Look! Mud!

Jasmine and I took a walk to the park. That's Big Dry Creek Park, here in Highlands Ranch; but after two days of rain and one day of snow (yes snow, a surprise this late in April but not a big shock) the creek is really a creek, full and running fast. I've taken just about every opportunity to walk, run or bike along the creek and watch the water.

To the boys, it isn't that big of a deal; yes, the water is interesting, but no, they don't want to be dragged out to it again. For Jasmine, the treat is much smaller in scale: full gutters to splash in and puddles everywhere.

We set off with her scooter, but it was clear at the start that even a pink Barbie scooter could not compete with running water right next to the sidewalk. Pretty soon I was given scooter-carrying duties so that Jasmine could apply her rubber boots to the big attraction.

We stopped at the big bridge, Jasmine enjoying the change in sounds, me watching the water flow. She wanted to detour and explore past the bridge and ran on ahead. And soon I heard the delighted shout, "look! Mud!" The splashing took on a much thicker texture as she and her big rubber boots went to work.

After exploring this detour for some time, I asked Jasmine if she was ready to go back home. "No, we're going to the park!" she told me, and I suggested that we actually go to the park instead of continuing on to the next puddle. She somewhat reluctantly agreed.

We did make it to the park, and there was much swinging. Jasmine hasn't gotten the art of swinging herself, one of the few physical skills she seems slow to master -- I'm sure that one hint of flying under her own power will make her unstoppable. She found a swinging partner, Alice aged four-and-a-half, and they compared their respective parent's pushing abilities. (Alice's mother was keeping an eye on Alice's younger brother too, which cramped her technique, but neither Alice nor Jasmine took this into account in critique.)

I convinced Jasmine that we really, really did have to go home and make dinner, so we went back to the path, the puddles, and the mud. Jasmine wanted to explore again but I insisted that we make progress toward the house; we compromised on holding hands but also running through the big puddles and the gutters.

The compromise lasted most of the way home. When Jasmine wanted to slow down and spend time in a particularly perfect puddle she told me, "my hand wants to be alone!" I said that was okay and walked down to the corner. She could hear me from there, and when I said loudly "oh, there's our house," she came splashing along.

Late afternoon play in puddles often means dinner in pajamas. No telling the fashion police on us, please.