Tuesday, August 8, 2017
Friday, August 4, 2017
I grew up on a bike. I loved flying down the street, my timid feet planted firmly on the brake, so I wasn't really flying but going as darn fast as I dared. My brother gave me a hard time about how slowly my "fast as I dared" was, but I won't go there today.
When my first boys were 2,4, and 6, Jay and I decided to spend Grandma Jeanne's Christmas money on little bikes for them. Alec's bike was little. Ben's bike was tiny, and the bicycle for Chris was downright tiny. We had a large RV garage, so they pedaled their little hearts out, round and round the garage. They arranged stacked boxes to make racetracks and spent hours in there. Seeing their fun, of course Jay and I had to purchase bicycles for ourselves. From then on, we rode bikes to school. Alec and Ben parked their bikes carefully in the big bike rack, and Chris and I would head back home, stopping at the post office on the way. It was an itty-bitty small town and we pedaled all over it.
A few months later, we moved to the Seattle area. We found many bike trails snaking alongside the river and through town. We packed up our dinner, loaded it into the bike trailer with Baby David, and rode off into the sunset. What fun we had!
Not long after Eddie was born, a neighbor gave us their bike rack. Huge and made of solid steel, it held all our bike upright and tangle free. This is where the bicycles belong. Not falling over each other, not on top of the sprinklers, not stashed into the bushes, not languishing on the front lawn. What a wonderful organizational tool!
And do the children actually use it? Ha.