Skippyjon Jones

Tonight, Jack called me from his bed, “Mama” (he hardly ever calls me “Mama” anymore, usually “Mommy” and sometimes “Mom”, but I digress). 

I went in. He asked me to get him his pillow, which had fallen on the ground. He then asked me to get “Skippyjon Jones’s dog.” 

I was confused, so I felt around in the dark in the pile of stuffed animals in front of his bookcase (yes, we do need more stuffed animal storage). I found the dog we call Mr Scraps and gave him to Jack. 

“This one?” I asked.

“No. The white one.”

“The white…” I  looked and there was a white shape in the pile. 

“You mean Charlie Brown’s dog!” I said in a “silly goose” voice.

Jack giggled. It was terribly cute. Therefore, I acquiesced when he asked to be rocked some more. He said, “Wanna take my blanket. … And my Skippyon Jones dog.”

“You mean Charlie Brown’s dog, Snoopy.”

“Yeah. Snoopy.”

Now I am really glad that I didn’t give Snoopy to the foster kids when I thinned the stuffed animal herd in 2005.

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