It was a wild morning in the garden, and baby monkey Harry had been up to everything naughty. He had pulled all the clean laundry off the line, dumped the snack basket upside down, and even tried to ride the broom like a flying stick.
Mom warned him softly. “Harry, enough now. Be calm.”
But Harry was in full chaos mode.
When she took the broom away, he squealed. When she picked up the snacks, he kicked. And when she said, “No more jumping,” he jumped right off the couch onto the swing pillar — arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
Then came the real tantrum.
Harry clung to the swing’s rope, dangling dramatically, and began his loudest, most heartbreaking cry.
“WAAAHHHH! WAAAHHHH! EEEEEK!”
He threw his head back, legs kicking, fur puffed up like an angry puffball. But this time, Mom didn’t run over like she usually did.
She stood nearby, watching calmly, arms folded. “You made a mess, Harry. Mama’s here, but I won’t come just because of a tantrum.”
Harry blinked through his tears, surprised.
He cried louder. No response. He pouted. Still no reaction.
Finally, the crying slowed… then stopped.
Harry sat on the swing, sniffling softly, glancing at Mom.
She walked over slowly, knelt down, and opened her arms. “Come when you’re ready, little monkey.”
Harry hesitated… then slid down into her hug, his tantrum finally over.
Mom kissed his cheek and wiped away the last tear. “Next time, we clean up, not act up.”
He nodded sleepily, holding on tight.
Sometimes love means letting them feel their big feelings — even while hanging on a swing.
