There Is No Joy in Mudville

For two days, we had an involuntary fasting from the television. The kids had lost the remote.  No one was willing to look for the magic controller box thingy to make the channels reveal all their mindless glory and so they had to do without.  Mom wasn't interested in searching for it either.  I suggested that the desired object MIGHT be below the laundry that had piled up on the couch.  But the problem was, there remained the Wii and the gameboy DS and two computers so my kids were not hard up for screen entertainment. 

Still, the littles all recognized they wouldn't get a shot at the high tech stuff and trundled outside to play on bikes and experience a touch of spring.  I made dinner, silently basking in the glow of having my children enjoying the great outdoors.  Then I saw what they were doing.

One daughter had parked her bike over a large crater of mud.  Her training wheels straddled the asphault allowing her main wheel to skim the surface.  She then pedaled with all her furious four year old might sending a spray back onto her brothers and sisters who tried to get away but not before caking their white school shirts.  I banged on the window.  "No spraying mud." I shouted and went back to fixing dinner.  

Then while feeding the baby, I heard giggles and splashes and odd plunk sounds.  They were dismanteling the driveway and throwing chunks of the asphault they had broken free into the mud puddle.  I banged on the window again.  "NO Throwing Rocks! AND NO dismanteling the Driveway!" 

Unnerved, I began setting the table for dinner, mentally telling myself that I'd have to have a few shower before they ate or endure mud caked all over the kitchen.  Then I heard screams that had that touch of manic indicating they were having much too good a time.  Rocks and bikes had failed to get them sufficiently filthy such that they were now jumping into the puddle with both feet and pretending to squash grapes.

I went to the laundry pile and pulled out towels and four sets of pajamas.  I ran to the bathrooms and turned on the showers and began escorting the muddy little people in one by one.  I'd misscounted and needed one more towel by the time I was done.  Going back to the laundry pile, I picked up a terry cloth towel and there it was, the remote.  The bikes had been left outside blocking the driveway such that I had to send older kids out to restock the garage.  There was also a whole new two loads of wash awaiting as a result of outside play today, and several pairs of shoes that needed scraping. 

Putting the remote on the mantle to keep it safe, I privately vowed.  "I don't care if it's 80 degrees outside tomorrow and nature in all it's glory has burst into view.  They're going to be watching TV!"