DAY FOUR, FINALE: Part II

It's the last day of Fiesta '06. By 8:55, I can tell we're going out in first-class style.

The Amigos have shown up without much discernable "leadership" from their leaders (the teens are too tired for crowd control, I postulate, and won't be any good to anyone until they make a Starbucks run or get sugared up on donated cookies at breaktime). One of the many Julias has added to the frenetic energy by finding and cornering "a baby lizard" in the cubbies. Not only does she capture said creature in her plump, 5-year-old fist, she fends off three boys (two larger!) to maintain possession of it. Breaking up the scuffle, I find the unfortunate being's tail near a StarWars sneaker on the floor. I am pretty sure it's NOT a lizard. The tail is completely white except for a series of black spots running down each side. The skin appears, um, moist (just yeeck, I know), and it's twitching with a vengeance. A newt, perhaps? Lord, let that thing not be poisonous, I pray. Please don't let the child swell up and die as soon as she gets to Grande Games and accelerates her heart rate.

I send Julia out to the nearest patch of grass to let the "baby" go. (If this were Hogwarts School of Wichcraft and Wizardry instead of First Christian Church, I am suddently sure Julia would bethe student to rescue a baby dragon.) I continue. The treat is a demanding one to mix and assemble, and I, too, could use a Frappacino to get my synapses firing. Suddenly I notice a short little camper sneaking back IN the door -- baggy white T; bright blue eyes; mischieveous grin... it's Michael! AWOL alert! Michael has left the room, and no one has noticed or verified where he's been.

I call the teen leaders to duty, roughly (not my best moment but, HELLO! I'm a mother, and only in my worst nightmare are we EVER gonna tell another mother, "I'm sorry. We lost your kid."). I grab Michael's hand (well, "entire upper arm region" is more accuarte) and escort him QUICKLY out the door for a dressing down. We run into Julia in the hallway, and this Who's on First routine follows:

Me, to M: "Where have you been?"
J: "Outside. Like you said!"
M: (simultaneously) "Wif her!"
J: "Yeah, he scratched me, see?"
Me: (Notice angry red welt running from the back of Julia's hand to almost her elbow.)
"WHAT?" Then, addressing anyone: Why?"
J: "He was trying to get the baby lizard!"
M: "I WANTED the lizard!"
Me: "Julia, is the lizard safe?"
J: "Yes."
Me: "Did he bite you?"
J: "No."
Me: "OK. Do ya' have any, er, animal allergies I need to be aware of?"
J: (Blank stare.)
M: "Can I go now?"
Me: "YOU? You, mister, cannot go anywhere unless an ADULT knows -- not ever again? OK?"
M: (Nods and looks down.)
Me: (Channeling Muttley from the old Hanna-Barbera cartoons; internally saying something like, "Rassum brassum ricken-frasss!!") Aloud: "Well, OK, then. This was NOT COOL, little man. NOT COOL! But it's over now. Both of you, go inside and make some Cactus Crispies!"

...It takes at least 10 minutes for me to realize I never told Julia to rewash her hands.