[Author’s Note #0: Obviously, this isn’t the story that I originally intended to post next. However, for a variety of reasons, I found myself unable to pull together a wedding story in the final days of May (and first days of June). So, I’m posting this shorter piece instead, and I’ll change around the dates later.]
[Author’s Note #1: This story features my sister-in-law Pippa, whose character is introduced in Something Old, Something New and further developed in Something Borrowed, Something Blue.]
[Author’s Note #2: Notably, Pippa is fluent in Spanish — something to which I also aspire, but with only middling success. The title of this piece means “the aunt and her nephews/nieces go to the zoo”, and Spanish is sprinkled throughout. Where appropriate, I’ll provide a translation in italics.]
A few weeks ago, my family had the opportunity to host my sister-in-law Pippa while her husband was out-of-town for work. She landed just in time to watch Bo and Rhys so that Taylor and I could attend Aza’s first ballet recital.
We were quite happy with Pippa’s visit. For one thing, it’s unbelievably convenient to have a live-in [albeit temporary] babysitter.
Picking up Bo while Rhys is napping? No problem. Attending an orthodontic appointment on Bo’s last day of school? A cinch. Getting everyone in day clothes? Easy peasy. Wrangling the kids inside for dinner? Well… admittedly, that one was a bit more tricky.
[Note: After collecting, washing, and naming a literal fistful of worms, Aza deposited her new pets… right on top of Rhys’s head. Poor Pippa was even more traumatized than the baby was.]
But even more than on-demand childcare, Pippa’s visit gave us the rare treat of time with a beloved family member — one with whom we speak frequently over FaceTime, but infrequently face-to-face. So, instead of just swapping stories, we had the uncommon opportunity to directly do life together.
That was how we found ourselves visiting the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, outside of Colorado Springs. (We have a family membership — a generous gift from my mother, of course.) It was Tuesday afternoon, and we had left Golden soon after Bo’s last half-day of pre-K. Even so, we didn’t arrive at the zoo until nearly 3:30pm — only an hour and a half before closing time.
Now, I grew up going to this specific zoo, so I have fond memories of its various exhibits: racing through the African Rift Valley; sprinting in and out of the primate house; running past the Asian Highlands, and pausing just long enough to buy Dippin’ Dots.
You may wonder why all my zoo memories have an aura of haste about them. That’s because I always visited with my autistic sister, who is extremely interested in breadth of experience and not at all interested in depth. So, instead of moseying through the zoo and casually observing each animal, we checked off exhibits as though we were on a timed scavenger hunt.
But this zoo visit didn’t include my sister, who had opted to stay home with my mother. Instead, our party included me, Bo, Aza, Rhys — and Pippa, of course. And, while we were all excited for our outing, no one was more excited than my sister-in-law.
You may recall that this was the zoo at which my brother Dion proposed to Pippa, so it holds a special place in her heart. Plus, she was unreasonably excited to see Rhys’s first trip to the zoo.
“I just think he’s gonna love it,” she enthused as we walked inside.
I shot her a skeptical look. “Yeah. We’ll see. Remember, I’m just here so that the kids burn off some energy.” Turning to Bo and Aza, I asked, “Ok, are you ready for the tokens?”
“Yes!” they shrieked in unison.
I portioned out the coin-shaped blanks given to us by the zoo entry worker — slightly more for Bo, because I knew that he would blaze through his set immediately.
With that, my older two kids — “the twins”, as I call them — ran over to the Quarters for Conservation stations and began slotting in their “coins”. As expected, Borealis consumed his supply first, then demanded more tokens from his slower-paced sister.
“You may not take any of your sister’s,” I admonished. “You don’t deserve any of hers just because you went through yours so quickly.”
Bo sulkily relented, so I rewarded him with one last coin that I fished out of my purse. That coin, too, quickly disappeared inside a slot.
As Pippa helped Aza dispose of her final tokens, I bundled all of our supplies into the diaper bag and barely wrenched shut the zipper.
“¿Quieres ayudar?” I asked. Do you want to help?
Pippa looked up. “Sí, quiero ayudarte.” Yes, I want to help you.
