I realized last night I can identify the sound of my kid’s (and husband) by their tip-toe technique, like it’s a finger print. No two alike, some more Ninja-like, others heavier using a heel which isn’t a tip-toe at all, more of a speed-walk down the hall to get to where they need to be—to ME. If you pay close attention to the twelve year old, the sound of her tiptoe repeats, “Can I get a phone, can I get a phone….”
Last night, I heard Chloe’s small feet, a brisk tip-toe with a pink-fuzzy blanket drag, but without a sense of urgency so I knew it wasn’t, “Mommy, there’s a spider the size of my face on my ceiling.” It was more of a “Hey Guys, anyone want to watch a show or help me reach that blue bowl full of candy in the laundry room cupboard?”
By the time she moved from the hardwood in the hall to the carpet in our bedroom, the tiptoe was absorbed by the carpet fibres and I knew I had less than three, maybe two seconds of REM sleep left before she reached my side of the bed.
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, sigh, Mommy?”
No response.
“Mommy” (she doesn’t care that I might be dead) “Will you tickle my back while you’re sleeping?”
There are just a couple of things I can do while sleeping. I can breathe and according to my Dentist, grind and/or clench my teeth/jaw. Back tickling would require an act of wakefulness I wasn’t willing to commit to.
I motioned toward her in a gentle nudge the way a lion gently strokes at zoo visitors through its cage.
I waited five seconds, fingers crossed and then, like music to my ears, first on the carpet, then on the hardwood, the tiny tip-toer, blanket trailing behind headed back to bed.
