Sometimes the most profound lessons come from the smallest teachers
Hey loves,
I'm writing this with muddy shoes still by the door and the sound of my daughter's laughter still echoing in my ears. Because sometimes life hands you a moment so pure, so unexpectedly perfect, that you have to stop everything and pay attention.
The Setup
Picture this: It's been raining for days. That steady, gray kind of rain that makes you feel like you're living inside a cloud. The kind that has you and your toddler doing that restless dance around the house, both of you staring out windows like caged birds dreaming of flight.
Yesterday, after school pickup – you know the drill, running through raindrops with thirty pounds of pure energy wrapped around your waist, both of you getting soaked but somehow finding it hilarious – we came home to our usual routine. Snacks. Stories about her day (which somehow always involved a new song she learned, snacks, and when can she go see her cousin JoJo). Me, trying to adult by starting dinner while she decompresses.
The Moment Everything Shifted
Then it happened. "Mommy! It stopped raining!!"
Y'all, the joy in her voice. Like she'd just witnessed a miracle. Which, I guess, she had.
Her eyes immediately went to that little tricycle sitting on the patio, and I saw it – that look. The one that says adventure is calling and she's ready to answer.
"Can we go outside?"
Now, let me be real with you. I had rice on the stove. I had that mental checklist running: laundry to fold, emails to return, that creative project I've been putting off because I can't decide if I'm a graphic designer or a writer or just a mom trying to figure it all out.
But something in her voice made me pause. Made me remember that dinner can wait. That emails will still be there. That sometimes the most important thing you can do is turn off the stove and follow your child's lead.
The Magic
So we went outside. And honey, what happened next was nothing short of pure magic.
She hopped on that tricycle with the determination of someone on a mission. Little feet pumping those pedals, hair flying, heading straight for... a puddle. Not just any puddle, but one of those epic, sidewalk-spanning puddles that would make any adult detour to the grass.
But not my baby girl. She stopped right at the edge, and I saw her calculating, weighing her options. And in that moment, something in me woke up. Some part of me that remembers being three and fearless and seeing puddles as opportunities instead of obstacles.
"GO THROUGH IT!" I yelled.
And she did. She pedaled faster, watching the water ripple and splash around her wheels, her face pure amazement. Like she'd discovered some secret about the world that adults had forgotten.
Me: "Do it again!"
She laughed, and turned around to make another pass. And another. And another.
The Lesson I Didn't Know I Needed
Standing there, watching my daughter find absolute joy in something so simple, I felt something shift inside me. When did I stop seeing puddles as invitations to play? When did I start seeing them as inconveniences to avoid?
This parenting thing, it's supposed to be about teaching them about the world. But sometimes – most times – they're the ones teaching us. Teaching us to slow down. To find wonder in the ordinary. To remember that not everything has to be complicated or expensive or Instagram-worthy to be meaningful.
The Bigger Picture
Here's what I'm learning: We spend so much time trying to create perfect moments for our kids. Planning elaborate activities, buying educational toys, scheduling enriching experiences. But the magic? The real magic lives in the unplanned moments. In saying yes when our first instinct is to say "not now." In turning off the stove and following their lead.
As someone who's still figuring out which creative lane to choose, who's balancing grief and growth, who sometimes feels like I'm drowning in my own puddles of uncertainty – watching my daughter embrace that water taught me something profound.
Sometimes the way forward isn't around the obstacle. Sometimes it's straight through it, with joy and curiosity and the understanding that getting a little wet never hurt anybody.
Simple Puddle-Jumping Philosophy for Real Life
When your toddler stops at the edge of something unknown:Encourage the leap. Their instincts are often better than our overthinking.
When dinner is on the stove but adventure is calling:The stove has an off switch. Use it. Food can be reheated, but these moments can't be replayed.
When you catch yourself seeing obstacles instead of opportunities:Remember that your three-year-old sees the world through different eyes. Sometimes we need to borrow that vision.
When life feels heavy and complicated:Look for the puddles. They're everywhere, waiting to remind us that joy can be simple, free, and right in front of us.
The Invitation
So here’s your challenge this week (and mine):
Find your puddles.
Dance in the kitchen. Say yes to the silly thing. Build the fort. Forget the schedule.
Our kids don’t need us to be perfect.
They need us to be present.
They need us to remember that joy is often found in the in-between spaces—the ones we almost skipped.
And if you're reading this feeling like you're in your own personal rainy season – whether that's grief, uncertainty, transition, or just the beautiful chaos of trying to figure out who you are beyond your roles – remember that you’re not alone.
The clouds will part.
The sun comes out.
And there’s probably a puddle waiting to help you remember how to live again.
What simple moment has your little one taught you to see differently? Share in the comments – let's celebrate these tiny teachers together.
P.S. - The rice was definitely overcooked when we came back inside. We ate it anyway, laughing about our puddle adventure. Some of the best meals are the ones seasoned with joy instead of perfection, and somehow it tasted just right.
