It was a frantic and rushed morning. It seemed like everything was working against us in getting Lyd off to her summer classes. Somehow, some way, I got her to school on time. I gave her a kiss, watched her run off to class, shut the van door and wearily climbed back in.
I let loose with a heavy sigh before I put the van back in gear. Today was going to be busy, we had company coming in a few days, the house was a wreck. My to-do list was best expressed in chapters. I looked in the kiddie mirror, “How are you doing Reggie?”
“I good.”
“Glad to hear it Hun.” (sorry little one, I’ll be putting you into the playpen with some cheerios and toys for a while. Nick Jr. will be your babysitter for a good chunk of our morning.) I hate those kinds of mornings. I ask myself what I suspect is a classic conundrum—sacrificing child time for a clean house. Most of the time I manage to keep the ratio acceptable in my eyes. Mornings like this are different. Today, I’m not going to feel like a very good Daddy. I feel pretty guilty on these days. To make matters worse, I won’t be able to make it up to her later in the day. It was raining, and the weatherman said it would be going all day. No playground in the afternoon. With a mood that matched the weather, I turned on the wipers and we headed Home.
“I want to play with you Daddy.”
“Ugh, Reggie! Please stop twisting that little knife! I’ll play with you later today, I promise!” We got back Home. I unstrapped her and made a hasty walk to the door.
“Puddle Daddy! I want to see the puddle!” My patience was running thin. It was going to be a challenging enough day, I was grumpy. I didn’t want to add “deal with a soaking wet daughter” to my list. I didn’t have time for this, I had too much to do.
Or did I?
What again do I have to do? How much time do I actually have? Now that I’m thinking about it, why am I in such a rush? I’ve been in a rush for weeks now. Why? I took a long look at Reg, she was alternating between struggling to wrench herself free of me and looking at me with a little bit of pleading in her eyes.
I am not in a rush. My kid is not being difficult, she’s being a kid, and childhood is a temporary condition. If I had known back then how short childhood is, I would have played in a few more puddles myself. When our children fly the coop, what will matter to me? Our clean house? Or do I want to notice a puddle and see the wisp-like specter of my tiny little funny girl stomping in it?
Chores can wait. Chores will wait.
“So…you want to stomp in a puddle?”
“Yeah.”
I put on my super stern face, “Hmm. I might have to think about that.” She stared at me for a few seconds, wanting to call a bluff, but still unsure. “It sounds a little too silly to me, and we have rules forbidding silliness. Remember?”
She grinned, “Daddy!” Her feet were running before I had even put her down to ground.

These days it’s pretty easy to get caught up in the frenzy of things. It’s important to remember just why you are a Stay-At-Home Parent. It’s for her. It’s for her sister. It’s important to remember that life never stops giving you lessons and you are never without a chance to learn something. That day, my lesson was given by a young lady who isn’t even eye level to my belt.

Puddles and childhood are both temporary. No matter how long your to-do list might get, number one on that list should always be: never prevent your child from being a child.

Reggie puddle jumping