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Thank you. Hello, friends and welcome to Sleep Tight Stories.
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They're our way of celebrating the families who make bedtime extra magical whether by supporting the show or simply by being part of our listening community.
Hello to Aditi from Mill Creek.
You are our little bear.
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happy birthday Hudson James we are so excited for you to be seven you are so full of adventure and we love you mom dad Abram penny Thor and honey badger happy birthday cash Warren you put the story in the book we love you daddy Colt and Momo happy ninth birthday to addie on April 17th from Meredith, Clementine and Dad.
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Now, on to our story.
It is Spring and time for the annual Hop -A -Thon. Thistle, Pip, Hopper and Dr. Fluff are hoping to win, so they head off to a conference to improve their hops.
But come away with something even better.
Better bunny, better bounce!
Spring was tiptoeing into Mulberry Forest, brushing the trees with blossom dust and tickling the moss awake.
The air smelled like rain water and honeycomb, and tiny green shoots poked through last year's leaves like curious noses.
Bees were bumping into each other with joy.
Mushrooms whispered secrets under their caps.
Even the rock seemed softer somehow, as if the whole forest was stretching after a long cozy nap.
And with spring came the most boing -worthy event of the year.
The annual hop -a -thon. A magical forest tradition where every perfect bunny bounce made a chocolate tulip pop right out of the ground.
Not jelly beans, not marshmallow carrots, only chocolate tulips.
They were crisp on the outside, melty in the middle, and known to wiggle when delighted.
Bunnies trained all year for the perfect spring -to -land ratio, measured in giggles and grams. This wasn't just hopping for fun, this was the year's most important event.
And every bunny in the forest took it very seriously, especially the elders.
Thistle, Pip, Hopper and Dr. Fluff, lifelong friends, had once been champions of hop.
They had trophies made of spun sugar and slippers woven from wildflowers.
But these days their springs were more creaky than cheeky and their landings tended to come with a soft grunt and a long sigh.
Not that Hopper would admit it.
I still have three good hops in me, he declared every morning, though he usually sat down after two.
It was during their morning tea, served with thimblefuls of clover milk and exactly one buttered daisy each, that Dr. Fluff cleared his throat and set down his spoon with purpose.
Look, friends, he said, adjusting his spectacles.
As much as we don't want to admit it, we don't have the same spring in our hop as we once did.
And if we want to compete and win again this year, we may need to take drastic measures.
Thistle, removing her tiny reading glasses, and eyeing him over the rim of her cup, raised one fuzzy brow.
What did you have in mind, gentle sir?
Surely not another round of rigorous training.
My legs still ache from last spring's surprise sprint drills.
Nope. Dr Fluff replied, flopping a fancy flyer onto the table.
I suggest we attend the Better Bunny, Better Bounce Conference.
It's this weekend in the Brutonelle Woods." Hopper huffed.
Pip leaned over the flyer, squinting.
"'Will there be snacks?' he asked.
"'It's a professional conference' Dr. Fluff said.
So probably.' And so they decided to go.
Pip had packed an overnight acorn bag, two emergency thistle scones, and a collapsible foot bath.
It's a day conference.
Hopper reminded him.
I like options, Pip said, stuffing in a third muffin.
They packed their acorn bags, polished their lucky thistle pins, and set off at dawn.
following the trail of mossy signs pointing toward Brutonelle Woods.
They hopped and waddled and occasionally paddled when the trail dipped into a puddle, all the while grumbling that someone else was slowing them down.
Honestly, Hopper, said Thistle, adjusting her scarf, your back foot drags like a sleepy snail.
I'm pacing myself, Hopper huffed.
You try hopping with dignity and creaky knees.
I am, she sniffed, just not as loudly.
I still think we should have taken the Squirrel Shuttle, muttered Pip.
They have snacks and reclining toadstools.
I thought you said you get motion sick on the Squirrel Shuttle, Dr. Fluff said.
I do," Pip replied, but I'd rather be dizzy and full than upright and starving.
Dr. Fluff winced as he adjusted his satchel.
It's a great day to travel to a conference, he said brightly, though he was rubbing his hip with the subtlety of a mime.
time. If you say so, Pip grumbled.
I just hope the snacks are good.
I'm so hungry I could eat a pinecone.
You did eat a pinecone once, Thistle reminded him.
Exactly! And I lived.
So now I have a reputation to uphold.
Could we please just focus, Hopper said.
