They’re already in bed, should I wake them up? Nah, way past midnight and totally too late for their already messed up summertime body clocks to handle.
But… the Perseid meteor shower only comes once a year, and this year’s ice and space dust spectacular is supposed to be better than ever.
Still no. My two angelic daughters can collapse into a heap of tragical morning time drama if they don’t get their beauty sleep. Definitely not worth the risk.
Or maybe…maybe I should get them up. I mean, how many more galactic fireworks displays do we have left together? How many more nights to make multiple wishes on multiple falling stars? Let’s see. My oldest daughter is twelve now, and if all goes according to plan, she’ll be off to university at eighteen. Taking into account that the Perseid meteor shower only occurs in August, that gives me seven, no, only six more meteor showers left!
Definitely need to wake them up. I rush upstairs, climb the first few rungs of their loft beds and gently invite them outside.
They’re game. With sleepy eyes and messy hair, they climb downstairs in that loveable zombie like state I used to see all the time after long car trips when they were toddlers.
The Southern California sky isn’t the greatest star gazing canvas in the world, but it’s good enough for us. There, crammed on our sun faded patio sofa, we cuddle close, look up at the sky and see five…six…SEVEN falling stars. A new record.
I keep them up far past their minimum sleep requirement, way beyond the point of being able to talk them out of the grumpiness they’ll feel the next day, but I definitely don’t care.
While some final fiery streaks fall through the night, I hold my kids tighter and smile. Life doesn’t get any better than this.
As my kids head happily off to bed, an inescapable thought hits me smack in the face
…only five meteor showers left.
*A post from a while back. Since tonight is meteor shower night, I had to post again.