Ever notice the magnetic draw that a puddle of water has on a child? It’s as if they have absolutely no bodily control over their little legs when they’re in any proximity to a puddle; like they’ve been possessed by an extraterrestrial pull that compels them to test the waters.
Doesn’t matter what type of cesspool they come into contact with. A child doesn’t discriminate:
Little puddle? Check.
Big puddle? Yes, please.
Muddy? Even better.
Covered in green sludge? Sweet Jesus, like hitting the motherload.
There is no hesitation. There is no time to think about the new shoes they are wearing, or the mud that will splash on their pristine dress clothes. There is no self-restraint, nor a moment of regret in the aftermath.
Why can’t that be me? When did I lose that inhibition, that spirit of freedom, that reckless abandon?
You know what today is? It’s “Taking Back Tuesday,” so I’m tacking back my childhood self.
It rained all day like Noah was about to set sail. I’m sure I can find a nice, deep, hopefully warm, and definitely clean puddle to jump in. (No cesspools for this grown woman. I’m just too old to get past the green sludge.)
I’m going full speed, two-footed, and regret free. Cause it’s “Taking Back Tuesday,” and that’s how I roll.
momsaidwhat 
Love it!!!!