Checking in

Hey, Gang! All three of you!

You might have noticed that it's been a couple of weeks since I was able to write anything on this ol' blog. October, especially late October, was pretty busy here. We finished fall ball, the kid got sick, then I got sick, then I stayed sick, then we did more house projects (while sick), then Hurricane Sandy scared everyone and did some major damage elsewhere, then we met the teacher and had a couple of school events, then we visited with different branches of family, and lastly—I actually had some freelance work.

I feel like I lost an entire month. Gone. Zip. I detest being busy, especially when not healthy.

And now the election is tomorrow.

Regarding the election, people: Please vote. Do NOT believe the news channels, the predictions, the premature counts. Just turn off the idiot box (I think Jack Kerouac called it the great glass eye) and pay no attention to any of those fools. Your vote counts. Do your research, figure out which candidates match your desires for this country, and then go support them.

The past few days have been unusually ugly ones. You might have heard about the horrible incident at our very own beloved Pittsburgh Zoo. Marcus always loved the wild dogs best; they were his favorite animal to visit. I guess we forgot, while admiring their painted beauty and frolicking puppies, that they are still wild animals that hunt and kill.

So, we've been reminded of the fierce, ferocious nature of beasts. And I have been reminded, again, that you simply cannot make anything perfectly, 100% safe for all people. It's impossible.

Thanks for stopping. I hope to resume both a more cheerful and less hectic pace this week... after tomorrow, of course.

It lived up to its name

I've written about the Pittsburgh Zoo and PPG Aquarium before on this blog. And I've been there many times since my son was born. We even sprang for a membership last year, which we thoroughly enjoyed. However, I've been somewhat spoiled in my zoo visitations, because I've always been able to take advantage of weekday mornings and off-season lulls. Our family's zoo escapades were made with crowd avoidance in mind, with daytime temperatures in mind, and we've always steered clear of May visits, period. Why? Field trips, that's why.

Except yesterday, I was the field trip. I went to the zoo with my son's kindergarten class. Some other insane mothers also chaperoned (one of them coming straight from a night shift—no sleep!!!) and we met the buses in the parking lot. We'd already received a list of the kids for whom we'd be responsible, and we checked names, counted heads, double-checked lunches, and set off through the zoo. We had to meet back at the entrance in under four hours, and there was much to see.

A couple of my little cuties immediately decided they wanted to stop at one of several shops; they seemed to be convinced that I'd be ponying up for everyone to purchase an overpriced item from China. Sorry, kids, not happening. I steered them clear of the first store and we made our way toward the leopard and tigers. It began to dawn on me, then, just how many people were visiting the zoo that day. Hordes of kids and a handful of adults, most in a series of matching t-shirts, were crushed up against all the fences surrounding the tiger area. People were standing several folks deep in places. It was a bit unnerving.

I tried to keep an eye on my five children, one of whom was my own; this was not an easy task in such a slew of small bodies. I'd have them in sight, and then one would be gone, then two... Sigh. When I finally was able to extricate all five of them from the mass, I called an emergency meeting. We needed a team name, I said. And some rules.

One child wanted to be the Cats, another wanted to be Orange Cubs, so we combined and became the Orange Cats* for the day. Also, I explained, there are tons of people here and I need to be able to easily see you all, at all times. That meant, I stressed, no one more than 10 feet away at a time. Perhaps I should have forced hand-holding, but honestly, it was hard to do—the day was heating up, people were sweaty, slippery little hands kept sliding away anyway, boys outnumbered girls... and I was not their teacher. They just weren't as willing to do that for me. I guess I can't blame them.

So, the Orange Cats set out once again, up the hill toward the savannas of Africa. It seemed that every display caused a slight uproar of sorts: the elephant house was too smelly, the fish in the pond were yucky, the orangutan was vigorously scratching an inappropriate area, the gorilla had some sort of visible residue on his posterior... Through it all, I kept losing my kids in the crowds, then finding them again. I can tell you in precise detail what each one of them had one because I got so good at locating the clothing. Happily, calling to the Orange Cats yielded better results than yelling out their names.

At some point, after much repetition of the phrase, "I'm hungry, I want lunch," I noticed that indeed, our bag lunches were looking worse for travel. I gave in at 11:30, and we found a large shady rock outside the aquarium and ate our sandwiches. Several people needed help opening packages, but at last we were all munching and for a moment, life was calm. We hit the head, and got drinks of water.

