Lonely at Midnight

The only time I can have any peace is between midnight and 2 a.m. on Tuesday. The house is finally sleeping-- the cat, the kids are just lumps under covers-- and the husband is no where in sight. He is a firefighter, and part of the contract you make with yourself when you say "I do" to a firefighter is resign yourself to loneliness three to four nights a week during the winter and all summer long.
Tuesday is the day when I can be assured the kids will wake up and wonder "where's daddy?"
And I have to answer for the umpteenth time, "at work."
I should be sleeping because they never sleep in on the night before he goes away. They pop out of bed at 6 a.m., hoping to get a kiss goodbye, but he's gone.
I should be sleeping, but I can't. My bed is too cold.
The hum of the computer speaks to me. It's a rather utilitarian temptress with so much naughtiness inside. If I wanted to, I could wander over to a naughty sight and watch barely legal teens do it with donkeys, but please-- that is just gross.
It tempts me with "post" motherhood thoughts. I do job searches. I plan out my post mommy graduate degree program. How many units will I need? How long will it take? If I major in this, then what can I do and do I even want to do it.
I search for the perfect Christmas gifts in June. I redecorate my house or at least I plan it all out from the energy efficient windows to the sandy colored carpet.
I give into my nutty side and catch up on reality TV tidbits.
And I just can't help it. Yes, this is my darkest confession.
It's pathetic, but I'm obsessed with Michelle Kwan's career. Maybe it's because she's been around so long. For so many years, the critics have said she needs to retire, and she keeps lacing up her skates. Way to go! You may be older than most of our American skaters, but you're still the best.
I guess she gives me hope. If she's not too old to follow her dreams, then maybe it's not too late for me.
And so from midnight until 2 a.m. I give myself permission to dream and be 21 once more. I "google" the things that used to keep me upright.
Where are the old boyfriends? Where are my closest college friends, the ones who "got" me? They've all become characters in the chapters in my life, and it's hard to turn the page on the book. But they are gone, moved on to other lives.
What would they say of mine? Would they laugh? They all thought I'd be a starving writer in New York or Seattle. I would probably be the last one who'd get married-- much less have three kids.
But I did, and they were shocked. Few came to the wedding. Only one sent a card.
I miss them anyway-- probably because it's midnight and the house is sleeping.