Mud Kitchen

I stand in the doorway, staring at the dribbles of mud staining the patio I just swept, and wonder how we are ever going to clean up this mess. Mud spilling over the patio table. Caked in all the toy kitchen pots and spoons. Splattered down my daughter’s bare legs. Crusted between every child’s fingers and toes.

As my eyes travel over the mess, I linger to watch and listen to my children creating a world of their own, where everyone has a part to play.

“More sugar!” one calls out, as another skips over to a small patch of dirt next to the fence, carefully scraping the fine dust with a teaspoon. Joyfully they create chocolate soups and cookies, pancakes with syrup and berry muffins. All the good things. They call out for more salt and cinnamon, and then when the mixture becomes too dry one holds the hose while the other turns on the water. When they need more berries one climbs the tree to snap off a branch loaded with seed pods and the other picks off every “berry” to fill a bucket before mixing a handful into the soup.

This morning, when my son asked me what we were doing today, I stared at him blankly, feeling a little sad and a little overwhelmed by all the impossible tasks and choices of planning and parenting at a time like this. I didn’t have any outings or errands or playdates planned today. It was cloudy, and I was tired, and I wasn’t sure of anything really. “Whatever you want my love.” I said.

And then like a switch, with permission to stay home and without the pressure to be anywhere or do anything, they went outside and started to play.

Just some dirt. A little water. A few spoons and bowls.

My daughter may have stripped down naked and peed over the patio drain because she was too muddy to take to the bathroom. We will need a large bucket full of soapy water to wash out the kitchen utensils. And then the children. We will be hosing down the patio for days.

The sun comes out. Not once has anyone asked me for a single snack. They have created their own language of calls from the tree and signals to communicate what ingredient they need next. They understand each other. Anticipate each others’ needs. Cooperatively and continuously creating so much, from something so simple.

“Mommy, I made you a pancake with walnuts and sea salt.” my son announces. “Here I come babe. It smells delicious.”