I handed her the hefty backpack — which was a relief, because I already had Rhys in a front carrier.
We made a quick pitstop at the bathroom for everyone but me. (Because it’s hard to pee while front-carrying a baby.) I assisted Aza, who is still too young to [effectively] wipe herself.
I squatted in the stall to wait, and Rhys immediately grabbed a fistful of toilet paper. I sighed and shifted backwards.
Aza, meanwhile, blithely remained on the toilet. She happily pointed to her zoo stamp and said, “It’s a skunk.”
I looked closer at the image, which I had originally taken to be a tiger. Incidentally, we were both wrong.
“That’s not a skunk, silly girl — it’s a lemur!”
“WHAT’S A LEMUR?” Bo bellowed from the adjacent stall.
“It’s like a monkey with long legs and short arms,” I answered. Close enough.
As I helped Aza clean up, she gave me a mischievous look and exclaimed, “It’s not a lemur, it’s a bemur!”
I involuntarily rolled my eyes, because this joke never gets old.
“Ha ha ha ha,” I responded mechanically. “Bemur. So funny. Ok, time to wash hands.”
“I want a Beamer,” Pippa said airily as she washed her own hands. Then, spotting Rhys, she squealed, “…to give to my sweet godson!”
I raised an eyebrow. “You know he’s one, right?”
Pippa shrugged. “Maybe I’d use it until he was ready to drive.”
“RHYSI CANNOT DRIVE BECAUSE HE IS ONLY A BABY!” Bo bellowed as he exited the stall. “HE TURNED ONE YEAR OLD LAST MONTH!”
I rubbed my ear. “Hey, sweetie, I know you’re super excited, but can we do voice-level two?”
“OH. SORRY.”
“No, like, quieter than that. Like a mouse.”
“I’m a pretend mouse!” Aza announced. (Notably, actually at voice-level two.) “And the door is pretend cheese!”
We do a lot of play-pretend, so this statement wasn’t immediately alarming — until Aza got fully into character and bit the door.
At least our visit was off to a good start.
A few minutes later, we had wrangled the kids out of the bathroom and over to the giraffe exhibit.
Now, the giraffes are arguably the heart of Cheyenne Mountain Zoo. They form a large, healthy herd with numerous successful breeding matches — but that’s not why people love them so much.
People love the CMZoo giraffes because you can pay to feed them.
And it’s not even that expensive! A sign outside the kiosk advertised two bundles of lettuce for $5.
Peering inside, I saw a zookeeper fiddling with some sad-looking lettuce. My heart sank. “Do you still have any left for today? Or is it all bad?”
“Oh, no — these are just the ones that we can’t sell anymore. We have plenty of the good stuff left,” he answered, gesturing to a different tray — one filled with extremely attractive lettuce heads.
“Wow, those look awesome!” I observed genuinely.
“Yes, these are the new hydroponic ones that we’ve been testing out.”
He held a specimen up for me to examine. It looked like a small butter lettuce head — tender, with at least twenty leaves.
“We’ll take two,” Pippa said, producing the cash.
The zookeeper handed over the goods, then warned, “Keep that out of their reach, because they will try to steal the whole thing out of your hand.”
I flashed him a smile. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”
As we walked away, Pippa sang, “But it is my godson’s first rodeo!”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Yes, I guess we’ll see how he does.”
At that moment, Bo attempted to grab the lettuce out of my hand.
“Excuse you! Be patient!” I reprimanded.
“BUT I WANT THE LETTUCE!”
I swatted away Bo’s hand, then Aza’s. “Wait until I get it pieced up. Your tía wants to get pictures of you kids feeding the giraffes.”
The twins barely held it together in their excitement — and once the time came, that enthusiasm translated into speed. They fed lettuce to the giraffes as fast as I could prepare it; I repeatedly failed to get my desired cutesy video. Eventually, I resigned myself to acting merely as a lettuce dispenser.
Thankfully, Pippa was not quite so tied up and snapped at least two dozen pictures while Bo and Aza made it rain lettuce.
After a few minutes, only one of our lettuce heads remained.
I started removing Rhys from his front carrier and began, “Pippa, está el tiempo para el bebé….”
