Time was in my life when the dawn happened to other people. I was definitely not a morning person; I associated the sunrise with long plane flights across many time zones and groggy strolls around strange cities waiting for my hotel room to become available. Then I had children, and the first light took on new meaning. Sometimes it was the sigh at the end of a fretful night up with a feverish baby; or the opposite, the joyous cry of an exuberant three year old eager to get the day going.