Puddle Jumping

Tonight, the sky opened up and rained down on the great metropolis of Momence. It was just a short shower, not nearly enough to raise our yellow lawn from the dead, but it did leave behind a series of shallow watering holes.

I threw caution and dry clothes to the wind and invited Emma on a puddle jumping date. She was stoked.

We splashed around in the puddles in our driveway. Then on the sidewalk. Then down the street. Then she said, "I have an idea. Let's take a little walk." "Yes," I agreed. "Let's take a little walk."

So there we were on a quest to find the biggest, bestest puddles in town. "Ooh, look over there," I said. "There's some great looking puddles."

"Yes," she said. "Perfect for a little girl and a grown up to jump in." I laughed out loud at her perfect articulation.

We continued our puddle walk another a half-mile or so, and then turned back toward home for dinner. We revisited the deepest, muddiest spots we'd found along the way.

Passing through a parking lot, Emma took note of all the cigarettes and other debris on the ground. "Mommy, why do people throw things on the ground?"

"I don't know, hon. They shouldn't should they?"

"No." (Pauses for contemplation.) "We should tell all the people in all the world to stop throwing things on the ground."

"Great idea," I agreed.

"We can save the world," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yes," I laughed. "We can save the world."