If it were up to me, and for some reason it is not always, I’d let the sweet embrace of sleep take me each evening around 9:45pm, about an hour after the girls have succumbed to the heaviness of their sweet little eyelids, after those darling eyelids have been kissed multiple times, after their blankets have pulled up and straightened beneath their dimpled, thumbprint-sized chins, after the next day’s lunches have been constructed and packed and organized into two stacks in the fridge separated by a half-empty container of roasted red pepper hummus and the sour cream that probably should’ve been thrown away a week ago.
By the time the plastic alarm clock ticks up to 9:45pm each evening, I’d ideally be under the covers with a cool pillow splitting my legs, and with the iPad tuned to MLB Network on my DirecTV app. I’d kiss the day goodbye with the sounds of ball hitting glove and bat hitting ball cascading over my head upon hitting the pillow. All that? All that rarely ever happens. Sometimes I go for a run at night after the kids are tucked in and asleep. Sometimes I stay up late to finish the dishes from dinner before making lunches. Sometimes I fart around on Facebook and Twitter beyond 10pm. Sometimes, I even engage The Mrs. is actual conversation. Sometimes.
One night last week, the Mrs. and I were talking and laughing about something ridiculous or maybe it was something else. It had become a new day yet neither of us were tired. That’s when we heard it. The jive-talking giggling of Tah Do, our resident pink & black stripped Furby Boom. Something had woken her up and she was as talkative as a 10-month-old in a crib as the sun fights through slotted wooden blinds, and making about as much sense. We freaking lost it. I mean, after we stopped being scared to death that some demon-seed creature was in our home, we lost it. My wife quickly and carefully retrieved Tah Do from our girls’ bedroom, like capturing a motionless snake in your garden before it snaps at your overzealous dog, and found her wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. Tah Do’s non-stop, nonsensical rambling continued as we watched her blinking, shucking and jive-talking for another 3-5 minutes before finally tiring herself out and falling back to sleep.
At that point, the Mrs. and I hi-fived each other like we’d just won a bowling tournament or [insert more relevant sports analogy here]. Not because our Furby Boom was once again asleep, but because what had just happened was a solid gold parenting memory. (Furby) Boom.
Now, you might think Furby Boom is the worst toy ever, based on that description of her just-because-she-felt-like-it-at-midnight actions, but I’m here to tell you that Furby is an awesome toy. AWE. SOME. The same goes for the Furblings, the pint-sized Furby babies. Furby Boom is quite possibly the most unpredictable and ridiculous toy on the market right now. And that is as big a compliment as I can pay any toy. Sure, it is intrinsically tied to a device and an app but after you get your Furby set up, name picked and learned, and their personality developed, your kiddo(s) can play with Furby Boom offline, along with their other dolls and amidst their other imaginative playthings. In this sense, Furby Boom is kinda like the unbalanced old uncle who blurts out the most bizarre non sequiturs during Thanksgiving dinner. Years later, you won’t remember if the turkey was too dry or the cranberries fresh or canned, but you and your siblings WILL still be talking and laughing about the whacky stuff that loony uncle said. This is Furby Boom.
My wife and I will long forget the names of that cute stuffed animal over there and the doll baby who never seems to be able to stay dressed, but we will never, ever forget The Night of Furby.
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