The mud cannot be avoided. It has been raining on-off for weeks now and all our favourite walks currently require a full outfit change (and sometimes even a shower) upon our return home.

One of the undeniably joyful things about being a parent is the fact that it is once more socially acceptable to jump in puddles and slide around in mud. Why we stop doing that as we grow up is beyond me. It’s good for the soul, if not the washing machine.

This poem was inspired by our children and their love of mud.


Oozy, squoozy, slimy, stinky, squishy, squashy,
On my hands and arms and face and gluing my hair together.
It’s my favourite game.
Digging, filling, pouring, mixing, splatting, slopping,
Mum joins in. She makes mud concrete for construction toys to move.
My little sister pulls funny faces 
But even she loves stamping, stomping, squelching, squashing
Then dad looks at us and his eyes go wide,
popping, bulging, straining, craning, staring at all the

4 thoughts on “Filth

  1. Haha. Lovely poem and really got the message across. Kids love mud. Dads don’t!

    Keep em coming.


    Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I’m with T. I’m struggling with the filth. And so is our washing machine, and don’t get me started on the car upholstery… I would love to embrace it more. But you have inspired me and tomorrow I’m doing to dig out the trucks and diggers we normally take to the beach and I’m going to suggest we take them to the mud instead. X

    Liked by 1 person

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