The Twighlight Zone

„jeremy… jeremy“ I hear a voice in the distance calling me.

My breast-feeding wife has been trying to wake me for five minutes. She doesn’t dare speak louder than a whisper for fear of disturbing the Prince’s feeding.

“jeremy… jeremy“

I’m sleeping on the edge of the bed. Far enough away that she can’t reach me.
She tries to grab my blanket…nothing.

“jeremy… jeremy“

The voice is barely audible; recognition starts to kick in.

SNAP…I come back into this world.

I’m here, what’s wrong, where’s the fire?

Focus, she’s asking you something.

“Can you check on Stella? I think she’s awake.”

What time is it?

“00:30” is her reply.

I stumble into the hallway. Bright light emanates through the crack in the door.

I poke my head inside, squinting against the bright light.

I step through and enter the twilight zone.

There is an unusual calm in the air.

I try to survey the situation through may haze.

My daughter is not in her bed.

Like a modern art exhibit, cast against a clear wall, her blanket sits in a heap with her potty next to it. A sopping wet pink hat sits half in, half out of the neon green potty.

Various pieces of clothing are strewn throughout the room.

Happy kiddy dance music blasts through the pink CD player.

On the nightstand sits my daughter, the lamp displaced to the floor, looking at me as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening at half past midnight in the middle of the week.

She looks as if she’s waiting for the bus. Her legs, too short to bend over the side of the table stick straight out, toes turned inwards.

I ask if everything is okay. She is wearing a different nightshirt than when she went to bed.

A vacant stare is my reply.

She has different pajama pants on…they are inside out.

“Is everything okay” I ask.

Again, no response; she knows the next question and promptly sticks her tongue out. “Cat got your tongue?” nope, It’s still there, I step further into the room and turn off the large overhead light.

“Daddy look, my blanket is wet.”

Indeed the corner is wet. I ponder the potty sitting next to it.

“Daddy I put new music on.”

I whisk the blanket and potty off of the bed and check the mattress for wetness.

I sit her on the potty and notice she wears no underwear. Turning to the dresser, I open the drawer and stare at an empty compartment.

Confused I search the next drawer and then the next. As I stare blankly at the dresser, then Stella tells me she has “reorganized.”

Finally I find a pair of underwear and proceed to dress my daughter, pants right side out and prepare a new blanket.

She must have had a fashion show. Her closet was in disarray. Every single article of clothing within her reach was displaced into a new place.

“But why do I have to go to bed” she asks me as I tuck her in. Because it’s late I try to explain but it is lost on her.

“Don’t leave daddy” she says with sad puppy dog eyes.

“Why I ask. Is it the wolf again?”

“Yes”

“Where is he? Hiding In the frog again? Shall I take him out of the room?”

“Yes”

Once the frog has been removed, she’s still hesitant to let me go.

I’m getting the hang of this parent thing; I know what’s next.

I point to the shelf above her bed. “Are the animals mean again?”

A firm nod affirms this statement.

“Shall I take them out too?” I ask as I scoop up the horse, pig, cow and elf and take them to the other room.

Now the room has been cleansed, now she can sleep.