Mud Puddles and Dandelions

When I think of my childhood, I think of toys and games, of laughing and crying, of scrapes and scabs and the adventures that caused them; but most of all, I think of mud puddles and dandelions. I was always an outdoorsy kind of girl. I loved animals and I loved nature. It wasn’t like I was purely a tomboy. I mean, sure it was fun getting dirty and playing pirates or cops and robbers, but I liked dress up and house as well. I loved to dress up in beautiful dresses and then go play in the dirt or catch frogs from the pond. My mom realized quickly to buy my clothes second hand because they were going to be ruined the first day that I wore them.

I never thought that I would miss mud so much. Or hate those yellow flowers with such a passion. But things change when you get older; the feeling of mud squishing between your toes becomes disgusting. You worry about the microscopic parasites and disease that could be in the stagnant sludge. And what you once thought were pretty flowers turn into monstrous weeds that consume and leech nutrients from the garden. It is nearly every day I wish Peter Pan would come and whisk me away to Neverland.

It doesn’t have to be this way; I could try splashing in the mud, but just think of how dirty my shoes would be afterwards. And I pay for my own shoes these days. I wish I could rub a dandelion on the top of my hand to see if I ‘liked butter’. But I’ve developed an allergy to them and I would break into hives. Then pay for the doctor visit or a medicated cream.

Adulthood really just seems to be spending money on things that you need: gas, food, electricity, water; money, money, MONEY. I never get to buy things for myself anymore. If I want it, it’s usually not needed, so I wait. So far, I’m not seeing the appeal of being an adult. Sure, being on my own is fun. For the most part, I can do what I want, when I want. I can eat ice cream for breakfast and stay up all night. But those decisions have unfortunate consequences in and of themselves. When I’m sick, I have no mommy to rub my back and take care of me. I don’t get to stop to play in the rain because I have to shuffle to work or some other menial appointment. Instead of being excited to see bunnies in the garden, I shoo them away because I can’t have them eating the vegetables.

These days, amidst the carrots, cucumbers, and roses, I plant marigolds in the garden; because they’re reminiscent of my favorite childhood ‘flower’. Primarily though, it is because they serve a purpose. They keep the insects at bay and are heat hardy and disease resistant. These yellow bulbous flowers lend pops of color and nostalgia into my perfectly planned plots.

I don’t have children of my own, and I still want to wait awhile. But I look forward to sharing the magic of the world with them. I can watch them run through the sprinkler and roll down clover-covered hills. They will know Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy on a personal level; writing letters of gratitude and hope to their heroes. They’ll wish on shooting stars and toss pennies into fountains. They’ll dance in the rain and collapse into puddles. And collect dandelions, yellow in the spring, and flocculent white wisps in the fall. They’ll blow the seeds into dispersion and not care that they are spreading weeds, because dandelions will be their favorite flower.

How do we bring the magic of our youth into adulthood? How do we carry the purity and innocence of being carefree into a world where it seems mandatory to be riddled with anxiety and frustration? I suppose we start with simple things: mud puddles and dandelions. We dance in the rain, stomp in the puddles; we bring our dreams and hopes to light and allow ourselves a fleeting moment of silliness to wish on the scattering of a weed. After all, what are weeds but merely wildflowers with the longing to thrive?