More

“The lipstick you were wearing yesterday wasn’t right.”

“I wasn’t wearing any.”

“Well, that’s the problem.  Here.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a gold tube emerge from her purse.

“Try this one, it’ll work better on you than it does on me.”

My concentration broken, I look up from the computer and return her gaze. “Mother, do you want me to work on these figures or put on lipstick?”

“Both,” the original force of nature, upon which my daughter has clearly modeled herself,  replied without missing a beat.

I put on the lipstick.

“See how it brightens your face? Keep it”

I knew she was right even before the compact mirror confirmed it.

Both. More. All. That’s what we mothers want for our children. Both. Beauty and brains.
Both turned up to 11. More. It’s exhausting and exhilarating. Both. More. Be more than me; dream more and bigger.

I will hoist you upon my shoulders and help you reach for more.

 ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall/I am my mother after all.’

The lipstick is called Amazing Grace. Honestly. I’m wearing it as I type.