Refueled, we plunged into the aquarium (the building that houses the tanks, not the tank itself) and the madness resumed. Bigger crowds than ever shuffled through the dark halls, and the noise was deafening. Even if you could see your charge a few feet away, they likely couldn't hear you calling because of the throng of voices all around. We finally got out of there, passing through one of the cute zoo shops so the kids could see I was, in fact, not springing for toys for all. Once they comprehended this sad truth, they made their way outside again and we headed downhill to the polar bear exhibit. Outside the big bears' window, one of my kids announced that he was bleeding. Indeed, he was: lovely red droplets stood out on his shin. Did I have a tissue? Neosporin? Of course not. I'm the rebel mother who won't even join PTO, remember? Naturally I did not have the "good mom" tools of the trade. We found another restroom, I appointed the biggest kid as stand-in leader, and I rushed into the ladies' room to get a paper towel and soap. No towels! We're green!!! Blow your hands dry! So I had to stem the flow with toilet paper.

The boy survived and we went on. Little did I know that the worst was yet to come.

Kids Kingdom is a part of the zoo specifically designed for kids. It has play areas, animals you can pet, crazy rope bridges and climbing apparatuses. The Kingdom also has several enclosed slides at its entrance. I hate enclosed areas and have never attempted to partake in these slides, but I know that even on less crowded days, the slides are popular. On this day, they were absolutely mobbed. The children in my little group had been talking about them and couldn't wait to get there; also, I'd happily noticed that my gang was getting a bit more tired and slowing down. I made them all promise to come right back to me and not leave the slide area. (Stupid, I know—I should have handcuffed them all to me and run in the other direction.) Anyway, the Orange Cats had been listening pretty well and staying together. I found an obvious place to stand and waited for them to return to me.

Minutes passed. The two little girls showed up at the bottom of one slide, and I quickly corralled them. One time down was enough. My son showed up. And the other two remained missing.

More minutes passed. It felt like at least ten. Maybe 7 or 8 minutes? I kept checking my watch. They were gone. I had the other three sit in front of me and we all scanned the crowd. I was praying they'd show up. Where were they? What could have happened? Would they have gone on to the next area without me? After we'd all agreed to stay here until we were together again? I scrunched around in my purse, found my wallet, pulled out the number of the teacher... I had to talk to her and find out the procedure for lost kids... There was another little lost kid just behind us, talking to a zoo worker and another adult, and the stricken look on the boy's face made me want to cry. Oh, why did this happen?! I trusted them to come back to me!

My mind raced ahead, to the moment of confrontation with the parents of the boys; would they shout at me? Call me irresponsible? What if someone kidnapped the kids? What if they were found by another teacher or parent, thus informing the world how ineffectual a chaperone I truly was? Would I be ostrasized from future trips? I was just dialing the teacher's cell phone when one of my waiting three hollered out to the missing boys. There they both were, coming away from the end of the biggest, tallest tube slide.

Oh, my Lord, I was so relieved. The two latecomers explained that the line for the big slide had been incredibly long. We hadn't been able to see that, because the whole Kingdom is cleverly designed in a stand of tall trees, most of which had foliage now. It's a great set-up for shade, a beautiful view when you're strolling along the elevated walkways above the whole place... but when you're missing two children? It is decidedly not pretty.

Well, we held hands for awhile after that. Then, after I'd finished having a heart attack, we made our way toward the final building, first stopping at another playground with—yep, you guessed it—more of the awful, horrible, infuriating tubes where kids can climb and hide. And one of my disappearing boys did his best trick again, while my other four students and I looked in vain at every tube opening. When he did finally emerge at the top of yet another slide, I waited at the bottom to nab him. Guess what? The little twit saw me and turned around to exit another way. Suffice it to say that he got to me my favorite little buddy and hand-holder for the remainder of the day, which was thankfully wrapping up. I might have sprained a couple of his fingers when he tried to re-enter tubeland, but at that point I figured it was worth the risk; missing the bus back to school wasn't much better than losing a kid or two.

We made it back in time, and found the sidewalk littered with weary 6-year-olds. The buses came, the kids climbed on, and I left with sore feet, salty brow, and a firm decision that I would not willingly participate in this particular event again. And then I thought, What if I don't go and there aren't enough adults? What if everyone has to keep an eye on 8 or 10 kids instead of 5, all because of me?

