Mud Season

Spring is such a magical time in Vermont.  My son is in awe of the rapid and refreshing transformations that are happening in his little world.   The snow is melting, trees are budding, the birds are chirping, and the sun is finally shining.  All are hugely anticipated changes.  By March 1st people have completely lost it and there is a full-blown pandemic running rampant across our Green Mountains.  It leaves grouchy, bored, ghostly pale, pinterest addicted, Vitamin D deficient Vermonters in its wake... It is commonly known as "Cabin Fever".  By the time daylight savings hits, it's all or nothing.  We need to get out for some fresh air and sunshine.  Which I try to embrace wholeheartedly.  There is one part of the season, however, that I still can't seem to love... or even like for that matter... the mud.

The children of Vermont are raised in the great outdoors.  The first day it's above 50 degrees outside, the neighborhoods are filled with yelling kids, basketballs bouncing, bicycles whizzing by, and splash-splash-splashing.  It's a rite of passage when one is raised in Vermont; stomping in the mud I mean.  One I was lucky enough NOT to experience during my childhood in Ohio.  Did I mention that I hate mud?  I don't want it on my shoes, not on my pants, not in my hair and certainly not on my child.  Unless it comes from the Stoweflake Spa, keep it away from me please. 

Way back when I "should" have been jumping in mud puddles, I was busy being raised in a country club.  The land where mud = dirty khakis and dirty khakis are a punishable offense.  Being the "dirty kid" is just not acceptable, unless of course you've just come in from playing 18.  In which case you would head in to your locker and change immediately after logging your scores.  This is where my lifelong battle to avoid mud puddles at all costs begins.

And now I find myself at a crossroads... my 3 year old LOVES playing in mud... He would like nothing more than for me to sit him down next to a dirt pile, give him a hose and walk away.  Eww!!  Just the thought of it gives me chills.  And he knows it.  That little brat will chase me around when he is at his dirtiest and try to plaster me with it just to get a laugh!!!  Like the other day.  When I pick him up from daycare he runs to me, smiling ear to ear and COVERED in mud! "Mommmyyy!!! I've been playing outside" he shouts as he runs in my direction.  With one look into his eyes, I realize his devious plan and find myself with no escape.  Quick as lightning he leaps into my arms and his mud soaked clothes smack against me.  My mind is in a panic... ah crap. Now I'm covered too... and we have to get in the car like this!?! 

To my great dismay, it seems that springtime in Vermont means puddle time.  Seriously, what did I expect from a state where there may possibly be more dirt roads than paved?  And more cows than people?  I guess I am just going to have to get used to it... the mud that is, not the cows.  Ironically enough, I'm fine with cows.  I am, however, still having a hard time wrapping my mind around the filthy subject of mud.  What it is about this mucky stuff that makes kids go gaga anyway?  I really have given it some serious thought... How is it fun? Is it the texture? The color? The mess? The Smell?  Eww. No. forget that. Can't be the smell... Please don't be the smell.  Honestly I just can't seem to come up with an answer.

So as I sit here staring Mud Season in the eye, I can't help but wonder who will emerge victorious.  The dirt or the supermom?  With an unruly toddler on my hands, I am beginning to think that this one might just be too close to call...