The stars from Daughter Number Two’s night light dance across the ceiling. I have packed a lot into the day but as usual night time does not equate sleep.
My friends and I took three of our children to the beach at dusk. The wind was bitter and the sand cold beneath our feet. The water, though, felt as warm as a bath and the children ran in and out of the waves, laughing with delight. When it grew almost too dark to see them we called them from the water and wrapped them in towels. We walked up the beach, past a couple fishing. Their fire was crackling and flickering on the beach behind them and when we passed them again on the way back the kids stopped for a minute at it’s warmth.
Then we packed my friend’s car and headed to Son Number One’s house for the weekend. We drove through the darkness and listened to Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin and talked and laughed. At my Son’s home I hung a photo of the four of us on his wall, a portrait I’d reclaimed from Nana’s room. I hung Nana’s paintings on his walls and it was a good thing to do. I gave my little Daughter a bath and tucked her into bed. Now I lay beside her, listening to her sleep and I watch the stars dance above my head.