Taking time to smell the nail polish remover

Yesterday morning, as I sulked and ate a piece of leftover fried chicken and watched Anthony Bourdain on the Travel Channel - in Katie's room, mind you, because she was gone and I wanted to be alone - Savannah brought me a bottle of fingernail polish and asked me to do her nails. My schedule isn't exactly busy these days, so I said yes.

We settled on the floor with a roll of toilet paper, nail polish remover, nail polish and that quick-dry stuff you put on afterwards so the polish doesn't get messed up. I meticulously cleaned off all the old polish on each tiny nail. We chatted and watched Anthony in Bali and then Andrew Zimmern eating disgusting food in Uganda.

I stroked bright fuchsia enamel on my little girl's nails, one by one, until they were all finished. Then, went back and went over them with the quick-dry nail stuff. She was thrilled. I hadn't realized that I'd been so busy, I've never painted her nails before. They were gaudy and bright and almost as beautiful as her smile when she looked at them.

It was a good day.