Something woke me up from a deep sleep. I tensed up, remembering that I had a four-day-old baby in the next bedroom. Alongside me, my husband slept soundly. He appeared to have no worries about being a new parent. Looking around the dark bedroom, my eyes turned to the windows. The darkness of the yard outside our mobile home appeared less dark than the darkness of the room.

Despite knowing for months that I had a baby on the way, the birth of Niki made me feel surprised and scared! The responsibility of motherhood intimidated me. I wasn’t wise and all-knowing as a mother should be. The bottom line was that I felt like I still needed MY mother!

From the next room, I heard the soft movements of my baby squirming in her crib. Was it that tiny little sound which had awakened me? I held my breath. A moment later, Niki cried. The sound made me leap out of bed like there were springs under me. In a panic, I knew that although it was the middle of the night, I had to feed her and change her diaper. I was responsible for not only her comfort, but her well-being.

The minute I lifted Niki out of her crib, a calm came over me. The smell of her skin, the warmth of her body against mine felt so right. After feeding her, I placed my baby over my shoulder and patted her back. Standing at one of the windows waiting for Niki to burp, I marveled at the beauty of the night sky. Stars sparkled across the great expanse overhead. To the north I saw a tongue of green light licking the sky. I gasped. Northern lights! At first the moving wave looked green, then blue and later I saw a tinge of pink.

Niki stayed asleep when I laid her down in her crib. Feeling more confident about motherhood than earlier in the evening, I crawled back into my bed happily looking forward to the next few months of nighttime feedings and sky watching.

Sixteen years later, I discovered a different type of motherhood. I became a part of what is referred to as the sandwich generation. My mother lost most of her sight and needed help filling her pill boxes, paying bills, and changing her bedding. Mom also needed a lot of emotional support, so I visited her often with Niki and her little sister Tammie. Both my mother and my children needed me to act as Mother.

One evening after work while we were visiting Mom, she commented, “When I was a young girl living at home, we often saw things like moon rainbows, northern lights, and shooting stars. No one talks about seeing these things anymore. Don’t they still happen?”

Remembering the nights spent feeding Niki during the summer following her birth, I smiled. The only reason I got to see the northern lights was because I was awake and looking at the sky. I assured Mom, “All those wonderful things are still happening in the night skies, Mom.” Glancing at the night darkened living room windows and the bright lamp next to Mom’s rocking chair, I explained, “When you were a young girl, people didn’t have electricity or indoor bathrooms. Visiting an outhouse every night at bedtime gave people daily opportunities to see those things in the night sky.”

As we drove home after our visit, Niki, Tammie, and I admired the clear, cold winter sky and the big full moon on the horizon. From the backseat Tammie commented, “The moon looks like it’s following us.”

Thankful that I had planned well and had supper waiting for us at home, I pulled into our yard and parked next to Arnie’s truck, thinking, “Motherhood and night skies always seem to go together.”

Perseids Meteor Shower

Each August, the Earth plows through a debris cloud produced by the Swift-Tuttle comet. Much of the debris is small, like grains of sand, but when they whiz through the atmosphere there is friction, which causes them to get hot and glow. Watching these falling comet bits is a popular activity for many people.

Tammie and I wanted to see the meteor shower this year, so we watched the sky on August 12th between ten thirty and eleven thirty. There was a slight haze of light clouds, but we could easily see the stars. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to see any streaks of light before thicker clouds moved in. By then we were tired and ready to go to bed. Maybe next year we’ll have better luck!