Aug 11 2008
Rainboots Welcome
About a year ago, I wrote this creative non-fiction and it has sat on my computer for a while. I wanted to share it because my post last week for 2 year old development made me think of it.
I am a firm believer that rain boots is a necessary staple of not only childhood but also of life. There are very few times when I tell my kids not to jump into a puddle that they have been gazing at with longing, to laugh and enjoy the silliness of being covered in mud. Many times I am in there with my kids, jumping around, seeing just how high I can make those splashes and I feel that many of life lessons can be found in splashing around in a puddle.
And even if I don’t find a single lesson, I still come in out of the rain (yes it’s usually raining when we go puddle ducking) and feel like I have accomplished something very important that day. For a few minutes, I wasn’t the mom telling the kids to clean their room, pick up toys or do their homework, for a few minutes, I was simply a mom that wasn’t worried about tomorrow or the state of the house but I was worried simply of having fun with my kids. Of course, our adventures through mud usually ends with me doing housework (mopping) and laundry but it is worth every muddy footprint across my kitchen floor.
Okay, i seemed to have rambled a bit there so without further meanderings of thought, here is the story I wanted to share with you.
Rainboots Welcome by Sirena Van Schaik
The puddle stretched across the field forming a large cloud-filled pond. The cold depths indeterminable from where I stood on the walkway but the grass that usually graced the field was completely covered by the dark gray water.
The red and gray wagon thumped behind me. The small boy, my youngest son, sat in the wagon staring at the wet field with interested blue eyes. My oldest son, his small warm hand resting in my own as he walked beside me, completed our group of three bundled travelers on our way to drop him off at school.
It wasn’t the puddle that made me pause or the small sideways shuffle that my son took in the puddle’s direction; it was the group of children gathering on its shores. A smile played at my lips as I watched a boy roll up his tan khakis until they were bunched around his thighs, black rubber boots gleaming in the dim light just below the boy’s pants. With one hand holding them up and the other hand balanced out to the side, the boy looked back at the other children; laughter on his face and mischief in his eyes.
The small group of children squealed in delight, a cry filling the air as they called to him, “Don’t do it, you’re going to get wet.”
The boy smiled at the challenge and took a tentative step into the rain-made pond. Water sloshed over his black rubber boots, the edge of the pond too shallow for the water to reach the tops. Triumph flashed across his face as another step proved the water shallow still. More children ran to the water’s edge, more of them hiking up their pants to follow their adventurous comrade into the stormy depths.
I chuckled as I watched, my own son gravitating towards the crowds of laughing adventurers. I found myself judging the cold water, trying to predict how far I could get before the water rushed into my winter boots. I tried to predict how far I could pull the wagon before it got bogged down, leaving me to rescue a wet and laughing toddler from the lake. I took a step towards the puddle, my son in step beside me but the distant clang of a school bell reminded me that we needed to get to school.
The school beckoned and with it responsibility and motherhood and with a sigh I answered the call. Lifting up the handle of the wagon, I called to my oldest that it was time to go. The puddle stood silent and empty behind us while groups of laughing children made a dash towards the distant school. As they ran many of the children cast longing-filled glances at the puddle, probably assuring it of their return after school that afternoon.
I walked hand in hand with my son, pulling the wagon behind me, glancing at the turned faces of my sons and their own expressions as they said their own farewells to the untried puddle made my heart dance with laughter.
After dropping my son off, I wandered home. My steps were light; a wistful smile spread across my lips as I thought of that cold puddle. I found myself wanting to turn around and try my luck at making it across, but instead I continued on.
As I walked I thought about my youth and the carefree way I would splash through puddles. I thought of the delight I took in feeling mud and water flow into my boots and soak into my socks. At that instant a plaque came into mind that I knew I would have to make and hang beside my door. A plaque to remind me to take delight in the simplest of things, like small feet splashing through puddles and the laughter that comes with it; a plaque that would simply read, “Rainboots Welcome”.
Sirena Van Schaik
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