A Little Dirt, A Lot of Joy
I could hear their laughter as soon as they stepped into the water. That deep, belly laughter that only children seem to find so easily, the kind that bubbles up from pure joy, unfiltered and unapologetic. It filled the yard as I stood nearby, watching two little girls fully immersed in the simple magic of a puddle. But let me back up for a moment.
Last weekend, my son and daughter-in-law were heading out for an evening with friends and asked if I would watch the girls. I said yes, time with my granddaughters is always a gift.
Earlier in the day, my son casually asked if I’d be taking them outside since the weather was supposed to be nice. I remember hesitating for a second, thinking how chilly it had felt by my house earlier. But when I arrived at their place that afternoon, it was like stepping into a completely different day. The sun was shining. The air felt unseasonably warm. It was beautiful.
As soon as Autumn woke up from her nap, I slipped their little sneakers on and we headed outside, ready to soak in the unexpected warmth.
We started at the swing set, but that lasted all of about five minutes before Emery made her way toward the chicken coop, chasing chickens with excitement and curiosity. Before I knew it, we had wandered over to a small hill with a random pile of sand, the kind of place that feels like a treasure to little ones.
And then I saw it.
A puddle.
Not just a tiny one, a perfect puddle. The kind that quietly calls to children like an irresistible invitation. And immediately, I thought, Oh boy… I should have put their boots on.
As Emery started heading toward the water, I gently stopped her. “If you want to play in the puddle, we need to go get your boots,” I said. She paused, considered it… and chose the sand instead.
For the next thirty minutes, we played this little dance. The girls would inch closer to the puddle, I’d remind them about the boots, and they would decide, not yet.
Until finally, Emery looked at me and declared, “I want my boots.” And just like that, we made the trip back to the house, changed into boots, and returned to the hill. Game on.
Emery was the first to step in, cautiously at first, then with more confidence, a stomp here, a splash there. And little Autumn, always watching her big sister, followed right behind. Within moments, the splashing began.
And then… the falling.
Autumn slipped, landed right into the muddy water, and looked up at me with wide-eyed surprise. For a split second, I thought tears were coming. But then Emery started laughing. And just like that, Autumn did too. She popped right back up and kept going.
Again and again, she would fall, pause, look around, and then burst into laughter as if it were all part of the game. At one point, she looked at me with concern, convinced she had something in her diaper, only to discover it was just muddy water. And somehow, that made it even funnier.
Then came Emery’s turn. If little sister falls, big sister must fall too, right? And the mayhem truly began.
Mud splashing. Water flying. Giggles echoing across the yard. At one point, a splash landed right on Autumn’s face. She froze in shock, and again I braced for tears. But Emery squealed with delight… and Autumn joined right in. She wiped her face and kept playing. No hesitation. No holding back. Just joy.
Standing there, watching them soaked from head to toe, I had a choice. I could try to contain it. Redirect it. Keep things a little cleaner.
Or…
I could let go. Let go of control. Let go of expectations. Let them fully experience the moment. And so I did. Because childhood isn’t meant to be tidy. It’s meant to be lived.
By the time we came back, I stripped them right outside, wiping them down from head to toe, rinsing muddy clothes in the sink, already knowing this would be a memory etched in my heart forever.
They may not remember that puddle. Or the hill. Or the mud-splashed laughter. But I will. Because sometimes the most meaningful moments aren’t the ones we plan, they’re the ones we allow.
The ones where we loosen our grip just enough to let life unfold in its messy, beautiful, joy-filled way. And in the end, it wasn’t about muddy boots or soaked clothes at all.
It was about connection, freedom and laughter. And the quiet reminder that sometimes the best thing we can do… is simply let them play. Because those muddy, laughter-filled afternoons? They’re more than just memories. They’re moments filled with a little dirt, a lot of joy and whole lot of love.
xo, Sheryl
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