Nighttime Ninnies.

Dearest reader,

I want to take you back to a couple very important times in my life.  I want to take you past the memories of running through the forest to our little fortress made from a rock formation and logs we had hauled into place, past the silliest cat superhero role playing games you've ever heard of, past the lego starships, past the trails we made for mountain biking.  Yeah, that's right.  We're gonna swim in the 13ft side of the pool...without floaties.  Are you ready to dive?

First, I want to tell you about one night I spent with my mother.  When I was itty bitty, my mother had Thursday nights off.  This was way back when my Padre and the rest of his litter were performing nights and none of the kids were involved in the night shows and when my mother worked in the dinner theatre.  Well, every Thursday night, she took one kid out to spend time with just her, alone, away from the world and everyone else.  This just happened to be my night.  It was probably somewhere in September because I remember it was just starting to get cold and I needed my special green blanket with my name on it, but it wasn't my blanky 'cause I was to cool for that kinda bacon.  So yes, we were outside.  Back then, I had a very special interest in the stars.  They amazed me like nothing else.  I often saw things that I imagined no one else saw up there, slowly moving stars, ones that would blink off and on, ones that would lead me in the dark.  My mom would hug me as we just lay there, in the grass, on my blanket, talking about anything and everything.  I don't remember almost anything outside of me at all.  What I remember was being hugged and talking to her as we fed my interests.  That memory has influenced every little way I treat my siblings every day.  I often think about whether or not I am promoting those feelings I felt that day when I had my night out with my mother.  Now, I didn't only have one.  I think we did this for about a year.  I remember searching for ants on another one, but that's beside the point.  This one stuck out because it was the purest memory I have alone, with my mom.

I'll finish this next memory in the still of  tomorrow's night.  Sleep wraps her tentacles around my mind as I type, pulling me deeper into the beautifully vibrant abyss below.  Most abysses are so misunderstood.

Nighty.