It took me a few seconds to realize it was my daughter crying, not the baby.
“Daddy..? Where are you..?”
I stumbled down the hallway, telling my mother-in-law that it was the older one, not the baby, and that she can go back to sleep (yeah, she’s been spoiling us by getting up in the middle of the night to help). I got into my daughter’s room, and she looked somewhat awake.
Daughter: Where are the balloons, daddy?
Me: Hm? What balloons?
Daughter: The ones from, uhm… uhm.. uhm.. who’s that Beatle guy?
Daughter: Right, Paul ‘Cartney.
Me: What about Paul McCartney, sweetie?
Daughter: What words are on the balloons?
Me: Balloons? Paul McCartney’s balloons?
Me: I dunno sweetie, go back to sleep.
In the morning, I was able to quiz her some more on her dream…
Me: Can you tell me more about the balloons, sweetie?
Daughter: Paul McCartney’s balloons.
Daughter: I was chasing them. Why was I chasing them, daddy?
Me: I don’t know, sweetie, you were the one chasing them. Why?
Daughter: I wanted them to go far away! Up in the tree!
But where had these mysterious balloons come from?
Me: Were they in his house?
Daughter: Yeah! They were coming out of his window.
Me: Oh. What color were they?
Daughter: Brown, probly, or black, probly.
Me: Oh, brown probably or black probably.
Daughter: Black, probly.
But what about those mysterious words?
Me: What words were on them?
Daughter: What words were on them?
Me: I dunno. I didn’t see them. What letters were on there?
Daughter: A, B, C, D, E, F, G!
Me: Oh, abcadefguh.
Daughter: No, I’m not abcadefguh!
Me: No, I meant — oh, nevermind.
Daughter: Why was I chasing them, daddy?
So, Paul, if you are out there, I apologize on behalf of my daughter for chasing your balloons away.