Hey, wake up it's Saturday morning. They are saying beautiful weather today. I am so ready for it. We had rain yesterday so hopefully the sun shines today and tomorrow. I am going to a garage sale today with my friend Joan. Yahoo, I love those things.
In Easter of 1961 before Billie turned two in May. I decided I would buy her a baby chick for Easter. We lived with Mom and Dad on Missouri street. Several times the week before I had walked past the feed store that was at thirteenth and Main. All that week in the window they had baby chicks running around in a pen. I wanted her to have one. On Friday I told my Mom I wanted to go to the feed store after work on Saturday and buy a baby chick for Billie for Easter. Mom kind of frowned. "I don't know," she said. She's pretty small to have one. "No she's not," I argued, "She'll do good with it, I know she will".
So the next day after work Mom drove me to the feed store. She sat in the car with Billie while I went in to get the surprise. Mom had even brought along a towel to wrap it in. I went inside and looked the chicks over. One cute little yellow fluff caught my eye. "Peeps," I thought. I bought him, carefully wrapping him up, bought seed and went to the car. "Look Billie," I said as I unwrapped the little Peeps. "See what I got you." She laughed, she reached for him. "No," Mom said. "Don't let her have him yet. Wait till we get home and get him in the box." Mom had already fixed a box in the dining room and a small cup of water. We were set. Billie had her first Easter chick. Life was good.
We got home and put him in the box. I got down on the floor with her and took her little hand and let her touch him. "Peeps," she would say softly. All of a sudden she got up and came back with her little red rocking chair and a small blanket. "Wanna rock Peeps," she said with little arms out stretched. Mom and I both said, "Oh how cute. She wants to rock him"
I gently picked him up and we put him in her blanket. She started rocking with all her might. With all the maternal instincts a two year old can have. Mom and I sat at the table saying how cute she looked. How sweet she was. She was an angel rocking her little Peeps.
After a little bit Mom said, "You better put him back in the box awhile. She's got a pretty tight hold of him." I took Peeps away over Billie's protest. I put him in the box. He staggered a little but soon seemed to get his bearings again. And walked around the box scratching and peeping. Billie laughed, she was happy. I was happy, Mom was happy. Then she reached into the box. "Wanna rock," she said. I looked at Mom. "Well maybe for a little while more, but not much. She has him covered up so tight," Mom said. We gave him back to her. She started rocking, we started smiling again. Then after just awhile Mom said, "You better put him back in the box." Over Billie's protest I reached for the blanket.
I opened the blanket. Peeps lay there very still. I touched him with my finger. He still didn't move. "Mom," I screamed., "He's not moving." I thrust the blanket with the little corpse towards Mom. Billie watching us her eyes big. "He's dead," Mom whispered. "I knew that,"I whispered back. She handed the towel to me. You better take him out and get rid of him. I jumped back. "Not me," I hissed. I scooped Billie up. "I've got to explain to her where Peeps has gone. I raced for the living room. The last I saw of Mom she was headed for the back door, shaking her head.
I told Billie Peeps had to go back to his Mother. He was too young to stay away. She cried but soon was playing with her doll and forgot all about Peeps. I never asked Mom what she did with him. I didn't want to know. But I stayed away from the trash can for a week, just to be on the safe side.
The moral to this story is if you have little ones do not buy them a cute little live animal for Easter. No matter how sweet and fluffy they are. I shudder now to think we sat there and let her rock the poor little fluff ball to death. All the while saying, "Look how cute she is." She was cute, but only two years old. Not even quite two yet. She did't know. Mom and I didn't speak of Peeps again. We both felt so bad. Every year Steve buys those little marshmellow chicks for all the greatgrands for Easter. He calls them Peeps. "I've got to buy Peeps," he'll say. That really brings back bad memories. Poor Peeps, may he rest in peace. But for now I'm outta here.
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