Fantastic!

A long time ago, a monkey was kept in an awful cage down by the Little Miami River. It was an old biker bar on the river and they taught the monkey/ape/chimp to smoke, drink beer, and do unmentionables with his private parts. When we walked the gorgeous bike trail near the river, I'd beg to go see Sam the Monkey. One time we caught him still in the mood after his one man show, smoking a cigarette, and that was the end of my time spent with Sam. A few years later animal control finally came to get him. I've always hoped he ended up in some gorgeous rainforest or other wonderful habitat, and not just in a cage in a lab somewhere. I need to think that he is free and happy - making goofy faces to make others laugh, swinging all over, and off and running where no one can catch him.

Speaking of free and happy, it's 1:00 and the preschool is about to explode with sugar-induced chaos. The kids sit on their yellow chairs eating something from all five food groups, drinking from non-sippy cups, and giggle, laugh, and finish their veggies. Then, even the wild-child from the birthday party you attended weeks ago is sitting "criss cross applesauce" and listening to another wild Clifford adventure.

Today was Teacher Appreciation Day so each family took the reminder email from the director to heart and brought in trinkets of love. These teachers could have had Sam the Monkey curtsy-ing and saying, "Pass the Grey Poupon" if given a week and some time to work their magic. The three of them handle the ten kids with grace, respect, and not a single bribe/beg/threat. It's like they are magical. One thing, we all know, is that if it is anything out of the ordinary, kids respond with a temporary psychosis. It just throws them off. So, trinkets, confections, and mommy's arriving was enough to send these PB&J covered beings into a tither.

As soon as that old wood door opened, it was a stampede of waist-high preschoolers and moms, younger siblings, and teachers all trying to talk, gather up sweaters (it was a little chilly this morning), lunch boxes (except for Zoe. She'd much rather have a brown paper sack than her $37 Pottery Barn Kids personalized lunch bag), and back packs (once again, nix the $50 pink one with chocolate brown piping and a scrolled "ZOE" across the top pocket, the SHAMU SHAMU in gaudy primary colors from our trip to Sea World knocked that pink one with a Shamu Splash so fast we didn't see that tail coming), and all art projects/worksheets/notes/birthday party invitations that you couldn't imagine one child creating/doing/writing/knowing.

"She had a fantastic day!" was all I heard as my mind did a smug little told you so! to my worry center. Zoe doesn't do well with change and bringing in presents and gifts was just enough to set her off. Rebecca and I started comparing notes on The Zoe's and soon I realized Xander was still on my hip (and my arm was still asleep from his weight) and Zoe wasn't anywhere to be seen.

'ZOEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I yelled down the hall. In a church. Twice. My mind starts playing some mean tricks on me since that Stalker Man entered our lives. "ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-" I was interrupted by giggles at the water fountain. Zoe was slurping up the water from the bottom of the fountain (ie: the drips from a little boy slopping up the fountain water and all over himself, the wall, and my daughter's pony tail). "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GET UP!" as I tried to set down a water colored picture, very sleepy 15-month-old, Shamu's ugliest apparel, a treat cup from her prayer friend, and two sweaters (we always forget that one sweater...) to snag her off the floor. Even Carson, the dog, would just walk away from this mess. Zoe was covered in second-hand water drippings and was making her own drippings on the floor. Just then Bestie Zoe came zooming around the corner and the Zoe's were off in a blond cloud.

Picking up the 15 items meant to go to our house, I could hear the children's ministry director begging some unruly kids to slow down, stop, and take a break.

Shit.

There was a tagging "You're It!" cloud of blond girl as the Zoe's tagged, wrestled, and bobbed throughout the chaos of dismissal time. However, all the mobs of people were apparently invincible, as the girls just didn't see anyone they rammed, bumped, passed through, or summersaulted under in the packed church. The always kind Director stepped out and used her Teacher voice, but mommy's were here and they'd been good for four hours. Now it was time to put on a show.

When I finally caught her skinny little arm in the two free fingers I had, I started to hiss something about a bare-butt spank and realized we were in God's house. Just wait, little lady, until you are in Momma's House.

And then, someone or something caught my attention, a skinny arm slid through my two-fingered grasp, and off she went, through the double doors after Zoe.

STOP! at least ten different mothers yelled as the Zoe's ran to the edge of the sidewalk, that leads to mini-vans and SUV's heading off to nap time in a hurry. Bestie Zoe's curls lunged forward as her thin frame stopped at the edge. Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief before screaming another STOP! at my Zoe, who was apparently unaware of the golden rule of childhood - NEVER EVER GO INTO THE STREET!

Not only did my Zoe go into the parking lot without a glance back, but she did a two footed hop off the edge and threw her arms out as if she were practicing landings for Team USA.

Bela Karoli I am not.

Shaking and furious, I didn't know what to do with my little perfect 10 landing, so I made her sit on the curb and watch the cars. I mentioned she could have been squashed - to the disbelief of some waif of a mom in her tennis skirt opening up her Mercedes and a dirty look in my direction.

What? Play it cool? Act like it's okay, now that she is in my grip? Pretend she could have been a pancake faster than you can scream STOOOOOOOOOOOOOP to a tired momma with naptime on her mind leaving school? I don't think so. She broke the cardinal rule and would be dealt with.

Once she slurped out a Sorry (in a mumbled garble that could only be done by a mad Zoe as she tried to stop crying boogers and tears down her face) we got into the van. Said tennis mom stayed in her car, with the windows rolled down, staring at Zoe, Xander and I until I drove away. Was she afraid I was going to run over Z's foot, just to make a point?

So I did the meanest, cruelest thing I could do to Zoe.

I buckled her into her seat and showed her her treat. Her capri sun and popsicle she'd begged for since dinner the night before that was to be her treat. And I threw them away.

She may have preferred a bare butt spank, but a slap on her little butt cheek doesn't deter Zoe. Losing her rewards, awards, and treats deters Zoe. So, she lost both treats she had her heart set on and cried all the way home.

Sometimes, I still think about Sam the Monkey. I hope he is swinging high in the branches, feeling wind in his fur, and doing whatever makes him happy. But I also hope his momma is close. Because, these little monkeys like to be wild and free, but ultimately, keeping them close isn't such a bad thing, either.