I was standing at the kitchen sink at about quarter past 8 last night doing dishes. It was a beautiful evening, nice and cool(ish) and still. But it wasn’t particularly quiet. Leah was in the other room trying to put Ava to sleep, and Ava wasn’t having any of it. She was tired, but she was fighting off sleep with a bunch of rolling around and crying.
Outside the kitchen window I could hear some wailing from the house next door as the neighbor’s baby, Grace, was dealing with her own bedtime issues. The cries from each baby mixed and mingled and seemed at times to be emanating from the same child in a garbled wail that sounded like it must cut through the night and make its way into every house on the block.
By 8:30 things were quieting down. And that was just about the time Julia, the three-year-old across the street, fired up with a tantrum that sounded like her parents were cutting her leg off with a rusty tree saw. That episode must’ve gone on for 15 minutes before she too fell asleep.
Thinking back on it now, it all makes me smile. I recall having to go to sleep on glorious summer evenings when there was still plenty of light in the sky and the other — much luckier — neighborhood kids got to stay out and play kick the can. It was maddening. I’d just lie there near my open bedroom window and let their joyous cries and shouts worm their way into my gut until I finally managed to doze off.
Last night was also special because it was the first night Leah and I heard from the owls that live in our vicinity. I’m not sure if there’s a better sound to fall asleep to on a calm summer night than the distant hooting of an owl.