Our home was invaded recently. The realization that a stranger had infiltrated our cozy compound struck me like a fist the instant I opened the door. Standing before me was a short, blonde, blue-eyed boy who resembled my three-year-old son, but something was amiss. Where was the joyful, playful, inquisitive young man I’d dropped off at daycare just nine hours earlier? My sweet, well-spoken child had devolved to a zombie-like clone of himself. A quick glance at his daily daycare report revealed what my wife and I had feared – naptime was over.

Since that fateful day, I’ve noticed a recurring trend with my little insomniac. Our mornings are filled with warm laughter, stories, cartoons and outdoor exploration. But some time after 2 p.m., about two hours after his former naptime, the transformation begins. Coherent sentences are supplanted with irritating whining and malevolent grunts. Innocent questions become barked demands accompanied by wild gestures, and his gentle smile turns downward into a snarling sneer, completing his transformation to “zombie boy.”

The sleep deprived monster’s madness extends past bedtime now, too. It used to be that I’d close the bedroom door and never worry about the exhausted one rising from his resting place. Lately, though, my relaxing evenings of watching baseball with a cold beverage in hand have been interrupted by the child monitor’s blinking red warning lights. My ears perk up when I hear the creak of a door opening and the faint groans and squeaks of aging floorboards. Instinctively I hope that he’s just using the bathroom one last time, but the sound of stealthy footsteps descending the carpeted stairs dash that delusional dream.

I turn to see my son’s crazed, grinning face peeking around the corner and, in my best imitation of my own father’s commanding tone, I express my displeasure with his flagrant disregard of our wellrehearsed bedtime routine and add a slightly threatening inflection as I suggest that he return to his room immediately. At least for the moment, the message seems to have been received as the sound of roguish laughter and scurrying feet retreat up the stairs.

I’m not sure if this new tendency to oppose sleep at the sight of every pillow is simply a side-effect of my son’s growing independence and his blossoming self-awareness, or just a potent cocktail of curiosity and spite. I remember as a child secretly watching television from the crack in my bedroom door when my parents believed me to be asleep. It’s quite possible, likely even, that my son inherited his father’s mischievousness and his mother’s stubborn streak. If that’s the case, then our whole family will be sleepless zombies before long.

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Matthew Kaiser shares humorous stories about the lighter side of life on his blog, www.deliberatelyunintentional.blogspot. com. He lives in Springfield, VA with his beautiful wife and two young sons. This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it