The fog comes on little cat feet….
Except they weren’t cat feet. And it wasn’t fog. It really wasn’t very silent. And it never moved on.
It was a precocious five year old who claimed to have had “a dream.”
“That’s funny,” I mumbled to myself in my stupor. “I had a dream too. I dreamed that I was asleep!”
“Come on in.”
The invitation unnecessary as she had already made herself quite comfortable next to me commandeering my pillow and shoving me to the edge of the bed.
Ten minutes is an eternity when you’re up at 4. It’s also the exact amount of time it took Zander to realize Zella was not in her bed.
He looked in the hall.
He looked in the bathroom.
He looked in the living room, the kitchen, the study…
I know this for he left a trail of lights. An illuminated checklist of the places his sister was not. He repeated his search calling out in a raspy voice. “Zella? Zella?”
It was pitiful.
“Zander, she’s in here,” I called to him.
“Why is she in here?” he asked crawling over me never bothering to ask permission.
“She had a dream. Come on in,” I again unnecessarily said.
“Now it’s a party!”
The remainder of what would have been prime sleeping hours I struggled with what little space had been left for me fighting with the cramping in my neck — consequence of having relinquished control of my pillow. I glanced at the clock.
A mere five minutes before the alarm was to go off. Or would have gone off had I set it last night.
So now I sit here groggy and in need of more coffee trying to convince myself that I should be thankful for my late night – early morning visitors. Without them, Zoë, Zane and Zia would have missed school today because I had overslept due to forgetting to set the alarm.
Trying, I say because I’m up about to start the second pot and the twins are still sleeping.
In my bed!