Only, this time I almost gave her a different response.

For a split sec, I felt the urge to encourage my 11-year-old to do it herself. But I paused. And replied, “Yep,” while she was already in position waiting for me to begin.

As she sat with her lanky legs smothering my lap, I carefully made my way through each tangle and snarled knot in her golden, sun-kissed mane. I am pretty good at making sure it doesn’t hurt. I wondered if she even realizes.

As I was finishing, she looked over her shoulder and asked, “Can you keep brushing?”

<gah>

I did.

At this moment I realized these moments are fleeting. It won’t be much longer; She will brush her own hair; stand on her own two feet. And she will no longer ask for my help in this kind of way. It’s not a matter of being capable of doing it herself. She’s done it before. I know, and she knows, she can.

But, these moments are much more than that. It’s a morning exchange that connects us.

I am glad I didn’t go with my initial impulse to tell her she needs to grow up. Falling for the message, if I do it for her, I am not teaching her to do for herself. Because as a tween, her plate is plenty full of things she does for herself.

I am glad she still asks. The day is coming when she won’t.