A small little girl toddled down the side walk in a way that only toddlers really can.

She was decked out in an outfit that she had chosen herself: a pink dress, pink stockings, shiny black shoes that were on the wrong feet, and a bright pink bow on the top of her blonde little head.

She was smiling brightly, blue eyes shining with joy. She moved from a regular toddle to a fast toddle, a run. A giggle escaped her mouth.

The sun was shining brightly on her golden curls, the grass was green, the day was beautiful. She was happy.

Then she tripped, and skinned her knee, blood rising to the cement burn quickly, flooding the shallow scrape and pouring over.

Clouds came. The grass was brown. The day was horrible. Wails and tears appeared.

Suddenly two arms came down, wrapping around the girl, pulling her up lovingly, holding her close.

Two lips came down on the knee just above the scrape, taking away the pain.

It was beautiful again.

Because there is nothing better than a mother’s kiss.