126/365 Zoo

"When you took Leo to back," I ask Mike after church, "did you go to the Utah Vestibule?"

"Nah," he shakes his head. "It's sort of become a zoo for choir folks' kids."

It has.

I go back and forth on this now. I sat back there on Sunday for a bit after Leo got away from me in the pew at the offertory. Dolores' daughter and her two wild ones were back there, their mom leaning against the wall looking tired. The little girl came up to me after I sat down and handed me a book. "Read!" she shouted.

"I'm trying to listen to church. You can sit on my lap, but I'm not going to read," I told her quietly. She climbed up on my lap.

"Read!" she demanded again. Her mom picked her up, embarrassed or at her wits' end (oftentimes, when I'm one, I'm the other as well). They left with her brother to go downstairs instead.

There was a little girl, a daughter of one of the choir members, coloring on the floor and yelling at her little brother. They are Maeve's and Leo's ages. Leo played with the little boy for a few minutes and then sat on the floor holding a ball someone had brought. The two kids' dad was more engaged, but they had definitely come to play. And even stranger, one of my girl scouts was back there. A third grader. Sort of helping out, sort of causing trouble indirectly, playing with the 5 year old girl.

But what to do? Complain? Mention to the girl scout that maybe she should join her dad in the choir? I didn't want to get her into trouble.

"You're Bridgett, right?" the dad asks me.

"Yeah, we've met before," I say, friendly. "At Astrid's houses, halloween."

He nods. Our sons play together a few more minutes there on the floor, and then it's time for communion.

Zoo, yes. Unnecessary cage for children, maybe. Allows some families to come to church? I don't know. I'm torn.