Puddle jumping

It took six inches of rain water, slowly creeping up my pant leg, to put my mind at rest.

More than that, it took the happy shrieks of a puddle-jumping toddler. A preschooler, nearly; her ladybug raincoat dripping with rain, her snow boots soaked.

I viewed the incoming storm as an adult, fighting to keep settled, cycling through grown-up problems – home repair and career jitters and the constant march of time – while Sierra took the rain as a blessing.

Simplicity as dictated by an overeager three-year-old.

She didn’t give a damn about the 9-to-5 or per-square-yard carpet costs. She didn’t realize the rain was pouring down hard enough to give her daddy a stress headache.

She cared that there were puddles. And that she had a reason to put on her raincoat. And that, while only minutes ago she had been sad that the sun had gone away, she now had an opportunity to rid the evening of the weight of adult seriousness.

I was powerless to resist. So I obliged.

Good thing, too. It’s amazing what a little bundle of sunshine can do as it splashes through the rain.