Not a Peep
Please, Please, Please : Go to Bed
It was early evening so I knew “goodnight” wasn’t really goodnight and that it was a pipe dream on my end and more like a prelude to more futzing around in her bedroom before the real sleep happened. It’s a Saturday night so we can be a bit more loose with bedtimes here tonight, but still - a child in bed at a good time is like winning the lottery here.
I was right. There was no instant goodnight.
I tell you, the person who invents the trick to get your kid to go to bed without multiple attempts will make Elon look like a pauper.
But tonight before bed there was coloring, sticker-ing and many other “ings” happening before she was really ready to go to bed. I’m not sure what exactly she was doing in there but she was in the bedroom at least so I’m calling that a win.
One of the thin that she had made was a nest. Every squishmallow had been dressed in a clean t-shirt, because we do laundry for the heck of it here. She had the props and was almost ready to tuck in for the night, and I had just opened up my laptop when:
She came down and asked for a pet peep.
“A what?, I asked”.
“You know, a peep”, she said.
How about no? I replied.
Awww…
A few weeks back about Easter the class was given a peep marshmallow candy to play with for a pet for the day and then bring it home with this. I have questions about the schools curriculum on this but whatever.
She came home with this thing from school where it aged like old milk on the kitchen table, and the last time I found it - it was in a leftover plastic egg from easter.
It was time to say goodbye to the peep.
I had thought she had forgotten all about the peep.
She had not forgotten about the peep.
“Maybe Tomorrow”, I told her.
But maybe not. This kid could use a bit of sugar detox between all the Easter candy and lollipops for haircuts. A no sugar day would not be a bad thing.
I get her tucked into her peep-less nest and get all the squishmallows the right way because she’s a control freak and I close the door and say goodnight for umpteenth time.
I fire up the laptop once again and I’m just at the first paragraph when I hear it:
The slow squeak of the bedroom door.
She’s out. Again.
“Now what?, I ask”, with just a bit of exasperation.
“I don’t want to sleep in the nest. It’s too scary”.
OKAY THEN.
Back up the stairs I go and we de-nest and de-clothe the squishmallows and get them sorted out and I get her tucked in with her animals.
As I try and dodge the slightly worn t-shirts and papers and crayons and all the other flotsam and jetsam on the floor, I hear:
“Dad?”
“Yeeeeeess……?” I reply - while also wondering how the heck Peeps became the topic of my Saturday nights.
“Don’t forget about the Peep tomorrow”
“I won’t Pumpkin”, I reply.
“Now go to bed. I don’t want to hear a Peep”
We Have That at Home
Tonight's WHTAH is of course, Peeps!
I don’t recall having these things when I was a kid. It could be a cultural Canada/USA thing or it could be that my parents were cheap or didn't have a good dental plan for us.
Whatever the reason, I’m pretty sure these didn’t exist in our day. But, I could be wrong.
What I do suggest is that if you do decide to buy them do not keep them as pets. They make lousy pets - their bodies shrink over time and they get harder and harder as they age.
There’s no such thing as a well-age Peep. If you must Peep, Peep responsibly.