I have great memories of summer nights when I was little. Okay, most of the memories are of lying in my bed thinking, “It is totally light outside and I’m supposed to fall asleep? This makes no sense.” Which I’m sure my children think often.
But the other memories are of being able to stay up way past my bedtime and run around the yard in the warm summer night, catching fireflies and feeling like I was a part of some secret, magical place.
We’ve been letting Neko stay up a bit later lately, later than the other kids. She helps us around the yard or spends time exploring. Tonight she and I sat on the back porch and watched the bats fly out of the woods and swoop around, looking for lunch. She ran around with her bug cage, and tried to catch as many fireflies as she could before we reeled her back inside.
I know this can’t happen every night. The inevitable grouchies set in the next day, since she still boings out of bed at an ungodly hour. But every now and then? Those are memories she’ll have forever.