Would anyone care to enlighten me as to just why I thought raising a five-year-old would be a breeze? Or why I thought that a five-year-old who is really Daniel Jackson would make it easier than raising a 'normal' kid? I'll be the first to admit that the kid is making up for his skipped-over 'terrible twos' year in spades--now that he's a full-fledged second-grader, I'm beginning to get a sense that his rebellious streak is a few hundred miles wide.

Which is why I'm four houses down the road, standing at the base of metal scaffolding and looking up. Way up.

"Daniel Jackson, I'm telling you to get down here this minute!" 'So I can whup you into next week.'

Just for the record, Daniel's not on the scaffolding. Oh no, no, no. He's on the roof of our neighborhood's newest pet project. "Daniel!" This is the fifth time in about three days he's climbed up there--if I don't get him down, our trusty police force will be called in. I'm not overly worried about that; it's Daniel plummeting face-first, two floors to paved ground that gets my stomach totally turned over itself. Why couldn't he have retained his fear of heights when he was shrunk?

The bane of my existence and light of my life peeks over the lip of the roof at me, cheeky smile parting the still baby-chubby cheeks, dimpling both corners as one hand absently pushes hair out of his face. Daniel's refused to let me have his hair cut; I think he likes the effect the 'adorable factor' has when he peeks out from behind that fringe of hair. He knows, though, that it doesn't work on me.

Most of the time.

"Jack, you c'n see everything from here! Come'n'see!"

The neighbors are starting to gather--'Can't Colonel O'Neill control his own child?'--and Mrs. Mizier is getting out her trusty cell phone. With a grimace, I put my foot down. "Daniel, if you're not down here by the time I count to ten"--of course I use 'ten'; 'three' would result in a broken neck--"we aren't going to the cabin this weekend."

That got his attention. "Jaaack, I'm just playin'!" he hollers.

"That's not a playground!" I shout back at him. "Now get your butt down here! Mrs. Mizier is calling the police!"

I almost regret threatening him with that, even though it's true; the old bat's gesticulating wildly, glasses perched precariously on the end of her nose. I watch Daniel's face pale from where I'm standing, and with a roll of my eyes I begin negotiating my way up the scaffolding. If he's worried the police are coming he'll be shaky and nervous coming down; another surefire recipe for broken bones. He begins climbing down, though, and I meet him more than halfway to the top, looping one of my arms behind his knees, waiting until he clings to my head before I let him slip down so he's more or less sitting on my arm. "I'm sorry, Jack," he whispers, tucking his head into the hollow of my neck. "I just wanted to get real high up."

"All right," I soothe, "but you know you're not allowed up there; I've told you that since they started building this place. How come you didn't listen to me?"

He shrugs against me, hiding his face when the neighbors gather around to make sure he's all right. "Thanks ladies." I steer us away from the fawning elderlies, shrugging very macho-ly at their husbands.

"Colonel, that boy is going to get himself killed," Mrs. Mizier's shrill voice and thick Polish accent cuts through the concerned tones of the others. "I've called the police; they're sending a man over here as soon as they can to set him straight."

"Why thank you, Mrs. Mizier." The woman doesn't like me; ever since I bought the place from her Bingo buddy almost nine years ago she's had it in for me.

"Am I goin' to jail?" Daniel whimpers. The ladies "Awwwwww" and start cooing at each other as I cuddle him, glaring at Mrs. Mizier as I pass.

"No, you're not going to jail. I doubt the police will even come out."

"I don't wanna go to jail, Jack," he sniffles.

"Don't worry, buddy; they'll have to go through me, first."

=====

As it turns out, the police do show up. Well...'police' meaning 'Pete'. The almost reluctant knock comes on the door and Daniel runs the other way as I pull the door open and reveal Shanahan himself, Carter's beau shrugging sheepishly at me. "I insisted they let me come out, Colonel," he admits. "I figured this was what he was up to; Sam told me you've been having a bit of trouble with him climbing up there."

Despite my pissy mood over the fact that Mrs. Mizier actually called in the boys in blue, I'm relieved that it's someone who actually understands our situation that showed up. "Thanks. Hey Daniel," I call, "c'mon out here; it's just Pete."

A little blur attaches itself to my leg and nearly hauls my pants down with the force of the anxious tugging they're getting, and Daniel reaches his other hand up for mine. "Jack said I don't hafto go to jail," he announces wobbily through the last of some hiccupping tears.

"Aw, don't worry about that, partner," Pete assures him, crouching down to Daniel's level. "They just sent me over to talk to you, make sure you know not to go up there in case you get hurt, all right?"

