Yesterday as I drove down the road, I turned a corner and there, backing out of a driveway, was a lovely white Suburban with small mushy-muddy hand prints squished all the way from the head lights, down the fender, across the doors, weaving all the way to the tail lights.  It was a lovey mural all down the side of the vehicle in a perfect handprint collage.  I had to laugh out loud and wondered how much trouble the muddy fingerpainters got in for their art project.

It brought back memories of when we were building our house.  There was SO much mud and, well, I had three young sons at the time... need I say more?

If there was a mud puddle or pile, they found it.  They hand printed our freshly painted new garage doors which bore those faint finger marks even after they had scrubbed and scrubbed, until it was finally repainted.  They ruined their clothes on their first mud experience and soon the rule became:  "Playing in the mud is a sans clothes activity". 

They have never really outgrown their love for mudding but now it is usually done in secret fields and valleys in 4WD vehicles.  My Jeep has come home suspiciously clean and shiny after the boys have used it.  Ocassionally, though, even the older ones just can't resist the allure of mud and one tumbles out of his truck and pulls another one into the mud pit and some silly sort of wrestling in the mud entails among much laughter.  (Someone always has a camera these days).

My grandson has recently discovered the puddle at the end of our driveway and I can already see the writing on the wall. His fascination is abundant but he is a cautious young man... so far.

This is Blue's Daddy and Uncle Casey to the right here and in the photos above.  There is Blue, below, following in the Mc tradition.  It makes my heart proud.  :)