It's Bedtime!

• Introduction
• Chapter 1 The Sleepy Sloth's Adventure
• Chapter 2 The Magical Moonbeam
• Chapter 3 Barnaby the Bear's Big Yawn
• Chapter 4 The Firefly's Gentle Glow
• Chapter 5 The Whispering Willow Tree
• Chapter 6 The Dreamy Dragon's Lullaby
• Chapter 7 The Star That Couldn't Twinkle
• Chapter 8 Penelope's Perfect Pillow
• Chapter 9 The Little Owl Who Stayed Up Late
• Chapter 10 The Night the Toys Came to Life
• Chapter 11 The Mystery of the Missing Blanket
• Chapter 12 The Sailing Ship in the Sky
• Chapter 13 The Rabbit Who Counted a Million Sheep
• Chapter 14 The Enchanted Pajamas
• Chapter 15 The Girl Who Painted Her Dreams
• Chapter 16 The Sleepy Shepherd and His Fluffy Clouds
• Chapter 17 The Comet's Bedtime Story
• Chapter 18 The Gentle Giant of the Mountains
• Chapter 19 The Boy Who Sailed the Dream Sea
• Chapter 20 The Secret of the Sleepy Hollow
• Chapter 21 The Midnight Picnic
• Chapter 22 The Three Little Kittens Who Lost Their Mittens... and Found Their Beds
• Chapter 23 The Song of the Night-Blooming Flower
• Chapter 24 The Prince Who Couldn't Stop Yawning
• Chapter 25 The Goodnight Kiss That Traveled the World

Here you are. The day is done, the lights are low, and it's time to put the busy world aside for a little while.

Inside these pages you'll find twenty-five bedtime stories, written especially for the last quiet hour of the day. Each one is its own little adventure — a sleepy sloth setting off into the jungle, a star that can't quite get its twinkle right, a dragon humming a lullaby, and a goodnight kiss that somehow manages to travel all the way around the world. They are stories about creatures and children who, just like you, eventually find their way to somewhere soft and warm and restful.

There's no rush here. Read one story a night, or let someone read it to you. If your eyes start to feel heavy before the last page — that's perfectly fine. That means it's working.

By the time you've read them all, twenty-five nights will have passed. You'll have dreamed twenty-five times. And somewhere in between, you might just have discovered your own favorite place to drift off to sleep.

Settle in. Close your eyes for just a moment. Then open them again, and let's begin.

Deep in the heart of a great, green rainforest, where the leaves were as big as dinner plates and the air was warm and damp, lived a sloth named Stanley. Stanley was, even for a sloth, exceptionally sleepy. He spent most of his days, and indeed most of his nights, hanging upside down from a branch, looking at the world from a very relaxed, inverted perspective. His fur was the color of mossy bark, which was very convenient, as it helped him blend in with his favorite sleeping spots. He had long, curved claws that were perfect for hooking onto branches, and a gentle, slow smile that rarely left his face.

Stanley’s whole world was his tree, a magnificent kapok that stretched its arms high into the sky, tickling the clouds. He knew every twist and turn of its branches, every comfortable nook, and every particularly delicious leaf. His favorite branch of all was a thick, sturdy limb on the sunny side of the tree. It had a special dip in it that was shaped exactly like a sloth-sized hammock. Stanley had slept in this dip for as long as he could remember. It was, in his opinion, the sleepiest, dreamiest, most perfect spot in the entire world.

But one morning, something was different. As Stanley hung in his usual spot, enjoying a slow-motion breakfast of a single, tender leaf, he felt a strange sensation. A lump. It was a very small lump, probably just a new little knot in the wood, but Stanley could feel it. He shifted his weight, a process that took the better part of ten minutes. The lump was still there. He tried wiggling to his left, and then to his right. The lump remained, a tiny, bothersome imperfection in his perfect world. He sighed a long, slow sigh. His perfect branch was no longer perfect.

