My mother swears that when I was a baby I always wore white and I never got dirty. Over the past couple of years I've resigned myself to the undeniable fact that little boys are dirt magnets. They love to get dirty, they love to be outside, and they love puddles! But really who can blame them? When was the last time you jumped in a puddle with reckless abandon?
Today, my two little boys and I looked out the window and watched the rain fall. Colin looked at me excitedly and pleaded,"Oohh, rain mommy. Outside, outside! Shoes, Mommy, Jacket, Outside!".
I immediately got an image in my head of two sets of muddy hands and wet clothes, so I answered, "Not now baby, it's too cold and wet. Go play with Thomas." He was disappointed and returned to playing with his toys.
Just then I felt a slight tugging on my pajama pants (yes I was wearing pajama pants at 3 in afternoon) and heard a little voice say "Chew, chew...." I look down to see Connor trying to hand me one of his shoes.
Well, who can deny that kind of argument? Outdoors we go...
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