“Es la hora para que el bebé alimente las jirafas,” she corrected. It’s time for the baby to feed the giraffes.
I laughed. “Thanks for the save.”
“Yeah, it’s subjunctive,” she explained. “Y quieres que lo ayude?”
I took a few seconds to translate. “Oh! Yes, I want you to help him.”
I handed Rhys to Pippa, then equipped them [and Bo, and Aza] with more lettuce.
Pippa cautiously approached the nearest giraffe. “Rhysi, give the giraffe the lettuce! Look — feed the giraffe!”
I whipped out my camera and began a cinematic video of the scene. I took a step forward, then —
“Ahhh!”
— ducked away from a second giraffe, who had wrapped its long purple tongue around our remaining lettuce head. I only just managed to save the greens — slightly slimed by giraffe saliva, but otherwise no worse for wear.
“¿Todo bien?” Pippa called. Everything ok? I noticed that she had aborted her giraffe-feeding mission.
“¡Sí!” I responded. “Apparently this is my first rodeo. Are you ready for another go?”
“Yep!”
I started filming, and Pippa slowly approached the giraffe again. “Look, here’s the giraffe!” she cooed enticingly.
Rhys, however, was having none of it. He squawked in distress and lurched violently away from the animal. I couldn’t help but laugh; clearly, he had not yet reached the age at which excitement overtakes fear.
“Alright, I think it might be a lost cause right now,” I admitted.
Pippa pouted and snuggled Rhys close. “Don’t worry — you’re going to grow up to be big and brave, and then you won’t be scared of these big giraffes.”
I glanced at the time. “Ok, we have to get a move on if we’re gonna make it through the whole zoo by closing.”
Bo and Aza, of course, totally ignored me.
“Look, there’s a baby giraffe!” my daughter [accurately] observed.
“That one is named ‘Wednesday’,” the zookeeper announced, appearing out of nowhere. “You know, because she was born on the Wednesday before Halloween.”
[Note: This statement, in fact, was false. Wednesday the giraffe was actually born on the Wednesday *before* the Wednesday before Halloween. It’s as if he didn’t even know her….]
“The Bednesday before Balloween!” my daughter replied. “Aw, she’s sooooo cute!”
I smiled — because if there’s anything my daughter loves, it’s babies. As we watched, Baby Bednesday walked over to a gate in the fence, just beside us.
“I’m going to start taking them in now,” the zookeeper said. “So you’ll need to either go back toward the entrance or continue on.”
I looked at the ground and realized that we were standing next to a drawbridge. Has that *always* been there? I wondered. Out loud, I quickly assured him, “We’ll keep going!”
He nodded. “And you can also watch from the other side, if you want.”
“YES!” bellowed Bo. “I WANT TO WATCH THEM GO BACK TO THEIR HOME!”
So we stayed for a few minutes — and Aza continued cooing over the baby giraffe. Bo, meanwhile, sidled over to his aunt with a casual question.
“Tía Pippa,” Bo started — for once, in a normal register. “Tía Pippa, you like babies… so will you have a baby someday?”
I tried and failed to smother a laugh. Pippa shot me an aggrieved look, but I just shrugged innocently.
“Did you put him up to this?” she demanded.
“Nah, I would just ask you directly — and I frequently do,” I reminded her. “Answer the boy’s question!”
Pippa turned back to my son. “Do you want me to have a baby, Bo?”
Borealis widened his eyes in affected surprise. “Oh, *I* don’t care if you have a baby or not. I just thought that you must want a baby. You know, because you and Tío Dion have been married for a while.”
“Can confirm,” I smirked. “I was there.”
Pippa shot me a withering glare, then carefully said, “Tío Dion and I do want to have babies someday, but we’re waiting for the right time.”
I ruffled Bo’s hair. “Not everyone has kiddos right away,” I told him. Then, glancing at the time, I said, “Look — we’ve been here for half an hour, and we’ve only seen one animal so far! Don’t you want to keep going? And make it through the entire loop?”
Pippa cocked an eyebrow. “You’re still hoping to make it through the whole zoo?”
“Yes, obviously!”
