The Puddle

There's a fine line between living an organized life and suffering from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I'm not sure exactly where it lies, but I'm pretty certain I cross it from time to time. Step into my home and you won't find every last throw pillow in place, but you will find a more subtle order. Every night I lay out my clothes and my son's clothes for the next day, down to the accessories and socks. Meals for the week are planned (and often prepared) in advance, and then there are the lists. Anything that can be listed, I will list, from daily details (Kroger: milk, baking powder, apricots....) to the grandiose (Life Goals: write a book, anchor network broadcast, climb Mt. Kilimanjaro....) But of course, there's nothing that will throw "Chaos" onto the list quite like a child!

We all hear about seeing life through the eyes of a child, but I guess I never gave too much thought to what that actually meant until my own child came around. He squeals with pure glee when a red light turns green. Ant hills are architectural wonders. The washing machine? Endless entertainment- have you seen the way it goes round and round??? I've learned to budget at least 15 extra minutes into any planned departure so all the requisite discoveries and revelations between the door and the car can be made. So it should have come as no surprise when yesterday, during a brief respite in the rain, we went outside and his eyes lit up as he saw the promised land: "Look Mama! Puddles!!!"

Now I am NOT a puddle sort of girl. Their wet, messy potential goes against the very grain of my organizational framework, so I tried to hurry Noah along with a simple "Yes, my love- puddles! Now let's go inside...." But given that I am 9 months pregnant, he holds a distinct advantage: speed. Before I knew it, he had wriggled his tiny, soft hand out of mine and was ankle deep in splashville. My brain instantly went to the dark side, the side that says "His shoes will be ruined, we'll have to change socks and pants- this is a disaster!" But fortunately, I caught a glimpse of the most enormous smile stretching from puddle-soaked ear to ear. "Just like a ducky, Mama!" he giggled, running from puddle to puddle, up and down the driveway at warp speed. It was one of the most purely innocent, happy moments I've ever been privileged enough to witness, much less be part of. There was only one thing left to do: roll up my pants and splash right in with him. Sometimes it takes a rainy day to see things clearly.