When Zoo Children Attack

Weh-eh-eh-ell, this morning's previously unannounced visit to the zoo with Maya had a twist I wouldn't have seen coming with a Hubble telescope mounted on my butt. For those of you that merely want a Brew Crew update (won 12-6 in a mudslide, heading to Florida to go Marlins fishin' tonite) - skip the next paragraph of parenting insight and click through. Oh, and call your Mother.

After Maya's barf-o-rama last week on the way to the Woodland Park Zoo, we'd not tried to venture back. Partly blamed, the mornings have been cloudy and comforting close to home. Partly I keep forgetting to stock the car with a bushel of napkins. Or whatever. But on this glorious morning after a newly typical freakishly early wake-up call from Maya, we got it together and made it to Woodland Park. The kids were everywhere - clustering and galavanting like a mad virus strain in a new, undefended host. Maya alternates nowadays between walking/exploring on her own and the time we carry her and talk about the things we see. We'd gotten into the Zoo quickly, and Maya even got to get fawning attention from a dangerously mature bunch of young teenagers just behind us in the line. Through the line in 5 minutes, though. In general, Maya approaches all kids now with interest, veering often toward shyness that gets as warm as an electric blanket when she's secure. And we had a few of those brief intereactions with the random passerbys on both our levels. Soon we saw the zebras, a giraffe and three hippos lounging in their swank Seattle digs. Once again, much of our time was spent walking the trails. So after the hippos, Maya was on a jaunt. I'd seen a woman behind us that I will admit having thought was probably an off-duty stripper - all volcanic push up bra, overpriced custom painted-on jeans, oversized Chanel sunglasses, and cell phone conversation trailing behind a two-year-oldish blonde sci-fi dwarf villian monster. Maya approached the minature Stepford monster. And - I kid you not - the little bitch cross-checked Maya down to the ground. No blood, but a serious scramble from all involved to pull things together. The stripper gave me a "sorry about that" and then tried in vain to scold her seriously-deranged little autistic, churlish, unskilled demon. Maya whimpered a bit as I dusted her off, but seemed in all seriousness trying to deflect the moment. And then I pulled out of my butt what I now believe is the most horrible insult I can offer at this age and not be accused of being a jerk. I told Maya that "she's a mean girl" and that "we don't play with mean boys and girls". The stripper looked like I'd just punched her in the throat. We went our way while Maya nodded along and pontificated in her babble that mean girls are bunk. Soon enough we'd headed further into the animal kingdom and re-directed entirely. Eventually we did see the stripper and freakchild again. But they slunk off on the first trail tributary that presented itself. As a big fan of the teenbeat flick "Mean Girls" I must say that I'm surprised that "mean" has the heft I felt in this Zoo-o-logical study. Regardless, Maya got in a good nap and seems unfazed. Unlike her dad.

Hope you're the smacker not the smackee in any of today's takedowns. Rock on.