For most creatures, a lumpy bed would be a minor annoyance. For Stanley, it was a catastrophe of the coziest proportions. Sleep was his life’s work, his art, his greatest passion. To have it disturbed by a lump was simply unacceptable. He hung there for a long time, thinking. The sun crawled slowly across the sky, and the jungle buzzed with the sounds of busier animals. And as the afternoon sun began to warm his fuzzy tummy, a truly enormous idea began to form in Stanley’s slow-moving mind. It was an idea so grand, so daring, that it made his sleepy heart beat just a little bit faster. He would leave his tree. He would embark on an adventure. He would find a new branch, the most comfortable, most perfect branch in the entire rainforest.

The decision having been made, the next step was to begin. For Stanley, this was the hardest part. The world was so very big and moved so very fast. His branch, even with its new and troublesome lump, was familiar and safe. He took another leaf, chewing it thoughtfully for a very long time. He watched a blue morpho butterfly flutter past, its wings like tiny pieces of the sky. He watched a line of ants march purposefully along a vine. Everyone seemed to have somewhere important to be. Now, for the first time in a very long time, so did he. With a deep breath, Stanley unhooked one claw from his branch. The adventure had begun.

Moving from one branch to another was a familiar process. But moving down the entire length of the great kapok tree was a journey of a different scale. Stanley moved with his signature slowness, one long arm reaching, hooking, and then the other following. He moved past the homes of chattering squirrels and sleeping bats. He moved past bright orchids and tangles of vines. It took him a very long time. The sun, which had been high above him when he started, was now peeping through the middle branches. The sounds of the jungle floor grew louder, a strange and exciting symphony of clicks, rustles, and chirps.

Finally, after what felt like an age, Stanley’s claws touched something soft and springy. It was moss. He was on the ground. He unhooked himself from the last bit of root and stood, a little wobbly, on all fours. The world looked completely different from down here. The trees were like giants, their leafy tops a ceiling of green far above him. The flowers were enormous, their scents thick and sweet. It was a bit overwhelming, but Stanley just smiled his slow smile, remembered his quest for the perfect branch, and took his first slow, deliberate step forward.

He had not gone far when a blur of color and a loud buzzing sound zipped past his nose. He blinked slowly. The blur stopped in mid-air and became a tiny hummingbird with feathers that shimmered like jewels. "Hello! You're new! I'm Zippy! Are you lost? You're moving very, very, very slowly! Are you stuck? Do you need help? I know all the best flowers! The red ones are the sweetest! Want to see?" The hummingbird spoke so fast that the words tumbled over each other like pebbles in a stream. Stanley simply blinked. He tried to form a reply, but by the time he had opened his mouth, Zippy had buzzed around his head three times and checked on a nearby hibiscus flower.

"Looking for something?" Zippy asked, reappearing in front of Stanley’s face. Stanley took a slow breath. "I," he began, "am… looking… for…" But Zippy was too impatient to wait. "A branch! I bet it's a branch! There are millions of them! Billions! There's a great one over there! No, wait, over there! I saw a fantastic one just this morning by the waterfall, you just have to fly past the big rock and then zip up, up, up!" The hummingbird darted back and forth, pointing in five different directions at once. Stanley watched him, his head turning at a pace that was about a hundred times slower than Zippy’s movements. He gave up trying to speak and just offered a polite, slow nod. Zippy took this as a sign of complete understanding, buzzed a cheerful goodbye, and vanished in a streak of emerald green.

Stanley stood for a moment, the air still vibrating where the hummingbird had been. He was not entirely sure what had just happened, but he knew that following Zippy’s advice would be far too exhausting. He decided to trust his own instincts. His instincts, at the moment, told him to keep moving in a straight line, very slowly. His path was soon blocked by another creature, or rather, thousands of them. A long, orderly line of leaf-cutter ants marched directly in front of him, each one carrying a perfectly clipped piece of green leaf, held high like a sail. They were on a mission and did not stop for anything. Not even for a sloth standing in their way.

Stanley was not bothered. He was very good at waiting. He stood perfectly still as the first few ants reached his fuzzy feet. They hesitated for a moment, their antennae twitching, and then simply climbed up. Soon, the entire procession was marching up his leg, across his back, and down his other side, continuing on their way without missing a beat. For a few minutes, Stanley became a living, breathing, fuzzy brown bridge. He found the sensation of all the tiny, tickling feet rather pleasant. When the last ant had finally crossed, he gave a little shake and continued on his journey, feeling that he had already done a very good deed for the day.

