Dear Neighbours,

I'm so sorry about this little boy. He can open the storm door by himself, just so you know. I don't purposely let him out dressed like this:

But he saw a puddle across the street and apparently couldn't resist—a street, I should mention, that he was helped across by his sisters because of said puddle. All three of my children—and one neighbour—were jumping with barefooted bliss in that puddle.

And Rachel went to bed with the cleanest feet she's had all week.

The end.