I’m in New Jersey at a training weekend for my part time job.

The company owns a hotel/conference center on its park-like campus.

Tonight my roomate and I went out walking and we saw two foxes, four rabbits, and two deer.

Deer and rabbits, whatever. I’ve seen them zillions of times. But the foxes were cool.

And the fireflies. There was a giant, mowed grass field in between the different buildings, and the whole field was alight with fireflies blinking on and off.

But Kirsten, you say, you grew up in Cleveland with fireflies. They aren’t that special. But you see, now I live in Portland, where there are less mosquitoes (yay) but no fireflies (boo.)

I wished with all my heart I could transport the girls here just to see that field of fireflies. Because its one of those special childhood things, capturing a jar of fireflies. And its something my girls won’t know, really. It makes a part of me sad that there are experiences like that girl1 and girl2 will never know.

I know our children can’t grow up exactly like us (nor would I want them to) but there are some things in life I wish for them to experience solely because I did, and sometimes its hard to tell when I’m being controlling and shortsighted, and when I’m just being nostalgic.

They have to grow up on their own and have their own lives.

But those lives should include fireflies, gosh darn it!

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