Late last night I was awaken by a rustling noise on the other side of the room. Blinking in the dim light I realized that I was lying alone in Clara’s bed, and vaguely remembered having been evicted from my own room by my oldest daughter earlier in the night. Lydia was still in the bed across from me. As my eyes adjusted to the morning twilight I discovered that the rustling noise was the sound of her drunkenly stumbling over the edge of her bed while tangled in frilly pink bed sheets.

I lay perfectly still, not wanting to give away my position and risk being evicted yet again. I was like a man playing dead to avoid confrontation with a bear. She stood quietly in the center of the room, swaying slightly. I waited, and assumed she would soon leave in the direction of the hallway and the nest where the remaining three members the family were sleeping. But instead she staggered to her bedroom closet where we keep her clothes.

On the bottom shelf in this closet is a pink basket full of socks, and Lydia often dumps this basket and swims around in the mess of clothing. I braced myself for the disaster I was about to witness as Lydia’s half sleeping mind enacted zombie chaos on the world of order. But once again my assumptions were proven wrong, as she very delicately dug through the pile, searching for a specific item. Several moments later she apparently found what she was searching for and she stood in the darkness of the closet and fumbled with it for a long time.

After several minutes of patient effort she turned around to reveal her achievement to the room. She held up her hands in front of her half-closed still sleeping eyes and said quietly to herself, “Gloves”. Both hands were now covered in a pair of pink and purple tube socks. Without saying another word, she staggered to her bed, laid down, and fell back asleep.

It’s fascinating for me to think that this same event would have taken place whether I had been there to witness it or not. She herself was hardly even present to observe what was happening. But some primal instinct deep in her tiny wispy haired subconscious drove her from her sleep and sent her walking the house in search of gloves in the middle of the night. How often does this happen? What mysterious adventures do our bodies go on late at night that we never know about? I suddenly realized that I myself had moved beds at some point, but had no memory of how it actually happened.

Before falling back asleep I quickly checked my hands for socks.