This time of year, it’s every where. The sloppy, messy, dull, unimaginative, goopy stuff known as mud.
And from now until sometime in June, my backyard will be a mud pit. My dog will track it in on her paws and my kids, much the same, on their pants and shoes.
When it works out, I will make it in time to wipe my dogs paws before she comes in. When it doesn’t, she will nudge open the garage door, walk herself in, and completely cover my tile and wood floors with paw prints. I won’t notice until it’s been tracked throughout my entire house. How could I? I’m busy tackling the mounds of clutter that sit on my counters and chairs, less sloppy but still messy, dull, and unimaginative nonetheless.
My kids are a little more considerate, taking off their shoes before they walk through the house, however, knocking them off with just enough force that most of the mud stuck on the bottom flies off in every direction.
Mud on our shoes, mud on our pants, mud on our tires, mud on her paws — yes, the mud is everywhere.
An afternoon exploring the backyard or a morning hike only adds to the mess, dirt clings caked onto a pile of rocks in my children’s hands as they add it to their collection strewn throughout one of the many rooms of my house, a collection that is actually supposed to be displayed in our garage. That mud that clung to it to enter my house, freely disperses once inside and spreads contagiously to every crevice of our life.
I remember a few years ago, sticking my hand into my pocket one afternoon while watching my boys play and pulling out several rocks covered in dirt, no idea when they even put them in there. Since then I have found random rocks neatly placed in my trunk, some ready to be washed sitting on the washer, and those that clang in the dryer from pockets we forgot to check. Yes, dirt and rocks have become a staple in my home. And they are everywhere.
Yet, my precious children with their precious stones, do not even seem to notice all the dirt and mud that surrounds them. In fact, I’ve watched my one year old roll around in it laughing, squishing it in hands, and not minding at all. He’s exploring, he’s learning, and frankly, he’s happy right where he is.
But I’m the mom, I’m on the other end of that play, the one who has to clean it all up!
And I’ve notoriously, not liked the dirt.
Growing up, I played outside a bit but I can’t say I loved playing in the dirt. If given the opportunity of a beach or pool, I would have always chosen the pool, the sand is messy. Nature hikes seemed more like a field trip, not a part of my daily or even weekend routine. And I collected porcelain bears, clean and fragile — not rocks, dirty and rough. A picnic on a warm, summer day was my idea of being outside and enjoying the elements. Sitting on a blanket, I wasn’t anywhere near the grass and certainly, not the dirt.
But then I had three boys. And I remember thinking when I was pregnant with my first, how would I connect with a little boy? I don’t know much about sports, I was a runner. And I don’t like digging in the dirt. But I was grossly misunderstanding parenting and raising boys, because the second he was born, I never had that thought again.
Still, my early years as a mom, were spent largely inside. I was working and when I wasn’t, I was home taking care of young kids. Trips outside seemed like a lot of work. Bulky winter clothing, sunscreen and hats, only added to the work. All the prep to be outside just long enough for it to feel like we immediately came back inside. Was it worth it?
As my children grew though, it became easier to get outside. They could put on their own shoes and explore, but with it suddenly came…the mud. Instead of being able to easily redirect a toddler from pools of it in the backyard, my preschoolers ran straight through them, laughing and splashing as if they were running through a sprinkler in the summer heat. Thick, drops of mud splattered their clothes with no hope of getting them out despite the best stain removers and mom hacks. Their hands covered with mud to left fingerprints all over my freshly cleaned sinks and their socks were soaked through enough to make it not even matter that they had removed their shoes. And the more they grew, the more the mud came in with them.
But interestingly, the more mud, the less I seemed to care about. The more time we spent outside. Their youngest brother as an infant and toddler has spent the most time outside of any of them at those ages. The work to get them ready seemed like an investment to unleash the joy they later experienced splashing through those puddles. The time spent getting ready was worth it, to see the rewards of days where we could turn meltdowns into magical moments, splashing together through fresh pools of wet dirt in our backyard. The mud that I once feared, rather seemed to put me at ease instead of frustrate me.
And I can still remember the peace I felt watching my two oldest boys run freely through a nature trail nearby our house early in the pandemic. No longer trapped by the perimeter of their home, we led them to a trail and within minutes they were running. And they didn’t stop, twisting and turning through trails exploring everything that park had to offer that day. It was such an important day for my husband and I that a photo of my two boys running together, still sits in our living room. It is reminder of the simple hike we took that helped me really see for myself, the importance of getting kids outside into nature and letting them explore freely. A reminder of how liberating, reassuring, and grounding being in nature can be, even with so much uncertainty around us.
