New Innovations in Torture

     Simon let me sleep in this morning.  He got up with Clara at 5:30 and then again at 7:30, when she woke up for reals.
     At nine, I heard her calling for me: "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!!!"
     "Well, come here and say 'hi' then," I hollered back.  I heard her chuckle, and then she appeared at the foot of the bed, wearing a T-shirt her grandparents had gotten her from the Galapagos and a pair of candy-striped leggings with ruffles across the seat.
     I pulled her up onto the bed, and she nestled into the warm wedge between my arm and the side of my body, her head on the soft part of my shoulder above my armpit.
     Simon collapsed with a exhausted sigh into bed next to us.
     Never one to lie and relish a sleepy morning in bed, Clara popped up after a few seconds.  Working hard and grunting with effort, she gathered the goose down comforter in her arms.  She covered Simon with part of it, and then put the rest on me.
     She leaned forward and cupped my face in her dimpled toddler hands and kissed me as hard as she could right on the mouth.  Then she belched luxuriantly into my mouth.
     "Yeeeesh," I said, twisting my head away and gasping for air.  I could almost taste her breakfast: toast with butter and blackberry jam.
      "Mommy!" she said, bringing my face back to hers with her hands.  Her face was maybe an inch and a half away.  Her baby peaches n' cream complexion was flawless, except for the scrape on her chin where she caught the edge of the kitchen table at dinner a few nights ago.  Her eyes were pale and clear blue, like two pools of water.
     With her index finger, she pointed to the mole near my mouth, the tiny scab on the side of my nose where she'd accidentally scratched me awhile back, the red spot on my chin where I'm constantly tweezing stray hairs.  "This, this, this," she whispered as she pointed.
     Then she climbed onto my chest and started pulling my eyelashes.
     "Hey!" I protested.
     "Eyes, nose, 'eeks, tin," she said, pointing to my features.
      Suddenly bored with my face, she abruptly rolled off my chest.  I heard Simon grunt as she climbed onto his.
     "Thanks for all the baby finger prints on my glasses," he said.  Then, "Those are lashes.  Eyelashes."
     "Mmmmm," Clara responded.
     "And those are eyebrows," Simon said.
     "B'ows," Clara said.
      She got behind him and pushed until he rolled over onto his side.  She rested her head on his rounded shoulder.  Then she kissed it and rubbed it vigorously with her palm.
     "Seep.  'Eep, Daddy. Shhhhhh."
     "Ennhh," Simon moaned.  There were purple shadows under his eyes.  I could see he was already nearly dozing.
      "'Night," Clara said.
      "She's putting us to bed," I whispered.  "Would that it were actually so."
      "She likes to play sleep," Simon agreed, deep regret in his voice.
      Suddenly tired of sleep, Clara stood up and pulled the covers off Simon.  Then she stood on the edge of the bed and pointed at the floor.  "Down!" she ordered.