By the third year, they'd started bringing a lawn chair.

They had to admit — their ex ran a great flying monkey parade. 🪑🐒

The Grand Marshal. The matching uniforms. The precision formation. All those little helpers, marching in perfect step, executing the agenda without question.

Recruiting, training, and deploying flying monkeys at this scale takes real organizational talent. You almost have to respect the logistics.

Almost.

The lawn chair represents something important: the moment you stop being surprised by the parade and start just... watching it. Not engaging. Not chasing the floats. Just sitting, sipping something cold, and recognizing the circus for what it is.

That's not defeat. That's parallel parenting enlightenment. ☀️