Now it was her turn to shrug innocently. “You know, visiting the zoo isn’t just about seeing all the animals.”
This was a new thought for me. When I was a kid, visiting the zoo *was* just about seeing all the animals. But this was a different era, with different kids — and maybe this era required a different approach, too.
I sighed. “Ok, so maybe we won’t make it around the entire loop. But please, can we see more than just the giraffes?”
“Deal.”
I returned Rhys to the front carrier, and Pippa again hefted the diaper bag onto her back. After some wrangling, Pippa took Aza’s hand, and I took Bo’s hand, and we walked a teensy bit further through the African Rift Valley exhibit — all the way to the meerkats.
This may sounds species-ist, but the meerkats were nothing compared to the giraffes. Maybe it’s just because you can’t feed them. There’s even a sign on the glass — “human food may make me sick”, or something like that.
But, that didn’t stop Australis from asking — and then asking again, after I read her the sign. I was glad that she isn’t yet tall enough to clear the glass.
After that, we strolled past the lions — who were beautiful, but untheatrically sleeping — and then encountered a map.
“OH, I WANT TO SEE WHERE WE ARE!” Borealis bellowed.
He pointed to the map and muttered, “This is the zoo entrance… and we saw the giraffes… and right now, we’re… right here.” Then, turning back to us, he bellowed, “WE ARE ALMOST TO THE RHINOS!”
“Bo. I’m right here. You don’t have to yell.”
Through an obvious effort of will, Bo lowered his voice. “Oh. Sorry. But we are almost to the rhinos!”
“Which way should we go?” Pippa asked.
Bo looked at the map, then up and down the road, and then back to the map. Finally, he pointed up the hill and announced, “THIS WAY!”
“Vamos!” Pippa enthused.
As we reached the turn-off for the rhinos, we spotted the real goal of our trip.
“DIPPIN’ DOTS!” the twins shouted in unison. [Note: Rhysi didn’t join them — but give it another year, and he will.]
“We are not getting Dippin’ Dots right now,” I barked. “If you are good and obedient for the rest of the time we’re here, then we can discuss whether we’ll get Dippin’ Dots on the way home.”
“We will be good,” Bo promised, and Aza nodded in agreement.
I raised my eyebrows. “I look forward to seeing it. But for now, come on — let’s go see the rhinos and elephants.”
But just when those wrinkly grey hides were in sight… we were ambushed.
Our attacker wasn’t vicious, or even animate. It just sat there, patiently waiting to frustrate our plans — and it found an easy victim in Borealis.
“A WATER BUCKET!” he bellowed.
Before we could course-correct, he had already raced over to the trough and began spinning its handle. Water trickled into a hanging bucket, which tipped tantalizingly toward the trough.
“Wait, don’t you want to go see the rhinos?” Pippa asked.
“No, I want to do this,” Bo mumbled without looking up.
I sighed. “Oh Pippa, don’t you know that you can’t tear an engineer away from a new toy?”
“No, in fact, I did not know that.”
I shrugged. “It’s true. I wish Taylor were here.”
Aza, meanwhile, had scurried over to the other lever. She tried to spin it — only to have the handle come off in her hand.
“It’s broken!” she bawled.
“No fake crying,” I replied automatically.
Aza’s wail petered out into a whimper while I walked over to inspect the handle. Rhys turned to survey the commotion, then attempted to squirm out of the front carrier. I unstrapped him and lowered him to the ground — at which point he, too, waddled over to the water trough.
I suspected that the handle might have been removed intentionally, so I grabbed the lever itself and gave it an experimental twirl.
Nothing happened. I gave it a few more spins, but no water dumped out into the bucket.
“Sorry babe, this one has apparently been shut off,” I told Aza. “But I’m sure that Bo will give you a turn!”
“NO! I WON’T!”
I sighed. “I said, *I’m sure* that Bo will give you a turn.”
Bo groaned and rolled his eyes. “I will give her a turn… after I’m done with this.”
I took that as a partial win. At the very least, his concession would buy me a minute or two — so I took the opportunity to further investigate the pumping system. I had assumed that, once dumped, the bucket water would return to the trough — but that wasn’t the case. Instead, it fell [mostly] into an open pipe, which led to another open pipe, which led to another — etc. The final pipe emptied into a murky puddle in the elephant enclosure far below.
