the scene unraveled quickly.

our annual trip to the pink palace enchanted forest began as it usually does, with unbridled excitement about the escalators leading to the exhibit. with spirits elevated, the boys quickly embraced beloved out-of-town friends before bounding into the faux snowy cave, dimly lit by christmas lights and animated by the same motorized woodland creatures that enchanted me as a child. there was a happy sort of pandemonium as the kids frollicked amidst the sights and sounds, pausing only occasionally under the hypnosis of what is sure to be the world’s largest and most detailed electric train set.

as we settled into the line for santa visits and photographs, i fished a wad of pipe cleaners from my purse to occupy the boys. in a previous life (otherwise known as the day before), pipe cleaners were highly revered and even trance-inducing.

however, in this scene, they were apparently a blaring disappointment. the monkey flippantly asked for “another surprise,” at which point i explained that there were no more toys in my purse.

what followed was every mother’s worst nightmare: public humiliation in slow-motion. the monkey hit me three times, despite my very clear and intermittent 1-2-3 magic-style warnings about the consequences of such behavior. i was left with no other choice but to cut the outing short and head for the car.

i held the monkey’s mid-section under my right arm while he kicked, screamed, and flailed his arms. this allowed me to chase down the escaping bird, who was suddenly deep in conversation with a singing, snow-dusted squirrel.

source: jupiterimages.com

i heard an acquaintance utter my first and last name to her friend, and i turned around just in time to glimpse the ultimate sign of judgement: her pointer finger.

during this befuddled pause, i inadvertently loosened my grip on the monkey just long enough for him to make a break for it. as i chased the monkey through a sea of themed christmas trees and parenting-horror-show spectators, the bird teetered dangerously on the edge of the escalator. in the day’s only redemptive moment, i was able to snag the monkey and return to the bird just in time to prevent his impending tumble.

we provided another ten minutes of this entertainment before we made it to the car, and as i drove home to the now familiar soundtrack of the monkey’s wailing protests, i reassured myself with recollections from 1-2-3 magic. i remembered the notion that sometimes parents have to punish everybody, ourselves included, to get the point across. i replayed the author’s insistence that humiliation is a small price to pay for the future reward of well-behaved children.

but seriously. is there any other job in the world in which you’re not doing it right unless you look like a complete idiot?

after the “disenchantment,” the monkey was an angel for the rest of the day. 1-2-3 magic did pay off. but there was something about his demand for “another surprise” and his sense of entitlement during the pipe cleaner incedent that makes me want to read yet another book: the price of privilege.