Messy clothes. Paint in my hair. And paint on my porch. That's our definition of fun.

You know when you have an itch and it just bothers you until you get it? You know the itch. And I'm not talking about the one that you want to scratch. Although, I get those often too. But instead, I'm talking about the kind of itch that makes you want to do something about it. And you want to do that one something right now. Yes. That itch.

I get it a lot. In various aspects of my life.
And one of those itches includes doing certain activities with my daughter. Like finger paint.

Partly due to the fact that I have things I want to make sure she doesn't miss out on.
Partly due to the fact that I want to be a fun, hip, cool mama.

I want my daughter to remember her childhood. Remember being outdoors. Remember how her skin was sun-kissed from being outside so much. The neighbors that she will know by name. The kids down the street that she grew up with. The scrapes on her knees... some possibly permanent like the ones her own mama has on her legs.

And the activities that she did. The things she learned. And the messes she made.
The dirty hands. Her feet so dark it would be a sin to not bathe her right away. Clothes that go straight to the washer as soon as we walk through the door.

She may be only 16 months old... but her mind is constantly thinking. On overdrive storing all this new information in her little brain. Finding the right place to place that information... does it go on the right... or does it go on the left.

Regardless of where it goes... just knowing that it is going somewhere in the back of her head. Knowing that I am brightening my daughter's day... one paint color at a time.

I am fully aware that at this age... she won't remember any of this. But that is why I take these pictures... capture each and every detail... to show her how much fun she had as a child.. even during the years that she can't remember.

And there are a lot of things about this day that I want to remember. For her and for myself.

I love how I searched and searched for the perfect "finger paint recipe," when in reality...
                                      it's just that... finger paint.

I love how you would look at the brush with paint on it with the biggest smirk on your face. Proud? Surprised? Confused? Whatever it was...you seemed happy.

I love how you wanted to paint the ground more than the actual paper I laid out for you.

I love the way you would sit. Not exactly sit. Not exactly stand. It look so uncomfortable... yet you stayed that way for the majority of the time.

I love the way you weren't afraid to get your pretty little outfit dirty. The way you're all girl, yet so carefree in this world. So much like your own mama.

Which, I still giggle about the fact that knowing we were going to paint, I still managed to dress you in a cute little get-up with a matching hair bow. I did however leave the shoes at home.

I love the way I had to work to get you interested in the painting, as all you wanted at the beginning was to go swing.

But then once we started? You never wanted to stop.

I love the way you would cheeeeese from ear to ear when you saw your piece of "Art." You would giggle non-stop at yourself. And I just wished in that moment that you could just talk to me. I can only imagine what was going through your head.

I love the way you would try to taste the paint, and then make that classic "Ewww" face. And 10 minutes later? You would try again.

As if it would taste any differently with time passing....

I loved the way that I had no care in the world about the mess you were making. On our front porch of all places. Why not the driveway? Well for one, I didn't want you to be distracted... especially with the swing in view.

And two? Pictures. It comes down to the pictures.

I love the way you would stop what you were doing when the cars would drive by and track them as they rolled away. Never leaving your eyes off them.

I love the way you looked so deep into what you were doing. So concentrated. So at work.

I love the way you were just a kid. And I was just a mama. And in that moment? We didn't care about the mess that we made, the paint on our clothes, the things in our hair, or how absolutely crazy we looked to the people driving by.

We were enjoying ourselves... and in the end...

We have the first pieces of art to put in our art book.

I love the way we play.