The first of September flipped over the calendar, and that was about it. The days have been warm, the nights have been balmy, and all three little ones have snuggled down in bed while the fading light still peeped in around the edges of the curtains. It was a change of season on paper perhaps, but not in our hearts. In my little world we were clearly going to continue on in a perpetual state of English summer; not too hot, with a nice breeze so the laundry dries quickly, and those lovely long evenings of sitting outside with H, relaxed at last after a long day. It’s not that I mind the change, or even don’t want it to come, I could never name a favourite season, or even want to live somewhere where there’s only one, because there’s so much in each that I look forward to. It’s more that the time has gone even faster than the usual racing speed, and I wasn’t really expecting it.
I know we managed to avoid quite a few grey days this August by skipping across the channel to chase the sunshine around Europe, but to wake up yesterday to the whisper of faint rain against the window felt like the first wet day we’ve had in ages.
Over the last week I think the autumn has stretched out a hand to welcome in the season of gold and brown. We’re just at the point now when it’s dark by the time I’ve finished settling the children, and in the mornings I wake up to a sky not quite awake and think I can roll over again, only to find I’m two snooze button’s adrift on the day already. The days of waking up in the dark and taking pictures of the sunrise from the station platform are on their way, it’s almost the time of year when our quilt stash goes from being picnic blankets and the walls of tents to an essential snuggly layer of an evening; a shift marked by milestones, not merely dates.
And this week, and under yesterday’s soggy skies we ticked off our first of the autumn milestones; puddles!
It was perhaps not the most well prepared puddle jumping expedition we’ve ever ever had it’s true; I’ve ordered new waterproofs for Kitty and Elma, but as I was lulled into a sense of security by last week, they’re still in transit, so Kitty squeezed into last year’s trousers and the largest of her grown out of pairs of wellies, Elma wore her new wellies but a pair of trousers that ended mid-calf, and while Pip had waterproofs that fit, I’m not sure the flowery wellies are going to be with their third owner for very much longer. A little rag-taggle perhaps but they were all warm and dry, and so we set off into the lowering drizzle to see what we could find.
Happily for us, though perhaps not for the people who live there, the road on the way to the park is perfectly constructed to produce puddles, and the children got stuck in straight away, bouncing through and then turning and coming back in search of the very deepest and splashiest spots.
It was a seasonal milestone for the girls, but it was only when I saw him jumping that I realised how much of a milestone it was for Pip. This time last year he wasn’t walking, and could only totter holding onto our fingers. He thought puddles were interesting, and definitely something that you should sit in and explore fully, but he could only watch the girls.
Even at the end of the winter, when he could at least stay upright if he wanted, his attempts at jumping were more bending his knees and hoping that his feet would leave the floor with an enthusiasm only matched by the bemusement at not actually getting airborne.
Now though, well I think the pictures tell the story. That little boy of ours can bounce like Tigger, and would happily stay there all day. He absolutely loved the puddles, and in fact such was his enthusiasm that I couldn’t resist joining him on one final giant jump. Which would have been perfect, except for the fact that my wellies look an awful lot more like bright orange Saltwater Sandals.
Joining Katie at Mummy Daddy Me for The Ordinary Moments