“Sophie Day” peaked — then plummeted — when we arrived at the mall late this afternoon. We entered through Anthropologie, which happens to be a personal favorite of mine, and which is conveniently located near Lush, our ultimate bath bomb-destination.

Sophie found the one item actually not for sale in the home furnishings/clothing/accessories mecca: an artfully displayed pot of paint-splattered paintbrushes.

For a few minutes she played happily with them, allowing Annabelle and me to ooh and ahh over wool hats and teeny tiny rose shaped measuring cups. Then I noticed Sophie having a heated conversation with a saleslady, who was trying to explain that no, the paintbrushes were not for sale.

Uh oh. It didn’t matter that we have dozens of paintbrushes at home, that I had several in my purse and even an emergency pack in the glove compartment of my car. (And yes, I get how ridiculous the paintbrush obsession is.) Sophie threw herself and these particular paintbrushes down on the funky, distressed wood floor and sobbed. It took a good 15 minutes of coaxing by both Annabelle and me before she’d even lift her head.

By that point, I was exhausted. We were late to meet my parents for dinner and I hadn’t started packing for Portland — too busy celebrating Sophie Day, naturally. The day began with a play date with a friend from school, followed by a three-plus hour marathon at Chuck E. Cheese with two more friends, ice cream sandwiches and a LOT of tokens.

Then it was off to the mall, with a pit stop at home to change (filthy — thanks, Chuck E.) clothes.

It wasn’t what we did all day that got me so tired — more what Sophie did each time we had a transition. (Including the transition from home to her favorite place on earth — CEC.) She just absolutely refused to leave whatever we were doing. No matter how much I begged, cajoled, yelled and threatened. She went dead weight on me when I tried to pick her up. It usually took Annabelle to finally convince her to budge.

I stood in the middle of Anthropologie and watched Annabelle patiently whisper who-knows-what into Sophie’s tear-filled ear and thought (but did not say!), “Annabelle, we deserve a vacation, you and me.”

And so we will go, way too early tomorrow morning. (What was I thinking, booking a flight before 9 a.m.?) I’m dreading the goodbyes. They’ve already started. Tonight Sophie stood dripping on the bathmat, a cornflower blue towel wrapped toga-style (sort of) around her, and stared at me, her eyes getting redder and redder.

“Don’t go, Mommy,” she said.

“Oh Sophie,” I answered, scooping her up and helping her into her Dora nightie. “I’ll be back soon.”

She looked at me and sniffled bravely. (Crap, is she getting a cold?!)

I snuck into bed with her a little while later, to “cuddle to sleep.”

“Let’s talk,” she said, snuggling against me.

We chatted for a while, then I sang our traditional “Hey Jude,” and we both closed our eyes. I opened mine and watched her for a while. Sophie fell asleep holding my hand, the rest of her body slowly relaxing but the grip on my fingers just as tight as when she grabbed them.

I noticed that loose bottom tooth practically wiggling in the breeze and made a mental note to write the tooth fairy letter before I leave, and thought for a while about all the other stuff I better not forget to do before tomorrow at dawn.

Then I laid there for a little longer and thought about Sophie. I’ll miss her just as much as she misses me this weekend — maybe more — in a way I never thought it would be possible to miss someone, particularly (to be brutally honest) a “someone” like Sophie.

Life is funny that way, isn’t it? Sweet dreams, everyone! See you next week. I’m off to Portland to look for the biggest bouquet of paintbushes I can find.