Chicken

"STOP!" I screamed for the fifteenth time today, and millionth this month (and it isn't even the tenth yet).

Zoe seemed destined to end up as a hood ornament on a neighbor's minivan or SUV, as she truly seems drawn to the street. She will sit in a cute little dress, pigtails with matching bows fluttering in the breeze, and then dart like a rabid gazelle into the black top of horror, our street.

Yes, we live on a cul-de-sac. In a small town. In a sleepy state. BUT IT IS STILL THE STREET. The street where every so often you turn on CNN to see a too-somber reporter preening at a children's hospital where another negligent mom turned her back - for 1/100th of a second (how dare she?) - to let this poor waif run into the street to meet her destiny with a UPS truck. They never show the other side of the story, the one where the mom has been thisclose to using duct tape, string, and a staple gun to keep said waif on the safer side of the sidewalk, as pleads/lessons/scoldings/spanks/and sheer frustration do nothing to keep kids (like ours) from chasing butterflies/bubbles/bumble bees/breezes into dangerous territory.

I do not want to be a statistic. I want my daughter to remain bipedal with use of her arms, brain, and all five senses. I watch the Discovery Channel. I know what can happen.

When Zoe did this in California while visiting TT & Bobsa my mom didn't hesitate to swallow her words about the horrific kid-leashes and try to wrangle my monkey into a leash with a monkey attached to her back once she played dodge-the-Lexus a few too many times. Zoe relaxed, pulled us around, and then acted like it was vaccination time at the pediatricians office as she hopped, hollered, and kicked herself away from our gentle lead. Even a (quick) jerk of the tail didn't stop her, just jerked her chain. It didn't go so well and after a quick trial run, we had one pissed monkey and one tailless monkey.

Plan B?

Scare the living poop out of her. Tell her what cars can do to little kids.

"I gonna be a pancake, mom? With syrup? I only wanna be a pancake with syrup AND butter. I hate pancakes without butter. Mom, do you like pancakes? How do cars make kids into pancakes? Do they use eggs? Can I crack them, Mom? Can I?"

Plan C?

Take away things she likes each time she misbehaves and runs into the street.

Once I had a pink metal collection of trikes, bikes, baby strollers, and a nice array of sand toys and a child who thinks dodge-the-mini is an awesome way to wither away an afternoon, I resorted to a spank.

Just as the Iowa "breeze" picked her up, my hand hit her butt and she looked like she would catapult into the prairie wind without a second to lose.

"OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWE!" she yelled, fake crying and flailing about.

"Zoe, mommy hates to spank you but you may not EVER go into the street."

The tears abruptly stopped.

"What about when I help pull in the trash can? Or hold your hand to go to Regan's house? Or when Grant and Chase let me play ball with them? Or when I get the mail?"

"You need to be holding an adult's hand to go into the street."

"Ok!"

"Ok? You understand?"

"Got it."

A smile came upon my face as I knew my little prodigy got the concept and would abide by my rules.

Hours later we pulled out of the driveway, on our way to Costco, and I hear a clicking - nope, make that tisking, sound from the back seat.

"Mommy is in trouble! Mommy is in trouble!"

"Slowing the mini, I turned around and said, "Why am I in trouble, Z?"

"We are in the street and you didn't hold my hand!"

Sure enough, we were stopped in the middle of the cul-de-sac, the street, if you will, and my safely strapped in child was gloating in the fact that I, somehow, broke my own rules of "always hold hands in the street".

Just as I sat back in my seat wondering how to explain the difference to the Queen of Why's, she said, "Don't worry, Mom! I still love you. And if you were a pancake, I'd love you even more!"