“Bo, come here!” I called. I looked up to see that Rhys was trailing me, with Pippa close behind.
“Rhysi, look at the elephants!” she encouraged.
Rhys recalcitrantly faced away from the elephant yard.
I laughed. “I just don’t think he’s into it.”
“Unlike Bo?” Pippa quipped, gesturing back at the pumping trough. My oldest child showed no sign of having heard my command.
“BOREALIS!” I yelled. “Come here! You’re going to like this!”
Bo finally looked up from his task. “I’M BUSY DOING THIS!”
“But where do you think the water goes after it’s dumped out of the bucket?” I called back.
He paused in his pumping. I watched him survey the bucket’s trajectory — then, just as I had, trace the water’s route along the successive pipes. When he reached our position, he announced, “THE WATER DUMPS OUT HERE!”
Except, by this point, only a few drops dribbled from the pipe’s mouth; the rest had already been lost to intermediate leaks and rapid evaporation. I suspected that a zookeeper, not a civil engineer, had designed this contraption.
I suddenly had an idea. Surely overwhelming force could mitigate poor design, right?
“Wait here!” I commanded Bo and Pippa. I trotted back over to the trough, where Aza still wrestled with the defunct second lever.
“Aza, go over by Tía Pippa!” I said. “She’ll show you something cool!”
My daughter cocked her head at me, then turned a skeptical gaze on her aunt. She appeared unconvinced.
“No, really — you’ll think it’s cool!” But then I remembered Aza’s general disinterest in STEM, so I amended, “Well, maybe.”
Even so, she slowly moseyed toward Pippa and the boys, while I got to work pumping the working lever.
“Woo, qué fuerte!” Pippa cheered. How strong!
I laughed, which caused me to temporarily lose my breath and slow my pace. The zoo’s elevation is only about 800ft higher than that of Golden, but I swear I can feel the difference. After a few seconds, though, I regained my composure and redoubled my efforts. Water gushed from the pipe, sending the bucket swinging wildly. I think half the water ended up splashing back into the trough instead of reaching its intended target, but a sizable stream nevertheless chugged down the open pipes.
Bo let out a whoop when the first big glug splashed into the puddle below — and then he came racing back over.
“I WANT TO TRY!”
“Bo, you already tried!” I pointed out.
“Yes, but I want to try again!”
I glanced over at Aza. “Will you take turns with your sister?”
“Ugh, YES!”
I chuckled. “Ok — have at it, Borealis!”
So, for the next ten minutes, my oldest son raced back and forth between the source of the water and its endpoint — alternately spinning the lever for all he was worth, then sprinting to the pipe’s opening just as the water spilled out.
“Hmm, did you mention that he’s going to be an engineer?” Pippa deadpanned.
I rolled my eyes. “No, I would never say anything like that.”
Bo was thoroughly absorbed in his task — and, luckily for him, Aza’s interests lay elsewhere: namely, with the creatures in the adjacent enclosures.
“Look!” she cooed. “There’s the mommy elephant, and there’s the baby elephant! And the baby elephant is sad because he can’t get to his mommy.”
I scrutinized the exhibit of solely adult elephants — then realized her mistake.
“Uh, Aza, that’s actually a rhinoceros, not an elephant.”
“Oh. The baby rhino is sad because he can’t get to his mommy elephant.”
Pippa and I stifled twin laughs. My daughter, the master of anthropomorphism — and if you can’t beat them, join them.
I crouched down to Aza’s level and began, “No, elephants only have elephant babies—”
“Unless they adopt!” Pippa objected.
I took a deep breath and started again. “Only elephant babies come out of elephant mommies’ bodies. It’s possible that the elephant mommy could have adopted that rhinoceros, but it’s much more likely that they’re just friends. And, sometimes friends do better when there’s a fence between them — so they can talk to each other, but they can’t accidentally hurt each other.”
Pippa nodded approvingly at my explanation, and even Aza look mollified. Rhys, meanwhile, shrieked obnoxiously and tried to pull himself back into my arms. I rose to standing and returned him to the front carrier.
