They were little runaway monkeys.
It's damned amazing ***I*** as a parent survived.
I guess I deserved it. My mom tells me how she was gardening one day and looked up and saw her dear little two year old Hunter peering down at her from the edge of the roof. I remember that too, climbing up the porch trellis and feeling quite pleased with myself. I also clearly remember what raw fresh-from-the-garden pill bugs, earthworms, and escargot taste like...
The reason my wife and I didn't keep our kids in playpens or cribs is that we couldn't. My mom bought us a nice crib for our oldest. I think the third time we heard the "THUNK!!!" of a kid leaping (or controlled falling...) onto a wooden floor, well that was that. The crib was useless. Kids want to sleep with us, kids will sleep with us. It's either that or a cage.
The weirdest thing is I sometimes dream I'm a gibbon, flinging myself through the trees. That's the single reason I would approve of building I giant moonbase. I want a public park on the moon with a jungle so I can swing through the trees chasing flying chickens. I think the chickens would enjoy flying as much as I enjoyed swinging through the trees.
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