But, if this conference can fix my landing wobble, I might actually hop like myself again." "'I'd settle for hopping without sounding like a squeaky cupboard,'" said Thistle.
They were, of course, all secretly relieved the others weren't going any faster.
They took turns pretending to tie their shoes.
None of them wore shoes.
paused to admire particularly interesting tree bark, which looked like all the other tree bark, and insisted on stopping for hydration breaks every few hops.
No one said they were tired.
Everyone was tired, because even at this slowish, lowish Hop just for showish pace.
They were starting to huff and puff and make a face.
Luckily, the conference was easy to find.
Banners strung between tree branches fluttered cheerfully in the breeze.
They read things like, hop into a better you.
Buns of steel, hearts of carrot, And believe, bounce, become.
Ughhh, muttered Hopper, reading one aloud.
Buns of steel? What kind of conference is this?
Sounds like marketing, Dr. Fluff said thoughtfully.
Possibly oak -based branding.
Sounds like lunch, said Pip.
At the registration stump, a chipmunk in a headset and tiny lanyard beamed up at them.
Welcome to Better Bunny, Better Bounce!
she squeaked. Your morning sessions include Feel the Hop Within, Visualization Through Vibration, and Bounce Alignment Basics with Zazzy.
Thistle blinked. Is any of that real?
The chipmunk checked her clipboard. They're very real in spirit!
it? Dr. Fluff nodded, already jotting in his notebook.
From a nearby stump labeled, Welcome Goodies, they each received a pie stitch satchel containing a schedule scroll, a motivational sticker, everybody has potential, and a tiny bottle of carrot water sealed with dandelion puff.
Pip squeaked at his carrot water.
Is this infused with essence of ambition?
The chipmunk said brightly.
Pip sipped. Tastes like celery and hope.
Thistle sniffed hers and raised a brow.
Mine smells like feet.
Refined feet, Dr. Fluff offered.
Motivated feet. I miss tea, Hopper said flatly.
And with name tags slightly crooked and carrot waters slightly suspect, they shuffled off toward the main clearing, where a small stage, a few mossy stools, and a row of hanging leaf chimes marked the start of the day's events.
I feel underdressed," Thistle muttered, adjusting her name tag.
That chipmunk was wearing heels.
I feel underfed, said Pip.
Do you think visualization through vibration comes with snacks?
I feel regret, Hopper grumbled.
And I haven't even sat down yet.
Dr. Fluff, ever optimistic, smiled.
let's give it a chance, my creaky friends.
Who knows? We may yet find our bounce again." Pip snorted, or at least a muffin.
A carrot tart? Thistle said with heart.
Or something deep -fried?
Hopper sighed. A drum made from bark and beetle shells began to thump softly.
Dr. Fluff nodded seriously and took notes.
Distracted by a tray of unfamiliar seeds, Pip accidentally drank his entire carrot water in one slurp, and hickepped through the opening ceremony.
Their first session was called Feel the Hop Within, led by a wide -eyed squirrel in yoga pants, who introduced herself as Juniper Lightbean.
She invited everyone to lie on moss mats and hum to the rhythm of their inner bounce.
Thistle fell asleep.
Not subtly, she snored once sharply, then mumbled something about tulip frosting and rolled onto her side.
Pip tried to hum, but kept hiccuping in time with the drum.
Is it working if my bounce rhythm sounds like a duck sneezing?
he whispered. Hopper lay perfectly still, eyes open, staring at the sky.
I'm bouncing mentally, he muttered.
Dr. Fluff, meanwhile, had entered what could only be described as a deep, diagnostic hum.
He scribbled on his notepad between every breath, mmmm, resonance, mismatch. Possible bounce blockage in the left hawk.
Juniper Light Beam twirled.
field. Let the forest guide your hops, she said, and remember, you are the spring.
Pip blinked. I thought I was a rabbit.
The second session.
Worse. Blindfolds. Drums. Leap of faith partner hops.
Hopper leapt, his partner, a skittish vole named Edgar, did not.
The resulting collision knocked over a juice station and three motivational mushrooms. Wasn't this supposed to be visualization through vibration?
Thistle asked, dodging a flying yoga ball.
This is visualization, said a squirrel in a trance.
I'm visualizing my bounce happening in another dimension.
By now, morale was… uneven.
This isn't hopping, Thistle muttered rubbing her hip.
This is woodland chaos in lanyards.
But Dr. Fluff insisted they stay.
