Momma said, “It’s time for bed.
Daddy called me Sleepyhead.
How could they think that I was fried, when all I did was rub my eyes?
I kept on playing with my stuff,
pretending they weren’t loud enough,
but when I peeked at Mom of doom, her finger pointed to my room.
“It’s so not fair, I built for hours!
Look at all my Lego towers!
Why should I just go away while baby Matt stays up to play?”
I turned around, lay on the floor,
but Mom still pointed to my door.
Tears were coursing down my face, howling, begging for some grace.
Momma looked sideways at Dad;
rolled her eyes like she was mad.
Daddy got up off his chair … really gave me quite a scare.
“I’m going, going, see me run!
I promise you I’ll soon be done.”
I ran upstairs and brushed my teeth, and for good measure -- washed my feet.
I washed my hands and combed my hair,
grabbed my PJs, said a prayer,
“Dear Jesus, help my dad be nice; I don’t want him to scare me twice.”
I heard a laugh behind my door.
Dad was not mad anymore!
He fought me in our tickling match and then gave me a long back scratch.
He told me not to give Mom grief,
that she was tired and needed sleep.
He said he loved me even though I tried to put on such a show.
Mom came up, sat on my bed,
then looked at me and sighed and said,
“Why did you kick up such a fuss instead of just obeying us?”
Then the fake tears started over;
as I wailed to try persuade her;
'til Dad yelled up, “NOT A PEEP!” So I shut up ... and went ... to sleep.
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