The puddle calls to him like a siren. Even if he wanted to turn away, he couldn't, and of course, he doesn't. The mud beckons him to slosh about, staining knees and legs and even socks "protected" by his boots.
"Uh-oh, Mommy. Help me!" he pleads as his boots stick, suctioned into the soupy muck.
I pulled up the back of the right foot, then the heel of the left. He's free and right back at it.
There will be smiles and laundry for quite a while after this.