Pink

My daughter's room is now pink,... well half pink. One side is painted a bright, fresh pink, while the other side hangs in limbo - waiting for the weekend. Last night, I stood in her doorway and stared at the walls. I remembered a time long ago when I was allowed to paint my room any color I wanted. I was so excited. That same excitement has been shining in my daughter's eyes for days. But her pink almost didn't happen. Her pink was almost a raging, pink river staining everything in it's path.

I told her to be patient. I told her to wait until her dad got home. But she just couldn't wait. As I came into the kitchen from watering my garden, I found my daughter rolling her younger sister's scooter across my kitchen floor. With one hand she was holding the wobbling handlebar of the scooter, while her other hand was locked around the thin, metal handle of the huge, teetering paint bucket.

I jumped into action! Grabbing the metal handle of the paint bucket, I swooped the full and very heavy bucket off the scooter. Clutching the pink paint, I staggered out the backdoor and into the garage. Moments before I set the bucket down, the lid slid off and slapped onto the garage floor. Small droplets of pink paint smattered and exploded onto our legs, arms and face. The two of us looked like we had the pink pox. I stared at my daughter, my eyes narrowing and squinting like only a mother can do- and in that moment, my daughter realized that the lid to the paint bucket had never been secure.

I never had to say another word. She knew that look. She knew that a guardian angel had been perched on her shoulder for that very impulsive split second. She knew how our kitchen had just barely escaped a pink, flash flood that would've swept everything away in it's path. She knew. Sometimes you don't need words,.... sometimes you just have to imagine how belligerent the color pink can be.