The real growth, he said wisely, often comes just after the first faceplant.
So they did. After the second session, the group hobbled over to the refreshment glade for a much needed snack break.
A long log had been turned into a serving table, covered in wildflower wraps, nettle twists, puffed root clusters, and something labeled sun baked kale surprises with a tiny sign that read, free of regret.
Pipp filled his leaf plate with three of everything.
They call this a surprise, but the real surprise is that it doesn't taste like anything.
Thistle chose one wrap, sniffed it and added a second.
It's not tea and toast, but it's food, possibly.
Hopper bit into a nettle crisp and winced, too spicy!
That was a napkin, said Dr. Fluff gently.
They sat beneath a leaning willow, nibbling, sighing and watching a chipmunk attempt to do lunges in the distance.
For a few moments, no one spoke.
Then Thistle broke the silence.
I know we joke, she said, but I don't mind that we came.
It's nice to be together, even if we're terrible at bouncing now.
We're not terrible, said Pip, crumbs tumbling from his fur.
We're just gently declining.
Hopper gave a grunt that might have been agreement, then passed Doctor Fluff a dandelion muffin without a word. Doctor Fluff smiled and tucked his notebook away.
Friends who flop together, he said, stay together.
Thistle rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away.
Then, just as Pip tried to stuff one last kale surprise in his mouth, a shrill whistle rang out from the clearing.
Time to hop with intention!
The final workshop of the day was led by a squirrel influencer named Zazzy, who wore a headset microphone, glittery leg warmers, and had absolutely no sense of gravity.
To truly bounce, Zazy declared, you must let go of fear, of form, of basic foot placement.
Then she launched herself off a toadstool, spun mid -air, and somehow landed in a basket of pinecones.
Everyone clapped. Even Edgar.
Inspired, or perhaps dizzy, Pip whispered, I think I'm ready to hop with intention.
He wasn't. His intentional hop sent him straight into a wind chime made of dandelion stems. Hopper tried to catch him but tripped over a motivational mushroom.
Thistle attempted to help but sneezed herself backward into a compost pile.
Only Dr. Fluff remained upright, scribbling furiously in his notebook.
By the end of the conference, no one's hop had improved.
Not even a little. Pips bounced still tilted left. Thistles' knees still cracked like acorns.
Hopper tripped over his own ears, trying to channel his inner spring.
And Dr. Fluff had pulled something in his tail during bounce alignment basics.
But their abs hurt from laughing and their cheeks hurt from smiling.
And they all agreed the carrot cake samples had been quite good.
Maybe we didn't get better at hopping.
Pip said as they waddled back through the woods.
But we did get better at falling.
Thistle smiled. and recovering.
And cake, added Hopper, licking frosting off his paws.
Dr. Fluff adjusted his tiny glasses.
Conclusion, bounce is temporary.
Friendship is forever.
He underlined it twice in his notes, then added a star.
They arrived back in Mulberry Forest just as the sun dipped behind the tallest birch, tired, crumb -dusted, and more connected than they'd been in years.
That night, they sipped warm tea and compared carrot stickers from their conference satchels.
Thistle said, optimism.
Pip had a glittery carrot lifting weights.
The next morning the forest buzzed with excitement.
The annual hopathon had arrived.
Bunnies lined the clearing, stretching their legs and fluffing their tails.
Little ones bounced in circles.
Parents sipped Dew coffee from hollowed out turnips.
Thistlepip, Hopper and Dr. Fluff stood at the edge of the field, blinking into the morning son.
No backing out now, said Hopper.
No shame in waddling, said Thistle.
I brought snacks, said Pip, holding up a Thistle scone, for energy.
Friends, said Doctor Fluff, holding out his paws, let us bounce, whether boldly or barely.
They stepped onto the mossy starting line together.
The whistle blew and they hopped, maybe not high, maybe not fast, but with heart, with style, and with each other.
Chocolate tulips popped up like applause.
The crowd cheered. A baby bunny shouted, That one did a twirl!
By the end of the day, their muscles ached.
Their feet throbbed, and their hops had mostly turned into gentle plops.
But oh, how they sparkled.
Not because they'd won, but because they'd shown up.
For the hop. For the cake.
For the laughs. And most of all, for each other.
And just as they began to shuffle off the field, a final chocolate tulip popped out with a plop!
Aha, cried Doctor Fluff, a stylish stop is still a hop!
And that is the end of our story.
Good night, sleep tight!
You
