The Baby Monkey

First of all, let me say this: I know that my boys are going to come to this blog, and as boys are wont to do, they will apply a ruler to see whose introductory blog post is longer. However, I just don't think I have it in me to sit and type such long posts on a daily basis. You kids will just have to get over it if I don't alot the exact number of inches to each of you.
I could also sit here and write out a long description about the Baby Monkey, but sometimes actions speak louder than words. Let me tell you what happened last night just around bedtime. The Monkey Prince went upstairs to his freshly cleaned cage, which by the way he cleaned himself, and he better get that pile of trash out of the hallway or I'm gonna sweep it back where it came from. I'm sorry. Where was I? Oh, yeah! Monkey Prince went into his cage and discovered that all of the many colored lights that he uses to decorate his world were unplugged, and the extension cords were missing. This is a big deal to him. He has quite an assortment of little gee-gaw type lights, rope lights, lava lamps, etc. His usually glowing room was dark. He was shocked. Of course, he immediately accused Baby Monkey, as he is the usual culprit of such pranks. The Monkey Prince, who is also a duct tape engineer, took a roll of tape from his vast inventory and mounted a counter-attack. I heard the familiar ripping sound of long lengths of duct tape being pulled off a roll. I followed the sound to the Baby Monkey's room and found the Monkey Prince taping Baby Monkey's bunk bed. I watched for a moment as the Prince wrapped duct tape across the entire length of the bunk from the ladder to the foot board, back and forth, back and forth. He looked up at me and flashed a wicked grin. I know that a good mother would have said, "Stop that immediately." OK. Well, I love a good practical joke. All I said was, "That will never do. You have to go up and down with the tape, as well. He can still get into his bed." As I walked back along the hallway to my own room to close the door and shut out the sounds from Monkey Island for the night, the father of the monkeys called upstairs to me, "You know, I can hear you giggling." There was a very definite why-don't-you-grow-up tone in his voice.
But back to the Baby Monkey. This is supposed to be his introductory post, after all. There he is with the giant container of cheese balls. That's my baby. My baby is now 15 years old, stands about 6'1" and wears size 13 shoes. He's a slim 154 pounds, and he's still growing. He also has enormous hands. His fingers look like E.T. fingers, yet they are quite graceful and enable him to reach to the bottom of giant cheese ball barrels. Unfortunately, Baby Monkey inherited my lousy eyesight and his father's crooked teeth. He now has the most beautiful straight teeth (Thank you, Dr. Malerman!), and eventually we'll get him contacts. As you may have noticed, he's wearing a boy scout shirt in the photo. He's going to be an Eagle Scout someday soon. I hope he learns to tuck in his shirt before then. This kid loves the outdoors, and I'm so glad. If there is one thing I love to do, it's spending time in the woods. My husband hates doing that. The Monkey Prince isn't into it, either. But Baby Monkey loves it, and he's become my outdoor buddy and traveling companion. He and I paddle kayaks together and go camping together. In the summer of 2004 we spent twelve days together on a road trip from Philadelphia to New Mexico. Let me tell you this. Traveling with this kid has got to be the best time I've ever had in my life. My mind goes back to that trip at least once a day. I know most parents dread being in a car with their kids, but not me. My kids were raised on "Dad's Stupid Road Trips". Since the time they were very small, we'd pack up the minivan and take off down back roads to explore and visit odd roadside attractions. A football field-sized swimming pool? We've seen it. Mysterious roads where water runs uphill? We've seen it. Giant coffee pots, a shipwreck on the side of a mountain, a huge elephant on the Jersey shore. Been there. And I can't forget diners. Yeah, baby! There's nothing like a good diner! My kids were raised on these sorts of trips. Never have they uttered, "Are we there yet?" "Dad's Stupid Road Trips" have gone down in family legend.
So in the summer of 2004, I decided to mount "Mom's Stupid Road Trip". The Monkey Prince was working at a summer camp as a counselor. My husband was planning to compete in a masters national track meet that summer and so had limited vacation time available. Our foster monkey had gone home to visit his family in South Korea. This left just Baby Monkey and me home alone. It didn't take long to think of hitting the highway and exploring the country. I had never been further west than Dallas, Texas before, and I always wanted to see the western part of the U.S. Along the way we camped, stayed in roadside motels, and visited friends. We even visited the mother of all roadside attractions, the Cadillac Ranch. But the greatest memory of all was spending the night in the Sangre de Cristo mountains in Cimarron Canyon. I've spent all my life living near a very large eastern city. I'm used to being constantly surrounded by people, sound and light, and I'm used to living at sea level. But out there is sky. I mean, real sky. It's like a dark, dark sparkling blanket of stars, and it feels like you can just reach up and touch them. Here I was with my 14 year old, looking up at this amazing sky, both of us sharing in the awe. What a shame that most parents and their teenagers are at odds with each other, and that parents think that's normal. It's common, but I don't think it's normal. I'm truly blessed that my kids and I enjoy spending time with each other. Now, don't think that we are inseparable or that we never fight or get on each other's nerves. We certainly do. But we recover from those times and always re-form into our little family circle. Thank you, God, for that.
O.K. There I go again, off-topic. Back to Baby Monkey. Anyone who is the youngest in a family (like I am), knows something about my baby. It's like always being at the back of the line. All the older ones do everything first, and they get a lot of attention for it. The youngest is the member of the family who most often declares, "It's not fair!" Baby Monkey is no exception. And because I'm the grown-up and know that in the long run, we all get the same opportunities, just at different times, I tend not to indulge him. Life's not fair. Deal with it. You'll get there if you make an effort. He really hates when I do that. Oh, well.
I have one more story to tell about Baby Monkey. This will complete the picture, I think. In 1986 I brought a kitten home. On the Monday before Thanksgiving we had to finally put her down. She would have been 20 years old this January. Cats tend to choose the people they like. Try as we might, we can never make a cat like us if it is not so inclined. So here was this cat who came to live with us before our children were born. And for some reason, she chose Baby Monkey to be her special person. Whether or not the rest of us existed was of no concern to this cat. But she slept in Baby Monkey's bed, crawled up next to him when he watched t.v., and just generally wanted to be with him whenever he was in the house. Her last weekend was pretty hard for my baby. The poor cat just decided she was done. She stopped eating and drinking, and just laid down to die. She basically just fell asleep, and we thought that we'd just let her pass through a peaceful natural death. Unfortunately, it didn't work out quite that way. For two days she was very quiet and peaceful. But by the third day, Sunday, she woke up and seemed very agitated. We tried to find a vet to put her down, but no one was available. But my youngest child sat with this poor old cat all day and all night, petting her and trying to keep her comfortable. The next day, he and I brought her to the vet. We brought her body back home to bury in our yard. He was adamant that he be the one to bury her. I watched my son go to the back yard and dig a grave for his beloved pet, the only pet he ever had. It was raining. Tears and rain fell on his face. I was very proud of him for being so patient and kind to this little animal.
So that's my Baby Monkey. Perhaps this posting was as long as the Prince's. I'm sure I'll hear later whether the word count was equal or not. Get over it.