Never was a baby so beautiful, but her mother was glad to see her asleep. Ralph Waldo Emerson said that, or words to that effect, and it’s true. Babies sleep with the faces of angels, all light and peace and calm. Like everyone else, their sleep has its active periods. For Teresa, that’s when her thumb finds its way to her mouth, she rolls toward her side and maybe even talks a bit of gibberish. In her periods of quiet sleep, she lies on her back, arms up in an “I surrender” pose, legs splayed across her bed. After a good night’s sleep, or even a good long nap, she wakes with stretches and giggles and coos, ready to charm her world once again. Sleep is clearly a good thing, a gift from God to us humans, a break in the pace of life to allow our bodies and minds to regenerate. Jesus slept on the boat in the Sea of Galilee, and his disciples had to wake him because they feared the storm. We know Jesus was not afraid, because, after all, he was asleep. But for my older kids, sleep seems to be something to be avoided at all costs — unless it’s morning, when getting up is to be avoided. Caroline especially will stay up until all hours, reading, listening to music, sometimes watching old movies on DVD, unless we insist on lights out. Even then, I’m pretty sure she turns the lights back on once we’ve gone to bed. I’ve told her she will know she’s a grown-up when she wants to take a nap, but generally can’t because there is so much to get done. But maybe it would be more mature to put rest ahead of laundry and dishes on the priority list, and go ahead and take a nap. The laundry and dishes will still be there when you wake. When Teresa wakes up, either for the morning or her nap, she seems delighted to see that her parents are still there. Whoever picks her up out of her bed generally receives the first winning smile of the day, the first hair pull, and a baby that’s ready to hit the play mat running. Most mornings, I think we offer her a poor return. The smiles we give her are genuine enough, and her joy is contagious, but sleep doesn’t seem to recharge us quite the same way it does her. While she waves her feet wildly in the air, we groan and creak our way toward the kitchen. Maybe it’s because she sleeps the sleep of the innocent, unaware of the chores that can keep adults up and the worries that can keep them awake long after they have gone to bed. She doesn’t even have to think about whether to stay up for one more chapter of her book; “Goodnight Moon” is about 16 pages, and they have an average of about five words. Sweet dreams tonight.