Not My Monkeys

article by Meredith McKinnie

Our preschooler revels in social situations. She admits nervousness while on the way to school, but shortly after we slow down in the reduced speed zone, she plasters a smile across her face that charms strangers. I’m similar in that personal interactions don’t induce anxiety, but exuding charm is nonetheless work. Each afternoon, I pick up an equally exuberant little girl, hair askew, shirt stained, with a beaming expression on her tiny frame. I’m learning the ways of Pre-K. Students receive green or red slips of paper in their folders each day, designating good behavior (green) or poor behavior (red). Likewise, she will judge her little sister’s actions as red or green choices. My preschooler has yet to bring home a red slip. I have no doubt she has found some way of conjuring the remnants of good behavior.

Last Thursday afternoon, after bouncing into her car seat, said Preschooler produces three little monkeys from her bag, the type that come in barrels and connect via elbows. I inquired the source of the monkeys, as children are forbidden from bringing toys to school and I’d never seen one brought home without an explanation from Teacher. She quickly explained that Teacher had given her the monkeys, which sounded odd, but the subject faded. A few hours later, Preschooler and Little Sister are taking turns burying the monkeys in the backyard when their father asks the monkeys’ origin. After a brief pause, Preschooler casually claims to have discovered them in the yard. I snapped a picture of the monkeys, texted the teacher, and asked “Do these belong to you?” The conversation that ensued changed everything for my beaming child.

Apparently, this had become a problem at school. Preschooler started nonchalantly moving toys from one play station to the next, followed soon by taking toys out during recess and passing them off as her own, even though the action had been strictly forbidden. This was news to me, as I had rested easily on those daily green slips. Teacher thought the action minor until she progressed to outright thievery. I marched into the bathroom where the culprit and Little Sister were covered in bubbles, stared intently until I caught her eye, and insisted, “Wilder, tell me about the monkeys.” A look of panic spread on that normally cheery face. She proceeded to “um…um” for a few seconds, and then said, “So Mom, what happened was I think I put the monkeys in my pocket and accidentally brought them home.” I squinted my eyes, conveying my displeasure and disbelief. “So, they weren’t a gift from Teacher, and they weren’t found in the backyard. You stole them from school, and then you lied to me and your dad about it.” Silence ensued until Little Sister piped in, “Wildey bad.”

Our bandit was sent straight to bed after her bath, no cuddle time in the parent’s bed, no cartoon, no bedtime story. She was distraught. Any interruption in routine sends this one over the edge. As I tucked her in, I laid on the terms of compensation. “Tomorrow, you are going to return those monkeys. You are going to apologize to Teacher for stealing. Then, you are going to stand up in front of the entire class and tell them you’re sorry for taking the class toys home without permission. Do you understand me?” She lost it. It would be too embarrassing. Everyone would think she was a bad person. And to make it all worse, the next day was Book Character Day. We had been assembling her Fern (from Charlotte’s Web) costume all week.

The next morning, we dressed in silence. I rolled up the baggy jeans, laced the sneakers, braided the pigtails, and situated Fluffy Oink Oink (her beloved stuff pig) in the crook of her elbow. I told her she looked cute, but she still had a duty to perform that morning, and I would be texting Teacher an hour after drop off to make sure. My normally boisterous preschooler sat in silence. She denied hunger and refused to reiterate morning affirmations. She dreaded going to school that day. It’s hard watching your kid suffer, especially when you can eliminate the madness, but she had to learn.

The silence continued until we entered the reduced speed zone. Then Wilder made her last stand. “So Mom, I’ve been thinking. I should apologize tomorrow, not today, because today I’m Fern, not Wilder.” I almost choked, suppressing my laughter. Though genuinely impressed by the mental acumen to summon such an excuse, I held strong. “Regardless of whether you are Fern or Wilder today, YOU stole the monkeys. And YOU will apologize today. I suggest getting it over with first thing so you can enjoy Book Character Day.” She calmly gathered her bookbag, emoted half a grin as her school escort opened the door, and slumbered inside the building. Less than five minutes later, or two miles down the road, I received a text message from Teacher: “Apologies extended and accepted.” Fern/Wilder made amends, and hopefully gained some moral clarity.