The years have passed and we have logged many more hikes as a family. We have taken many more walks down our street and the canal nearby, included more activity into trips we’ve taken and found ways to be outside as a family, no matter what the weather offered us. I have learned that the old tale is mostly true, there really is seldom weather that can force you indoors, as long as you are dressed for it. So long as it’s not thundering, lightening, or hailing, you can usually find me taking my kids outside. I don’t like the cold, rainy days, but with enough layers and enough days indoors before that, I am usually convinced that its time to bundle up and venture back outside — even in the cold, wet rain.
And several years later as my preschoolers have grown to school age, my backyard is not only filled with mud puddles, it is also imprinted with tire tracks, the tire tracks from my oldest son’s bike. Many days a week, he comes home from school, hops on his bike and he rides around the perimeter of our house. He rides on cold, chilly days, and rainy, muddy days. It’s his way of decompressing and after a few days in a row when he skips it, I can see how much he needs. He sleeps better and life is just easier when he’s had that time. Being too young to venture off on his own for a bike ride down our street and with time constraints and two younger brothers that limit me from being able to go with him many days, his only option many days is to ride around the perimeter of our house. But he doesn’t care, he enjoys it. As he rides, mud splashes up on his pant legs, dirt covers his sneakers, and his bike squishes as he circles our house, his tires leaving a permeant mark on our lawn.
But I love it. He’s found a way to decompress, to enjoy exercise, and be outside. I suppose if I was more focused on my lawn or the mud, my reaction might be, “Stop riding your bike through our lawn!” “You are ruining it!” “Your pants are covered in mud!” “Your shoes are wet!” “And your bike is making a mess of the garage!”
But I won’t. Because my focus is on him. Because I know kids need to be outside, they need exercise, ways to decompress, and they need to breathe in fresh air. I’m learning more and more how important it is for my kids to be out in nature, and how important it is for me to be out in nature.
Our lawn will eventually recover and our house will someday be very clean. But not today, friends.
I am also learning that it’s not the mud that bothers me so much. Mud actually wipes away quickly with a paper towel from my floors and the sinks. It’s actually so easy that my kids can even clean up after themselves and our dog when they track in muddy shoes or paw prints.
No, it’s not the mud that causes so much of the mess in parenting for me. It’s actually the clutter — the stacks of papers to attend to, the emails, the lists I make, and the schedule we try so hard to follow. No, it’s not the mud that is most bothersome to me, it’s actually the “busy-ness” of life. It’s the mud that actually gives our life some balance.
Now I will admit, mud does cause me some distress at times when I think of the contaminants often found within it and as I wonder how much lurches in the dirt that my kids play in. I do think as neighborhoods and communities, we must do a better job for children in limiting those, keeping our environment safe for kids. But by keeping my home as safe as I can and ensuring my children wash their hands well, I also ensure their life is still full of exploring and playing in the dirt outside, despite my very valid concerns.
My kids need to be outside exploring and I have found, I actually need to be right out there with them. Running through trails together, biking along the paths, finding rocks and filling our trunk with them. Collecting seashells and feeling the sand between our toes. Planting a garden together and digging in the dirt nearby with their shovels and trucks. Skiing trails and sledding down hills, opportunities to embrace the colder season instead of shutting it out. Soaking their sneakers in puddles, letting them dry by the door, and looking up to see planes, birds, clouds, and stars in the sky. It is those moments that I can step away from the schedule, from the clutter, from the mental load of parenting because for me, it’s not the mud that is so messy. It is the to do lists, the piles of papers, the toys that collect, and the schedule that stares at me knowing I’ll never fully be able to keep up with it as time passes.
Until I step outside and it’s all out of my view. A different perspective is gained by being outside in nature with my children, one that helps me balance all the chaos of parenting, one that gives me peace as a mom when I see how my children are drawn to it and how they respond to it, how they argue less and sleep better. The trails where my kids play openly, without a schedule, without tasks, chores, and homework. The spaces where we can’t see the real mess that, the clutter that can cloud our minds and sometimes, frazzle our nerves. Where instead of piles of papers, it’s piles of sticks. Instead of toys scattered about, it’s rocks. And instead of cereal crunching under our feet that we have to clean up, it’s the sounds of leaves. A scene that we expect but that expects nothing from us, and doesn’t require any intervention on our part. It’s there for us to be in the moment with our kids or ourselves. It’s refreshing, it’s peaceful, and it is not messy at all.
Yes, this is the time of year full of mud. But it’s not the time when parenting becomes messier for me.
It’s not the mud that’s messy in parenting. It’s the mud that’s energizing. It’s the mud that I now retreat to when I need a break from what’s really messy in life.
It turns out it may have taken three young boys for me to realize it, but this girl actually doesn’t mind the mud much at all. The mud is a symbol of how I’ve grown both as a mom and a woman.
I no longer see the mud as the problem.
The mud is actually part of the solution to the really messy parts of being a mom.
