Last night, I told the kids it was bedtime. Like I always do.
Brush teeth. Get your jammies on. Pick out a book. Same routine we follow every night, like clockwork.

But just as I was about to start tidying up the kitchen, I heard it—soft giggles floating in through the open window. The kind of giggles that make you stop and smile, even if you don’t know why. Curious, I peeked out.

And there they were.

My two little wild things, barefoot in the backyard, chasing fireflies. Pajamas half on, hair sticking out in ten different directions, feet already smudged with grass and dirt.

My first instinct was to open the door and call them in. It was already late. The carefully laid plan of “lights out by 8:00” was unraveling. Their pajamas were definitely going to get filthy. Who knew how many mosquitoes were out there? A million little reasons to stick to the plan.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I sat down on the porch steps. And I watched.

They darted across the lawn, arms outstretched, laughing breathlessly. Their faces lit up every time one of those tiny lanterns flickered by. It was so simple—and somehow, absolutely magical. Just two kids, a summer night, and a sky full of glowing dots.

At one point, my son tiptoed over, hands cupped together like he was holding a diamond.

“I caught one,” he whispered, eyes wide with wonder. Then he slowly opened his hands and watched the little light float up into the dark.
“I think it likes flying better,” he said.

And right then, something inside me shifted.

I’ve been so tightly wound these days. Obsessing over schedules, trying to keep everything neat, on track, predictable. It’s like I’ve been gripping life with white knuckles, terrified that if I loosen my hold for even a second, it’ll all fall apart.

But watching them out there—carefree, squealing with delight over each tiny firefly—I realized that maybe I’ve been holding on too tightly to the wrong things.

So we stayed outside.

Way past bedtime.
They were barefoot, bitten by bugs, hair tangled, pajamas streaked with mud.
And absolutely, unmistakably happy.

Eventually, they wandered inside, cheeks flushed, eyes heavy with sleep. They curled up under their blankets and drifted off almost immediately, like little lanterns themselves, glowing with contentment.

And me? I went to bed changed.

Because chasing fireflies reminded me of something I’ve been forgetting: childhood is short. These messy, unplanned nights—where time slows down and joy takes the lead—are the memories that last. The rest can wait. The clock, the laundry, the schedule. They’ll all still be there tomorrow.

But tonight was ours.

And I’m so glad I didn’t miss it.