The rainforest floor was a tapestry of light and shadow, and Stanley ambled through it all at his own gentle pace. He soon came to a new and daunting obstacle: a stream. To a jaguar or a tapir, it would have been a mere puddle, easy to step over. But to Stanley, with his short legs and ground-based clumsiness, it looked as wide and imposing as a mighty river. The water gurgled and chuckled as it flowed over smooth, grey stones. Stanley could see the other side, where a beautiful, mossy-looking tree stood, but it seemed impossibly far away. He sat down on the bank to have a long, slow think about the situation.

As he sat there, contemplating the vast expanse of water, he saw a ripple on the surface. Then another. A moment later, two little ears and a whiskered nose popped up. It was a capybara, the world’s largest rodent, who looked something like a giant, friendly guinea pig. Another head popped up beside it, and then two smaller ones. It was a whole family out for their afternoon swim. The largest capybara, the father, paddled over to the bank where Stanley sat. "Good afternoon," he squeaked in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. "Lovely day for a think, isn't it?" Stanley nodded slowly. "It… is," he said. "But… I… have… a… problem." He gestured with his nose towards the other side of the stream.

The capybara father understood immediately. "Ah, the river is a challenge when you're not built for swimming. But it's no trouble for us! Would you like a ride across?" he offered kindly. Stanley’s eyes widened a little. A ride? He had never ridden on anything but a branch before. It sounded like a grand and exciting part of his adventure. He nodded his slow, happy nod. "Climb on!" the capybara said cheerfully. Carefully, and with the gentle help of the capybara, Stanley maneuvered himself onto the animal's broad, flat back. It was surprisingly comfortable and surprisingly dry. "Hold on!" squeaked the smaller capybaras, and with a gentle push, the family ferry set off across the stream.

The journey was smooth and peaceful. Stanley clung on with his long claws, feeling the cool water swish just below him. He was seeing the world from a whole new angle, not upside down, but right-side up and on the move. He watched tiny, silver fish dart away from them and saw a frog plop into the water from a lily pad. It was all very exciting. In what felt like no time at all, though it was probably quite a while by anyone else’s standards, they reached the other side. Stanley disembarked with the same slow care he did everything. He turned to the capybara family. "Thank… you," he said, giving them his most charming, slow-motion smile. "Our pleasure!" they squeaked in unison, before disappearing back into the cool water.

Now on the other side of the stream, Stanley felt like a true explorer. He had navigated the forest floor, served as an ant bridge, and sailed across a river. Now, the real work began: finding his branch. He looked at the trees around him. One, in particular, caught his eye. It was an enormous ironwood tree, and its branches soared high into the canopy. Surely, a tree so tall and grand must contain the most comfortable branch in existence. He began his climb. The bark was rough and provided a good grip for his claws. He climbed slowly, steadily, moving with a rhythm the forest understood. Up and up he went, the ground falling away below him.

He was about halfway up when a loud noise echoed through the leaves above him. It was a chorus of deep, booming roars. A moment later, several dark shapes came swinging through the branches. It was a troupe of howler monkeys, their voices as loud as their movements were fast. They stopped on a branch near Stanley, peering at him with curious, intelligent eyes. The largest of them, a monkey with a magnificent black beard, swung down to get a closer look. "Well, what have we here?" he hooted, his voice still booming. "It's a sloth! Going up! I've never seen one move so fast!" The other monkeys chortled with laughter. Stanley knew they were teasing him, but he didn't mind.

"I'm Monty," the big monkey said. "And you, little fellow, are climbing our tree. Are you planning on reaching the top before the next rainy season?" More laughter echoed from the other monkeys. Stanley simply paused his climbing and looked at Monty. "I… am… Stanley," he said. "And… I… am… looking… for… the… perfect… branch." Monty scratched his beard thoughtfully. "The perfect branch, eh? Well, there are plenty of good ones up here. But you'll never get there at that pace! You need to swing! Like this!" With a whoop, Monty launched himself into the air, grabbing a vine and swinging in a great, thrilling arc before landing perfectly on another branch far away. The rest of his family followed, their loud calls fading as they disappeared into the green maze of the canopy.

