Small Boy… Large Puddle

This happened a good few years ago… more than I care to remember really. Suffice it to say, my oldest son was about two years old.

We are fortunate to live near a large country park which is a favoured spot for dog walkers and has been the scene of quite a few adventures for me…

The park has undergone a few alterations, including the installation of a BMX stunt track; but on the whole it remains a palatable chunk of green space in my otherwise urban surroundings.

There are treasures to be found… cobnuts and blackberries, wild raspberries, hawthorn, hops and fungi. One year, we had an invasion of giant puffball mushrooms, like perfectly round alien eggs laid at regular intervals amongst the dewy hillocks and tufted grass. Apparently, you can slice them and fry them in butter like steaks… wouldn’t know, never tried… don’t like mushrooms…

There is a wonderful woodland walk where you can hear and sometimes see jays, and at the top of the hill, there are flat, broad fields with great swathes of unmown grass, left specifically for the insect life.

Mini beasts… beetles and butterflies gather, and because of the heavy clay soil, water gathers, creating miniature lakes. It’s quite boggy land anyway, so the standing water doesn’t often drain away or dry up, resulting in large puddles.

The dogs love this walk… Mum had her two dogs, Rosie and Rebel, while I had my little dog and eldest child safely strapped into his pushchair. He was wearing his brand new Wellington boots. His shiny red Wellington boots of which he was very proud… what kid doesn’t love Wellington boots…

My mother thought she would up the fun gear a little and said:

“Oh, let him walk a bit! He can try his new boots out!”

Child duly released from pushchair, my mother exclaimed:

“Ooh LOOK! Go and run in that big puddle!” which lay, balefully gleaming, like a giant’s eye…

My son took a moment to smile at me in childish excitement then ran …. full tilt … into the puddle.

The next sequence of actions remain, even to this day, indelibly etched in slow motion in my memory … I reached out my arms and roared;

“N-O-O-O….”

as my son fell flat on his face. He lifted his head and opened his mouth, ready to start bellowing in outrage …

A tiny tidal wave of muddy puddle water rose up and slapped him in the mouth… my mother rushed forwards and attempted to haul my son out of the puddle, helped/hindered by the three dogs dancing excitedly around the edges of the liitle lake…

“Yes! Small human has right idea! Let’s swim and get muddy!”

I laughed.

My son’s clothes were drenched. I had to take my jumper off and hold it out for my mother to insert my screaming child into…

“Here we are! A baby in a bag!”

she said, attempting to distract my son …

Well. That finished me off. We walked home, me, snorting and staggering, choking and weeping with laughter, my son retreating into sleep, a tide mark of mud staining his cheeks as a reminder of the afternoon’s adventure…

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