NaBloPoMo 2010 ... #2: Breakin' the law

Susannah has music class on Saturday mornings, and on our way we often stop off at Evanston's farmer's market to pick up some local fruit. On one such excursion a few weeks ago, as we emerged from the parking garage into the market area, I acknowledged a sign on the market's outskirts.

"'No Animals Allowed.' Uh-oh, Zuzu -- that means we can't have you here, you little monkey. Better be careful!"

It's the kind of silly thing I say all the time, and both girls have pretty much become immune to such jibes. It's just the kind of thing that will make them shrink with horror when they're older. (And oh, yes, you can bet I'm going to embarrass them.) But with Zuzu, at her age, I get this killer scrunched-up face that accompanies her acknowledgment of yet another of Dad's failed attempts at a joke, and the look is hilarious and totally worth the knowledge that I am becoming my own father and doing all the things that he did that drove me crazy as a kid.

But neither the face nor a sign of disapproval came on this occasion.

"Dad, does it really say that?" she asked with her best don't-mess-with-me tone. I wasn't sure why she wasn't picking up on the fact that she is truly not a monkey. But it was clear that my job here was to set the record straight.

"It really says that, Zu, but of course you're not a monkey. Come on — this way to the raspberries."

"Why don't they let animals come here?" she asked.

"There are rules about animals being around food being sold to people," I explained.

"No animals?" she asked.

"Well, maybe guide dogs," I said. "But no other animals."

And that was that, I thought. But for the rest of the time we were at the market, she was quiet, guarded. As we walked past the farmers' stalls, she showed less-than-usual interest in oddly shaped squash, the free samples (Zuzu passing by a snack?!), or the amateur musicians she loves to give (my) dollar bills to. My five-year-old was suddenly all business. She even passed up the chance to stamp her hands with the red-inky bug stamps by the parking validation table, a longstanding tradition for both girls.

I was perplexed, but I let it ride, figuring she would get over it eventually. And an explanation for her behavior came upon our return to the garage, after we climbed the stairs to our floor and approached our car. After looking around to make sure no one was watching, Zuzu uttered a loud and dramatic: "Whew!"

She produced from inside her fleece a stuffed animal and hugged it to her face, insisting with all of her maternal instinct, "You're safe now, Lamb-ie."