Stanley watched them go. For a moment, he wondered if they were right. Perhaps he was too slow for a quest like this. He looked down and saw how far he had come. He looked up and saw how far he still had to go. But then he remembered the lumpy branch back home, and the wonderful feeling of the capybara ferry, and the tickle of the ants on his back. This was his adventure, and he would do it his way. He took another slow, deep breath, gripped the bark, and continued to climb. One inch at a time. The world was loud and fast, but Stanley had his own quiet, slow rhythm, and it had served him well so far.

Higher still he climbed, into the sun-dappled world of the upper canopy. The air was thinner here, and the view was breathtaking. He could see for miles across the top of the rainforest, a rolling sea of green under a brilliant blue sky. It was here that he met another feathered resident, a magnificent scarlet macaw named Cora. She was preening her rainbow-colored feathers on a branch, looking very pleased with herself. When she saw Stanley, her bright, beady eye fixed on him. "Well hello there, slowpoke!" she squawked, her voice loud and cheerful. "You're a long way from the ground! Don't tell me, you're looking for the juiciest figs! I know the best spot, but I'm not telling!"

Stanley shook his head, a movement that took several seconds. "No," he said gently. "A… branch." Cora’s head cocked to one side. "A branch? Oh! A sleeping branch! That's much more interesting! Well, you've come to the right bird. I see everything from up here. The best branches, the worst branches, the ones the toucans fight over. Now, what you want to do," she began, puffing out her chest, "is go up two more limbs, then take a sharp right past the big yellow orchid. You'll see a tangle of vines. Go through the third loop from the top, then crawl out onto the limb that points towards the sunrise. Unless you prefer the sunset view? In that case, you need to go down a bit, find the hollow, and then…" Cora continued on, her directions becoming more and more complicated, involving specific leaves, unnamed flowers, and the direction of the wind.

Stanley listened politely, nodding his head slowly, though he had lost track after the part about the orchid. Cora was very kind, but her instructions were as fast and tangled as Zippy the hummingbird's. When she finally paused to take a breath, Stanley gave her his warmest smile. "Thank… you," he said. "That… is… very… helpful." He had no intention of trying to follow the macaw’s complex map. He had made it this far by following his nose and his sleepy feelings, and he decided he would stick to that plan. He gave Cora a final nod and continued his upward journey, leaving the bird to her preening and her expert opinions on real estate in the canopy.

The sun was beginning its slow descent towards the horizon, painting the clouds in soft shades of orange and pink. The air was growing cooler, and a deep sleepiness, even deeper than his usual state, began to creep over Stanley. He had been climbing for a very long time. His arms ached with a gentle, tired throb. He found a thick, comfortable-looking vine that looped between two branches and decided to take a short rest. He hooked his claws over it and let himself hang, swaying gently in the evening breeze. He looked around. He was very high up, but none of the branches he could see looked quite right. One was too thin. Another was too exposed to the wind. A third was already occupied by a large iguana.

He sighed. Perhaps this quest had been a silly idea. His old branch, back in his home tree, was starting to seem wonderful in his memory. What was a little lump, really? At least it was his lump, on his branch, in his tree. He was just about to give up and begin the long, slow journey home when a voice, as soft and deep as a rumbling purr, spoke from below. "It is a long way to go just to be disappointed." Stanley blinked and looked down. There, resting gracefully on a massive branch at the base of the next tree, was a jaguar. Its coat was a beautiful canvas of gold spotted with black rosettes, and its eyes were the color of amber. It was Jasper, an old jaguar known throughout the rainforest for his quiet wisdom.

Stanley was not afraid. He could tell from Jasper’s calm expression and relaxed posture that he meant no harm. The jaguar simply watched him with a curious, patient gaze. "You have traveled far today, little sloth," Jasper said, his voice a gentle vibration in the cooling air. "I saw you cross the stream. I heard you speak to the monkeys. Where are you going in such a hurry?" Stanley almost laughed at the idea of him being in a hurry. He took his time formulating a response. "I… am… on… an… adventure," he explained. "I… am… looking… for… the… most… perfect… branch… in… the… world."

