.

Why didn’t I want her to go to the other puddle?

It was a couple inches deep. Looked a little murky.

But the real reason, if I’m honest, was that I knew it would make a mess that I’d have to clean up.

And some days, that’s reason enough.

But this day, on this Sunday when we had nothing to do but go back inside and watch the Seahawks game, how hard would it be to strip the toddler down and put on new clothes?

Allow her to experience the cause and effect herself. Of what happens when you stomp in big puddles.

Okay, go! I told her.

She squealed and ran over the forbidden puddle.

One splash and water shot up to the sky. Another splash and some water hit her cheek.

More yelling. Splashing. Laughing.

When she was done, her pants were soaked.

As we walked back, she kept pointing to her boots and saying “waaader” with an uncomfortable look on her face.

“Yep, there’s water in your boots now. That’s what happens when we splash in big puddles.”

For her, it was worth it.

For me, it was worth it.

To let her experience life, and not just hear about it from me.

To let her feel the consequences (good or bad) from actions.

To allow her to take risks.

Because today it’s just a puddle.

Down the road, it could be deciding between sports or activities.

Relationships. Careers.

And I want her to feel empowered to make those choices on her own, with my support.

And to not live life-based only on the experiences of others.

But through living it herself, too.

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