Nightowls & Firefighters

I have always been a night person.  Even as a little baby my mom says I preferred to stay up late & sleep in, quite the opposite of her schedule as an OR nurse.  Staying up late is a habit I have continued well into adulthood.  There is just something magic for me about being awake in a quiet house where everyone else is sleeping.  The noise-level inside our home, usually at a decibel that would require earplugs if OSHA regulated working with toddlers, becomes a peaceful symphony of little boy coos & snores.  The hum of industry that we normally hear out our front door dims, replaced with distant train whistles and occasional sckreeetchs of the neighborhood barn owls out for their nocturnal hunt.  After a long day of having to constantly assess the needs, wants & whims of two little people, the quiet hours of the night help to re-boot my brain.

Recently I have tried to fight against this habit... with husband having to get up at 4:30 every morning for work... my sleep is often cut short when my brain starts the day before the rest of me.  There is a part of me that longs to be a morning person.  To be up & exercised & nourished before my littles open their eyes at 7:30.  But it seems each night, usually around 9 or 10pm, when I should be winding down & tucking in, inevitably I get my second wind.  Lured by the opportunity to finally deal with the dishes or the never-ending piles of papers or even to write a blog post, instead of retiring to bed.  The night-quiet is irresistible.

I know I am not alone in this practice.  As evidenced by the number of mom friends who do their emails, blog entries or facebook posts in the wee hours, betrayed by the time-stamp that follows their thoughts.  At least I know I am in good company!

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We made every attempt to squeeze a last bit of fun out of the weekend before Daddy-O started back at work at the gulag.  One of the highlights was a visit to the open-house at our local fire station.  My grandfather was a firefighter in the mid-west for many years so I have always had a soft-spot for those who choose this kind of work.  It was a treat to get to see inside the firehouse we pass by almost every day on our way to school or groceries.  The boys loved spraying the water hoses but their favorite was getting to ride on an old fire-truck that was sprung from the museum for this special day.

      One of the only pics I could find of my Grandpa in uniform.  Circa 1975, taken for a book about firefighters in Milwaukee.

Now, go check those batteries in your smoke alarms!
You can thank me later.