Jasper the jaguar swished his long tail slowly. A soft, rumbling chuckle came from his chest. "The perfect branch," he repeated, as if tasting the words. "That is a noble quest. And what does this perfect branch look like?" Stanley thought for a moment. "It… is… soft," he said. "And… strong. And… it… has… no… lumps." Jasper nodded, his amber eyes seeming to understand completely. "Many of us spend our lives searching for the perfect spot," he said softly. "The swiftest monkey looks for the highest branch. The brightest bird looks for the most colorful flower. But sometimes, the place we are looking for is not the highest, or the furthest, or the most difficult to reach."

Stanley listened, captivated by the jaguar's calm voice. The forest was growing quiet around them as the daytime creatures settled down for the night. The first stars were beginning to prick the darkening sky. "Perfection is not always about what something is, but about how it feels," Jasper continued. "A perfect spot is one that gives you peace. It feels like it was made just for you." The wise old jaguar then lifted his magnificent head and pointed with his nose, not towards the top of the tall ironwood tree, but to a different tree nearby. It was not the tallest or the grandest tree. It was a sturdy, welcoming-looking tree with wide, spreading branches that seemed to be reaching out for a hug. Soft, green moss grew thick upon its limbs, glowing in the last golden light of the sunset.

Stanley looked at the tree Jasper had indicated. He hadn't even noticed it before, so focused had he been on climbing as high as he could. But now, as he truly looked at it, he felt a strange pull. The branches did look strong. The moss did look incredibly soft. And the way the leaves rustled in the breeze sounded like a lullaby. He looked back at the jaguar. "Thank… you," Stanley said, his voice full of genuine gratitude. Jasper simply blinked his wise, old eyes. "Rest well, little adventurer," he purred, and then he laid his head down on his paws, seeming to melt back into the shadows of the forest.

With renewed purpose, Stanley began to move again. He slowly and carefully made his way across the vines that connected the ironwood tree to the one Jasper had shown him. It was not a long journey, but it felt significant, as if he were crossing from the part of his adventure that was about searching to the part that was about finding. He reached the new tree and placed a claw on its bark. It felt solid and dependable. He began to climb, but this time it was not a struggle upwards. It felt more like a homecoming. The branches were perfectly spaced for his reach, and the bark offered a secure grip. He did not have to go far.

About halfway up the trunk, he saw it. It was a branch that forked in a perfect ‘Y’ shape, creating a natural cradle that seemed to have been carved by the tree just for him. The entire fork was carpeted in a thick, velvety layer of the softest, greenest moss he had ever seen. It looked more comfortable than any bed he could ever have imagined. He slowly pulled himself into the mossy cradle. It was perfect. It was more than perfect. It was as if the tree was giving him a gentle, supportive hug. There were no lumps. Not a single one.

Stanley settled in, adjusting himself until he was perfectly snug. From his new perch, he had a magnificent view. The sun was just a sliver of brilliant red on the horizon, and the sky was a breathtaking swirl of purple, orange, and deep blue. A gentle, fragrant breeze whispered through the leaves above him, carrying the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine. He could hear the first evening chirps of the tree frogs and the low hum of the insects beginning their nightly chorus. It was the most beautiful and peaceful symphony he had ever heard.

He looked out across the canopy and could just make out the top of his old kapok tree in the distance. He felt a pang of fondness for it, but no regret. Jasper the jaguar had been right. This adventure hadn't been about finding a branch that was better than his old one. It had been about finding the branch that was right for him, right now. This mossy cradle was the perfect ending to his long day. He felt a yawn building, a huge, satisfying, slow-motion sloth yawn. He stretched out one of his long, striped arms, then the other, feeling the pleasant tiredness in his muscles.

He let the yawn escape, a quiet "ahhhhh" that was lost in the sounds of the jungle. He curled himself into a fuzzy, sleepy ball, his head tucked in and his claws securely hooked onto the branch. The moss was a soft, cool pillow beneath his cheek. The gentle rocking of the branch in the breeze was better than any lullaby. Stanley, the great adventurer, the sloth who had braved the forest floor, befriended the capybaras, and spoken with a wise jaguar, was finally at the end of his quest. He closed his eyes, a slow, happy smile on his face. He had found his perfect branch, and now, it was time for a perfect, deep, and well-deserved sleep. And as he drifted off, he began to dream of his next big adventure, which would probably begin after a very, very long nap.