Ugg Boot Kick

5:42 a.m. the house is quiet. I am sneaking my own thoughts over a cup of coffee.
My eyes feel rested even though I only slept from 12:34 am to 5:19 am
I always do that when I get up in the middle of the night with the kids.
I look at the clock to see how much sleep I am not getting.
It is an exercise in dispelling the myth about how much sleep I actually need.

From 1979-1989 my mom had 6 kids  Then in 1995 she tacked on one more.
She didn't sleep solid from 1979-1999.  20 years.
Now she sleeps whenever she wants, in a massive slab of a bed.
It has at least 8 pillows spread across the top like a thick layer of frosting.
When I get weary of all this I think about her.
If she could trade me places and be 33 again with a house full of tiny kids, she'd do it.
She would pull herself from bed 8 times in one night to taste the top of Beckam's head under her nose.  She would caress his cheek and coo to him in the dark living room surrounded by blue snow light.  She would tell Pepper she is so brave for sleeping without her bottle and run a hand along the back of her fleece jammies until breathing steadied back to dreams.

 Yesterday I took Pepper to the dentist.
Her front tooth is abscessed and I can see the swelling up under her lip morphing her face just a bit.
Here we go again.  5 years ago, Sophie had the same infection.  Except it was both of her front teeth and it exploded over night.  I couldn't stop laughing at her duck lip.

Ruthless Toothless 2009

The dentist pulled her teeth and she was Ruthless Toothless for 2 years.
I feel an odd parental ego flair when thinking about having a toothless child in family photos.
What if people look at her and see only the gap in her teeth?
What if they are not charmed by her anymore?
What if she's ugly?

It is the same ego that barked at Sophie yesterday on our way into the dental office.
"Soph!  You've gotta do something about that hair!  Brush it or put a hat on!  Your hair looks so ratty I'm embarrassed of you!"
She is slumping through the snow ahead of me in Ugg boots, a too-small ski coat, and jogging pants that need to be about 6 inches longer.
She flips her shaggy head around, flashes feisty eyes and a smile at me,
"You're embarrassed?  Mom, you're so funny."

With that one gesture, she puts me in my place.  She reminds me I am not that kind of Mom.  I do not think of my children as accessories, or an extension of myself.  They are individual people.  Yes, they are younger and they are dependent on me.  But they are not me.  I can try to teach them what I know.  But in some moments, they know more than I do.

Sophie climbing fearless and barefoot in Moab 2010
Climb rated 5.10

Sophie will not be crushed.
Yet, I think I assume too much of her.
I assume she is impervious to me.  I assume she has a bullet proof chest and everything I say is deflected.  In my fear,  I hurl too much at her.
But I've pierced her before, and I see the flinch.  I want to scramble up behind my bullet and erase the blow.  This would not help her though.  It is good that I can break through.  I am afraid for the day when I can't.  Once she is cracked then we can talk.
We are open.
Her sweetness trickles out and she finds relief in the rivulet running between us.

When my friends get divorced they say things like,
"She seems totally fine.  She tells me she is fine.  I ask her and she doesn't want to talk about it," and the most absurd, "She doesn't really seem to care."
Of course she cares.  Of course she wants to talk.  She wants to be important.
She just doesn't know how to tell you.  She doesn't know how to demand your attention.
It just so happens that Sophie was born with a fierce sense of personal justice.
She has no trouble finding her voice.
But not all kids have this.
In a way, I am lucky.  I never get to be lazy or diluted about the value of her soul.

Sophie loving me big 2008