Well, I won't think about that now. I'll just keep researching hair colors, so as to best hide the additional grey hairs that I am certain to find after yesterday's adventure. I came away not just with more greys, but also with even more respect for people who can work with large groups of small kids. God bless 'em. Every one.

And for the love of pete, don't go to the zoo in May. Or early June. Or on holidays. Unless what I've just described sounds like a grand time to you, that is.

*I've changed our team name for privacy reasons. Because I'm anal like that.

The Lion in Winter (and the giraffe and the bear)

Some exotic backsides especially for you! Which leads me to my post...

Watching the weather this past weekend, I could see that Monday was shaping up to be a potential winter zoo visitation day. Come Monday morning, the predictions were oddly still correct, and the day dawned rather gray but dry, and somewhat cool but unseasonably warm for February. I made one last scan of radar on the Weather Channel, packed the kid’s bag with unmessy edibles, and off we went to the Pittsburgh Zoo and Aquarium.

It wasn’t our first visit, but it was our first winter visit. We missed a few of the warm-weather animals that were either hidden or on hiatus ‘til spring. The huge, disgusting Komodo Dragon was absent, as were those cute, tiny crocs (or are they alligators?), and Kids Kingdom was roped off—so no petting tame deer or crossing bridges over the otters and their buddies. But most of the other animals were happy to see us, or so it seemed. The tigers were up and about, and as one of them eyed me hungrily from across a steep crevasse, I recalled with a shudder the recent escape of and attack by one of these fierce beasts in another zoo. Alas, this one stayed in his designated area, and we exchanged looks before walking on to see the lions (both lounging on their big lookout rock), giraffes, zebras, elephants, and ostrich. No gazelles, though—perhaps it was too cold for them?

The rainforest (monkey house) was not quite as horrifically pungent as it is in warmer months. We witnessed lots of varieties lounging and nit-picking, and were lucky enough to get a great, swinging view of a baby orangutan. I couldn’t linger by the gorilla’s area, though—three big adults were sitting quite near to the glass, and although their sheer size is rather frightening, the worst part of all is the absolutely human expressions on their faces. I can’t help thinking that they understand their situation completely and would never choose such a fate. I actually felt guilty taking a couple of pictures, even though the opportunity was golden, because it honestly was like looking in the window of someone’s home and photographing him as he sat listlessly on his couch, utterly resigned to his doom.

On a happier note, the wild dogs were scampering about. And the bears were out, mostly sleeping, but one (whom I respectfully did not photograph) was completely absorbed with a certain part of his body. I’ll leave the details up to you, but suffice it to say I don’t think he even noticed us. Thankfully, Marcus didn’t put the pieces together so I didn’t have to explain that one. Then came the aquarium; we made our way around it more quickly than I’d like (Marcus gets a little freaky in all the dark areas, even back by the penguins, where I could spend many minutes); then we parked our gear and ourselves in front of the giant two-story tank, munched our lunch, and watched the fish dancing to new age music. (I’m not a huge fan, but for this purpose, the synth-heavy sounds were perfect.)

Then the polar bears, which were delightful, plus a flirtatious peacock and his unimpressed amour, and the ever-playful sea lions, and the domesticated animals (llama, camel, reindeer, sheep, goats), and that was about it. The best part of all was that there were no crowds, no huge lines of classrooms taking up the viewing area, no sweat dripping from our brow, and no over-heated animals hiding in the bushes. Plus, the price is a smidge lower in winter months—and lower prices are always a good thing!

What I’m trying to say is that it was a really enjoyable few hours, and the shame of it was that we practically had the place to ourselves. If the temperature’s going to top 50, think about a little trip to the zoo. It really is a great asset to our city, and although limited in size, it keeps getting better and better. Spending a good part of the day outdoors is also soul-lifting, as is watching God’s beautiful living creations pacing, prancing, and napping right before your eyes. Until I can afford safari or rainforest exploration, this is as close as I’ll get to most of these critters—and I’m surely thankful to have had the opportunity to see them, even in captivity. The fish alone could make you cry; so amazing, all so unique, moving with such fluid grace… I could get positively weepy sitting in front of that big tank of miracles.

Next time we experience an unseasonable warming trend, take a hooky day if you can, slow down, and gaze with appreciation at some awesome creatures. I counted only 24 cars in the lot when we were leaving; I hope that next time we visit, that number is much higher—and that your car is among them.