Growing up my children really liked making messes outside.
In this photo, my son had added water from the hose to the already starting mud in our side yard.
He and my daughter made a type of mudslide, even though the yard was flat. They slid all over in that mud, made holes and filled it with water, splashed mud and water, piled the mud up, and rubbed it all over themselves.
They had a blast.
We lived on a fairly busy street at the time, right across from the high school. People who drove by probably thought one of two things: 1) I was a horrible parent who let my kids make all kinds of messes and took photos of them doing it or 2) I was the best mother in the world because I let my kids make all kinds of messes and took photos of them doing it.
Either way, I don’t care.
My kids had fun.
They had real childhoods.
They lived in the moment.
They don’t do that as often anymore. Not with the messes. They still live in the moment and I still let them be kids. They still have a real childhood.
I can’t lie, though, if they poured some mud and water down the hill in the backyard of the house we live in now and slid down it and covered themselves all over in mud . . .
I’d totally let them.
I’d grab my camera, and would absolutely love photographing it.