Fireflies

I said that I'd write something this week, so here I am.  It's a so-much-to-do week, the kind that I can only manage with the aid of a list. And I know that the only way that I'll write anything is to make writing a to-do list item, that I can cross off my list with great satisfaction.  So there's the list, and here I am.

The fireflies are back. I walked through my neighborhood tonight, just a short time before twilight.  The sun had gone almost all the way down, and so it was hot, but not blazing hot without the sun overhead.  The air was heavy and close and humid, and there wasn't so much as a slight breeze.  I could hear everything; cars and lawnmowers and crickets and children shouting about fireflies.  We called them lightning bugs where I grew up, but here, they are fireflies.  The fireflies had disappeared for some time, or so I thought.  For 15 years, give or take, I didn't see any fireflies, nor did I hear a word about them.  Then suddenly, 10 years or so ago, they were back.  Had they really disappeared, or did I just not notice them until I had a five-year-old boy?  The five-year-old boy is 15 now, worried about his upcoming lifeguard's exam, and asking when he can get his learner's permit.  He probably won't notice a firefly again until he has his own five-year-old boy.

*****
So today was even hotter and more densely humid than yesterday.  After an interminably long evening swim meet, I made an ill-advised decision to allow a sleepover tonight.  Who knows what I was thinking.

No, really.  That was a question.  Who knows what I was thinking? Anyone? Anyone?

Fortunately, the sleepover includes only this boy, who is such a frequent guest that he might as well live here.  No special guest accommodations or preparations are necessary.  The boys are now cozily parked on the L-shaped sectional couch, which is covered with sheets and stacked with as many pillows and blankets as they can fit while still leaving room for their 11-year-old bodies.  Multiple swims today have left them tired enough to thwart their plans to stay up late to watch Batman vs. Superman.  I'm pretty sure that they'll be asleep no more than an hour into the movie.

*****

The boys fell asleep, as expected, about an hour into the movie, but then my son woke me up at 2:30, complaining that he couldn't sleep.  When I got up with him to see if it was too hot or cold or if any other adjustments to the sleeping arrangements would help, I found that the porch light shines so brightly in the family room that it was all but daylight in there.  A person with reasonably sharp vision could easily have read a book.  With the light out, he fell asleep again in no time. I left for work this morning as a sleeping pile of boys were just beginning to stir.  School is out, but morning swim practice is on.

*****

I'm married to a police officer, so it's been a difficult week.  Awakened by light, literal or figurative, I often wish that I could just go back to sleep.  Friends and others, well-meaning or otherwise, ask me how my husband is, what he's thinking, what I'm thinking.  What do I say? Black lives matter? Blue lives matter? All lives matter, during a week when it feels as if life itself is disposable, isn't valued, doesn't matter?  I don't know.  I just know that it's summer, and for only a short time.  Swim meets, and sleepovers, and fireflies, and movie-watching on the couch--who knows how much longer it will all last?