Seattle 81, or Night Owl, or In Which Dane Has Thanksgiving

My mother is a night owl. I have middle school memories of waking up at 2 or 3am, walking to the bathroom and pausing in the doorway of the still-bright office den, eyes closed, but knowing the hard klicklicklick of her old keyboard.

"Go to sleep," says my groggy 12 year old self.
"I know, sweetie, but I have to finish this. I'll see you in the morning."

As a kid, I assumed that she was finishing Important Business - she wasn't yet running her own business (that would come the following year) but she's always run the family finances, and, since I never looked into her office that late at night, I assumed the floor was covered in Important Papers to Input. Or something.

It wasn't until I was in college that I became familiar with my mother's nighttime routine. I learned that I could call her as late as 1:30am (as long as she could pick it up on the first ring and not wake my father) just to talk. I learned that she played a couple hours of some computer game - it used to be Solitare, but lately she's been on a Mahjong kick - to wind down before going to bed. A couple of hours. I had no idea why. Sometimes, she'd stay up until 2 or 3, knowing full well she had to be up by 7 or 8. College kids do this, I reasoned, because they have that much work (or that much procrastination) and can muscle their way through the morning with coffee.

I've never asked my mother when or why this habit started - and I'm sure it didn't start when computer games became common. She's a bit of a crossword puzzle fiend, too, and I can imagine her sitting up with the daily Times puzzle in the days before computer Solitare. But lately, I've begun to form a theory.

This week, I worked a full 40 hour week for the first time in awhile - including a double shift (7am-11pm) on Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving was actually kind of a fun day to work - I got to hang out with lots of kids' families who had come to visit, eat turkey, give presents and share the day. Although it's sometimes frustrating to face the families at first ("oh, so you're the reason this child is terrified of the dark? lovely to meet you") I really learn a lot from watching them interact with their kids. What kind of parenting did they have? What's important to them? I try to check in with parents at the end of their visits once the kids have left and ask them these things - what's most important to you? As a parent, what values and beliefs do you want your kid to grow up with? How can we help you achieve that while your kid is here?

The end of the night was exhasuting - one tough restraint and mild amounts of chaos, right as I hit hour 13 of my shift. One of the staff pulled a muscle in her thigh and spent the rest of the night limping around with a package of frozen peas clamped to her pants. One kid tried to run away. We caught her in the middle of the field, because the 3-inch mud had tripped her and she'd fallen, and she didn't stand up. She wasn't hurt; just crying too hard. "I don't have a family! I don't have a family!"

The rest of us were just wrung out, staggering a bit as we cleaned the kitchen - even the kiddos get a 9-course Thanksgiving feast, cooked by yours truly and many, many others.

When I got home, I went over to house Bet, not quite ready to face my own house's Thanksgiving, and found Joel and a houseguest quietly talking in the kitchen. I told them stories about the day, heard about their Thanksgivings, and then Masha came in with a request: her clients had been talking all day about "Alice's Restaurant," and could we please explain this American phenomenon that had somehow escaped her?

Of course, Joel had the record (his record collection is...shall we say...extensive) and the four of us trooped into the living room. Joel sat at my feet, and I worked on his neck and shoulders, Masha plopped down next to me and scratched my back and head while I worked, the houseguest looked up facts about Alice's Restaurant, and we all listened to that sweet old album. I've shared Thanksgiving with Arlo and Alice and Officer Obie since I was a kid, and there, in the living room, in my filthy clothes, with back scratches and my home-people, it felt like a holiday. I left the house ready to come home and sleep.

But I didn't. I did instead what I've been doing for weeks now, after a long shift - I come home and I play internet backgammon, or mahjong - just for a couple of hours. Just so it feels like the day is a just a little bit mine, a few early dawn slivers of being alone. I don't think I could sleep at that point if I tried, no matter how tight I shut my eyes. Lately, I've been using the time to plan peoples' Chanukah gifts. It's peaceful, even if I know I'm shaving precious hours of sleep off the clock.

And I think about calling Mom, just to say, "hey, look - I do it too. I think I get it."

But I wouldn't want to interrupt the part of the day that's really, truly hers.

Happy Thanksgiving.