“I know the shrieking thing is an important developmental step,” I told Pippa. “But it’s still not my favorite.”
She chuckled, then glanced at the time. “So, we saw, like, five animals in an hour. Are you gonna be ok with that?”
I bit my lip and surveyed my kids — each contently absorbed in their own occupations. Finally, I answered, “I mean… was the visit for them, or was the visit for me?”
Pippa gave me a faux pout. “Ah, and here I thought the visit was for me.”
I laughed and agreed, “Sí, fue para ti.”
At that moment, Bo ran over to see his latest water plug. I snagged him by the collar and said, “Hey bud, it’s time for us to go.”
“NO! I WANT TO KEEP DOING THIS!”
Aza, too, objected. “No, I don’t want to go!”
Then I played my trump card. “If we leave right now, we’ll probably still be able to get Dippin’ Dots — but if we wait any longer, we won’t be able to.”
Bo immediately pulled an about-face and started running back the way we came. “AZA! COME ON! WE HAVE TO GO GET DIPPIN’ DOTS!”
Aza promptly took off after Bo, and Pippa and I jogged in their wake. We caught up to the pair as Bo surveyed the map again.
“Ok, we just came from…” he trailed off. “ALRIGHT, WE HAVE TO GO THIS WAY! COME ON!”
Bo and Aza eventually slowed to a walk, and Bo’s navigation faltered after a few minutes. Soon, though, we reached our destination — much to everyone’s delight.
“Are you still open?” I asked the zoo worker hopefully.
He nodded. “Yep. What’ll ya have?”
The kids both picked out cotton-candy-flavored packets, and Pippa grabbed a chocolate brownie one. I saw the $6 price tag and balked. “Wow, I can’t justify that outrageous price,” I explained.
The worker shrugged, then accepted Pippa’s credit card. At that moment, an announcement rang out through the zoo.
“The zoo will be closing in thirty minutes. Please begin to make your way to the exit.”
Bo turned to me and observed, “And that is exactly why we needed to hurry here.”
I nodded. “That’s true, Borealis. Always listen to Mommy. Or something.”
We weren’t far from the exit, so I suggested that we wait to eat until we had left the zoo. We found a bench just outside the gates and settled down for our snack — which was, I’ll remind you, a narrow plastic baggie of tiny ice cream balls.
Does that sound messy? Well, it was. Australis immediately required help, which gave me the opportunity to snag a few bites myself, and to feed a few to Rhys. Pippa and Bo fed themselves, thankfully.
The treat disappeared quickly, and I soon announced, “Alright, Aza, here’s your last bite.”
I attempted to scoop the last ice cream morsels — but to my surprise, the spoon snapped in half.
“Nevermind, you’re actually done,” I amended. “Let me wipe your hands.”
I unzipped the overfull diaper bag and pulled out half its contents before completing my search. I extracted a single wipe and cleaned off Aza’s hands. She gave me a quick kiss, then meandered slowly away from the bench. I turned my attention back to my sons.
“Bo, are you all done?”
“No! I can’t get the last bite!” he whimpered pathetically.
“No fake crying,” I said again. I tried to help him fish out the last bite, but —
SNAP!
— his spoon broke in half, too. Nevertheless, I used the utensil shiv to deliver Bo’s final mouthful of melty ice cream.
“Ok, let’s wipe your hands, too — oof, we’re almost out of wipes — alright, you’re good.”
Bo ran off to join Aza, and I attempted to repack the diaper bag.
How did this all fit in here? Alright — wipes, Larabars, ring sling, water bottle, other water bottle… and zip it all back up. Barely.
I looked over to see that Bo and Aza were inspecting one of those retaining-wall-tree-planter things. As I watched, Bo began to climb up onto the wall.
“Borealis—” I called impotently. He didn’t turn.
I quickly gathered up all the trash. Two plastic pouches, two sticky wipes, four spoon halves. Rhys clawed at the handful of garbage, but I swatted him away. Pippa, meanwhile, was still quietly enjoying her Dippin’ Dots.
