Back to the Grindstone; or, I Love You More than Plankton

"Mommy," she whispers, "I had a bad dream."

I brush my hand across my forehead, trying to brush her voice away, but she repeats herself, like always, in a voice that's soft, but insistent. "I had a bad dream, Mommy. I want to snuggle."

The air is dry. My lips are cracked.

I open my mouth and mumble, "Oh, okay," and she squirms into bed bedside me. She presses herself against my body and rests her head on the pillow right where mine should be. I wiggle away, but she wiggles with me; it doesn't matter.

The room is dark. The alarm is ringing. I switch it off and then look down at Katherine. Her head is tucked under my chin now, and she sighs, "I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too, sweet pea."

"I mean, I really love you. I love you more than cicadas in the summer."

I shake my head and smile. "I really love you too, silly. I love you more than..."

"Plankton?"

"Yep," I laugh, "I love you more than plankton."

"I love you more than flowers in the springtime."

"I love you more than sun-sparkles on the sea."

"I love you more than kittens in a basket."

"I love you more than snowflakes on a mountain."

"I love you more than fancy clothes at tea time."

"I love you more than costumes."

"Oh!" She sits up in bed and gasps, "Oh, Mommy, I love you more than costumes too, because you're the one who buys them for me!"

"What? You! You, you little stinker," I sputter.

She giggles and scurries toward the door. "Oh, come on Mommy. I'm hungry. Let's make pancakes for breakfast!" She's ahead of me now, running down the hall with her arms flung open. She's greeting the day, despite the fact that it's still pre-dawn.

I flop back onto my pillow.

The room is dark, but Chris has been at work for hours. The sheets on his side of the bed look cool and inviting. Down the hall, I have breakfasts to make, a backpack to check, and two little girls who I do love more than plankton.

I shake my head again. Then I climb out of bed and follow Katherine.