How My Children Fall into the Background

For the record, the Matron eschews Indoor Climbing Activity, like McDonald's PlayLand! (group shudder!)

But today she was persuaded to take the offspring to Lookout Ridge, one of those sprawling indoor jungles. Because she had been there once before and recalled promising laptop possibility, she put hers in a bag and said: "Yes!"

Friends? Can you say Heaven-Nirvana-Spot on Oprah all at once? Her children--all 3, even though Stryker had a good decade on a quarter of the crowd -- fell into the urban playground and disappeared!!

The Matron could not have been happier! She pulled out her laptop and escaped, entirely.

Background. This indoor fake-jungle is in the basement of a large building housing an indoor garden and pond, pleasant cafe, and library. What's not to love? But while the children exhaust themselves in the play area, the parents sit placidly in four rows of chairs lined up to face the jungle -- and two lovely long tables with outlets in the back. This area has not garden, no nicety, just chairs and those two tables facing the jungle where children play.

Every so often, as the Matron (at a table) worked on Creation and Art, she would look up from her laptop to experience one of these two thoughts:

1. Why are these people sitting on chairs and staring at the jungle without books, computers, magazines, knitting or craft? Just sitting and staring at the fake trees hiding their children. Don't they know they could be reading?

2. Hope my children are still in there.

Oh, she soon learned they were.

Stryker came out, followed by a gaggle of boys.

Stryker: "Mom. Meet my minions. This is Henry, Seth, Christopher, Thomas and Tray."

Matron: "Minions?"

Stryker: "I've got more inside."

And he turned on a heel and plunged into the jungle, with a gaggle of six-year olds in hot pursuit.

Whenever the Matron looked up to experience her two thoughts, she noticed that Stryker had become the Pied Piper.

Then, as she was working, she heard a dim roar get louder. The entire basement complex began to vibrate and hum. From the depths of the jungle came this:

Stomp, stomp, stomp. Stomp, stomp, stomp. "WE WILL, WE WILL ROCK YOU. WE WILL, WE WILL ROCK YOU."

The room fairly exploded with the sound: WE WILL WE WILL ROCK YOU!

The placid parents looked around, surprised and uncertain. Awake. And not entirely happy to be placed in Unusual Situation. Not one child was in sight, not even a toddler. The children had been replaced by this: WE WILL, WE WILL, ROCK YOU!"

The Matron had not one doubt about who was in charge of this impromptu rock concert. She strode--bravely, brazenly in the 'socks only' area on her very fine high heels and yelled: "Stryker?"

Stryker: "Yes?"

Matron (sensing the room's instant discomfort): "Stop it."

Stryker: "Minions! Cease and desist! Call down!"

Traipsing back to her table, she noticed how many parents were packing up to leave all of a sudden.

She understands that some children are mellow, laid back. Why couldn't she get at least one of them?