I whirled around in search of a trash can. There! Right by the entrance. And in between me and the trash can? My two naughty kids, who had both scaled the retaining wall and climbed fully into the small tree.
“Borealis and Australis!” I scolded. “You must get down from there!”
At the same time, a cranky voice called from the ticket window. “Boy and girl, no climbing that tree!”
I flashed an artificial smile at the cranky voice, then used my free hand to lower the twins to the ground, one at a time. They immediately took off in opposite directions — but I still had a handful of sticky trash.
“Borealis and Australis — don’t go in the street — please, I’m just trying to get us to the car — kids!”
I had totally lost control of the situation, and everyone knew it. I looked desperately at Pippa — just as she took another bite of Dippin’ Dots.
“…y Tïa Pippa está ocupada,” I observed lamely.
Pippa immediately doubled over in laughter, which was not the reaction I had anticipated.
“What!?” I demanded.
Pippa wordlessly waved away my question. I temporarily set aside my confusion — and my frustration over my kids’ disobedience — and jogged over to actually throw away my trash.
To their credit, Bo and Aza didn’t run into the parking lot. Instead, they had paused to investigate why their aunt was still incapacitated by laughter.
“Does ‘ocupada’ not mean what I think it means?” I asked.
Pippa finally caught her breath. “No, it does,” she gasped. “You said what you wanted to.”
“Then why are you laughing!?”
Alas — this query was just met with more laughter.
I sighed. “Alright, you can finish up your Dippin’ Dots in the car. If we stay here another minute, I’ll have one fewer kids.”
I took hold of Bo’s left hand and Aza’s right — and then I charged wildly across the parking lot.
“AAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!”
The kids added their own fervor: Bo yelled along, Aza attempted to twist her hand out of mine, and Rhys clawed rabidly at my chest. Pippa trailed behind, still laughing uncontrollably.
We eventually reached the car, and I commanded, “DO. NOT. MOVE.”
I must have seemed pretty scary — because for once, the twins complied. I fumbled aggressively with the lock, finally throwing open the back door, lifting each of the kids inside, and chanting, “Get in your seat, get in your seat, get in your seat, get in your seat.”
“I can’t buckle myself!” Aza complained as I lowered Rhys into his carseat.
I groaned. “Don’t you want to be the princess who knows how to buckle her own seatbelt?”
“No, I’m the princess who doesn’t know how to buckle her own seatbelt.”
“Fine, I’ll do it — but you better hope that you find a very patient prince one day.”
Pippa poked her head through the other rear door. “Don’t worry, I got it.”
I breathed a small sigh of relief. “Thanks Pippa. I’ll get Rhysi. Bo, are you good?”
Bo nodded. “Yes, I can get my own seatbelt on.” Then, unexpectedly, he gasped in excitement and asked, “Oh, can we watch Winnie the Pooh when we get to Amma’s house?”
“NO!” I roared. “I just brought you to the zoo! Didn’t you like it?”
“Yes, but I *also* like Winnie the Pooh.”
“You’re not watching Winnie the Pooh today!”
Bo pouted. “When I’m eighteen, I’ll watch Winnie the Pooh as much as I want.”
I scoffed. “I’m sure you will. But for now, I am the Mommy, and your screen time goes through me.”
I slammed the back door, then slumped into the front seat. Pippa joined me a few seconds later.
“Ok,” I sighed. “So why were you laughing?”
This query prompted another fit of giggles — but I was out of patience, so I barked, “Spit it out, Pippa!”
She composed herself enough to say, “Because I was being totally unhelpful, and you were like, ‘Hey — this is the perfect time to practice my Spanish!’”
“No time like the present,” I replied flatly. “And… I appreciate all of your help, and I recognize that sometimes, you need ‘Pippa Time’ instead of ‘Kid Time’.”
“Thank you — that was very diplomatic of you.”
I smirked. “And I hope you’re enjoying your very long-lasting Dippin’ Dots.”
Pippa held up her pouch and smiled. “Last bite!”
She dug in her spoon, and —
SNAP!
— it broke in half.
So the moral of the story is this: If you go to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, bring your sister-in-law, bring cash, and bring your own spoon.