She had been asking to paint her tree-fort and I had continued to say "no" for not any other reason than I wanted her help doing the miserable outdoor painting task we have ongoing.
As I painted above my head, paint and sweat dripping on me, I heard them say "For pete's sake, let her paint." I don't know if it was the voices of all the mothers and grandmothers that have gone before me who were collectively chastising me, or who it was, but I realized my stubbornness was silly. She is a child. It is summer. She is a creative. These are the experiences she needs.
We went into the basement and looked through the vast colors of paint (because Lord knows, we don't throw anything around here) and she found several suitable colors. Outfitted with some brushes, a paint stick, a paint key and her little brother in tow, she pulled a wagon off to her fort.
She never saw me ninja-sneak along the long grass to capture this moment. As I sat and watched them, I thanked the angels that set me straight today.