A little too flashy

Why did we stay up two hours past her bedtime? Because almost every night this summer she has made the same argument about why she should not go to bed so early, and she finally wore me down.

"But Mommy," she'll say, those tired pleading eyes peeking up at me from over her pink comforter, "there are fireflies outside and I love fireflies because they're beautiful. And I need to catch them and put them in a jar on my dresser so I can watch them light up."

So we waited for the sun to go down. I realized, as we made periodic trips to the window to see if it was dark enough, just how long those two hours seem to a three year old. Between the time we put her brothers in bed and the time the sun set, we stayed quiet, read lots of books, and prepared our glass jar for its future inhabitants.

When the time came, she slid her sneakers on and headed outside in her pajamas.

Thirty minutes later, exhausted, we returned home. With three fireflies.

Three.

We put a drop of water ("In case they get thirsty, Mommy.") and a few blades of grass ("Do you think they already ate dinner?") in the jar and she carefully carried her light-up treasure into her room. We placed it on her dresser, and I tucked her in and turned out the lights.

I had barely closed the door to her room when the screaming began.

"I don't like that flashing!" she yelled. I turned back into her room and reminded her that flashing is what lightening bugs do, and isn't that why she wanted them in the first place?

"There's too much flashing, Mommy," she replied. "You can keep them in your room tonight."

I think that might be the end of our firefly adventures for this summer.