I kind of love that my kids always take their shoes off to walk home. Today wanting to feel the cold rain on the warm cement, grounded, and present, and fully alive. As a parent, there is a part of me that wants to call out, “Watch out for puddles! Don’t take your shoes off! Don’t get your pants wet! STOP TAKING YOUR PANTS OFF!” That’s this strange, alien part of me which has crept up slowly over the last almost-decade. It’s the part that really cares about what other random humans are thinking about my personal adulting skills, and the part that is convinced there are probably people hiding in the bushes, just waiting for us, eager for a chance to shake their heads as we walk by with our bare feet, muddy pants, and all that hair everywhere, “What is she thinking?!” or, “You call that an adult?!” Or sure, perhaps they’ve taken the day off, because everyone needs a break now and then, but even on their off days, i’m still convinced there are a few of them secretly still on duty, likely watching us from inside their lovely, immaculate houses as we walk by. Or slowing down as they drive by to stare from their lovely, immaculate cars, all instinctively knowing we left the house today without doing the dishes first, or that our car door has a dent in it that we don’t even care about. But mostly, i just want to take my shoes off too, to feel the wetness on the soles of my feet, to jump in every single puddle with my little humans, to enjoy being here, with them, in this city, on this planet, at this moment, and to be grateful.