Daniel glares at him through puffy eyes, but he likes Pete; he and Carter have taken him out for many an afternoon excursion and Daniel somehow always comes back with more toys and treats than he knows what to do with. Finally, he nods decisively. "'Kay."

"O-kay then. How about I tell you a story, huh?"

"'Bout what?" He's curious now; Daniel hears the word 'story' and as long as it's a good one, you can keep him quiet for hours.

"Well, it's about a little guy I knew back when I was working in Denver. He did the same thing you like to do; climb up the scaffolding--"

"Jungle gym," Daniel corrects solemnly.

"Ah...right. Jungle gym. Anyway, this little fella--his name was...Luke--"

"Like Luke on 'Star Wars'?"

"Uh, yeah, just like that."

"Was he a Jedi?"

I can't help but chuckle. "Daniel, let Pete tell the story, all right? He's busy."

"Sor-ry..."

Pete grins. "No problem. No, he wasn't a Jedi, but he really liked adventure, and exploring, and he thought the sca--jungle gym was the best place around his neighborhood to climb and have some adventures."

This isn't too bad; Daniel's enraptured and if Pete can make a lesson out of this...

"But one day Luke found a rat's nest under the house with the jungle gym..."

Uh...

"And even though the people who were building the house told Luke not to climb the jungle gym because they had to exterminate the rats, Luke didn't listen to them and kept climbing up. Now the rats didn't like that too much, and when Luke was going to climb back down to go home for supper--"

"Was he gonna have ice cream?" Daniel just has to know.

"Yup. He wanted chocolate and vanilla swirl ice cream. But the rats love chocolate and vanilla swirl ice cream, and they could smell it because Luke ate so much of it. So when Luke came back down, the rats were hungry and mad because this boy was climbing their jungle gym, and...they ate him."

Okay, too far.

Daniel's eyes are as wide as saucers and he's frozen to the spot, hands still clenching my pant leg and hand, and my free hand is flexing in and out of a fist, ready to pulverize Pete. But he's oblivious and just nods seriously. "So listen, when Jack and all the ladies tell you not to climb the jungle gym, they're telling you that for a good reason. They don't want you to get eaten like Luke did."

The three of us are just standing in the kitchen like someone hit the mute button, and we're probably an amusing picture--Pete, nodding to himself and Daniel like he just shared the greatest tidbit of advice he's ever heard, Daniel blinking dumbly like he doesn't know how to react and me...well, if the throbbing behind my eyes is any indication, my face is probably blood red.

"JAAAAACCCK...." Daniel wails, and I pick him up, wondering if my knee can connect with Pete's jaw before the sorry excuse for a cop stands up. "I don't wanna get eated!!"

"You're not gonna get eated--eaten," I soothe him, trailing off when I take in Pete's expression. Carter's beau has both eyebrows expectantly raised, hands resting comfortably on his hips. "I..." Oh, what the hell. "The rats will leave you alone if you stay off the jungle gym. I promise."

"They won't come get me?"

"You got it."

He sniffles a little, swipes the back of his hand over his nose, nearly flattening it into his face, and nods. "'Kay."

Wait a minute--it actually worked? "Wai--you're not going to go on the jungle gym anymore?"

"No."

"Good." I set him down, still shell-shocked, and look up into Pete's smugly triumphant face. Daniel slips outside, eyeing the distant scaffolding nervously. "Thanks," I say to Pete. "That was...oddly inventive, albeit nightmare-inducing."

"Hey, whatever works; that's what I've discovered. Kids'll get over it; that's why they like scary movies." Pete grins slightly, then turns with a little bounce. "Anyway, I guess I'll be going. Later."

"Yeah; later." I return my attention to Daniel, who's shifting his weight from foot to foot, and shoots a tremulous smile up at Pete as the cop ruffles his hair as he passes. Pete climbs into his squad car and takes off, and not two seconds later, Daniel's off and running. "Hey!" I shout, out the door in an instant. The knees are slowing me down, though, and I make it to the yard in time to watch Daniel scurry over to the scaffolding again. That manipulative little..."Daniel, get down! The, uh...the rats--they're coming!"

I get the ultimate in 'what a moron you are' look from over his shoulder. "There's no rats, Jack!" he calls. "Pete was just makin' that up!"

I grab him around the middle and haul him off the metal, giving the construction guys a grunt as I pass, Daniel hanging like a dejected sack over my shoulder. "Think he'll bring a rat with him next time?"

=====

The End