Did you know that the full moon in April has an ancient name in Native American culture? It’s called the “Pink Moon”. Last month was the “Worm Moon”. Next month is the “Flower Moon.”
I didn’t know this. It’s 4:25 am. I’m outside. Staring into space. Smushed in between my family. It’s getting chilly. The back of my phone case was damp with dew when I awoke and picked it up thirty minutes ago to google Full Moon facts.
To my left, Kevin snores. To my right, Maggie, Caleb, and Jack dream, snuggled deep in sleeping bags. And we are on our backyard trampoline. Well, except for Klaus. He’s asleep under the trampoline. On his back. Like all good dogs.
Around 9 pm, after tucking Juli in her crib, we headed out back with creature comforts and crawled in the trampoline, zipping the net closed, blocking out the world and its troubles. The kids have been begging to camp out here for weeks.
We jumped around. Flipped. Ticked. Giggled. Told ghost stories. And happy stories. We sang with crickets. And listened to an owl. Daddy and Caleb even had a burping contest.
As we settled down, I pulled out the Skyview augmented reality app to search for constellations. The kids were entranced as we spied Virgo, Ursa Major, The Big Dipper and Leo the Lion so high above us. We even found Jupiter. No moon though. It hadn’t risen yet.
“Mommy, you know you can never count all the stars in the universe?” said eight year old Jack.
“I’m gonna try!” said six year old Maggie.
Their birthdays will be here again in a couple weeks. Another year gone. Both childhoods, halfway complete.
We all finally dozed off, one by one.
My children’s faces are now bathed in a pale translucent glow, as if melted platinum spills from heaven onto them. A passing train nearby sings us a mournful lullaby. I even hear it’s wheels clacking in time.
But I’m wide awake. Of course.
Perhaps it’s my lifelong insomnia.
Maybe it’s just a mom thing.
Or it could very well be the lonely Pink Moon calling to me from an inky sky above.