"Let's colour everything the wrong colour!"
"You go ahead," I tell him. "I think I'll keep doing mine the right colours."
"No, I want you to do it too, and then we can find all the things that are wrong! Wouldn't that be silly?"
"It sure would, but I like to colour mine the right colour." Even as I say it, I know I'm being irrationally stubborn. It's just a colouring book. I'm not being graded. We're spending time together, enjoying the peace of two babies napping, no one grabbing at the markers or needing attention. Just us, quietly filling in the pages with our favourite smelly markers.
"Please Mommy? It's okay to colour them the wrong colour."
He's right, of course - there are no rules, I can colour things any darn colour I want to! - but inexplicably, ridiculously, I still hesitate. It's wrong! Things should be coloured the right way! That's just how it is!
"Here, colour them pink. It's okay."
I take the proffered marker, put it to paper and shade in a tree.
He is brimming with excitement, making it oh-so-worth it.
I am free.