I was flat out not prepared for letting my tiny precious breakable wobbly adventurous daredevil human to ride a bike. It was all fun and games when we were on our little side street weaving cones and brushing up on skills. But then she wants to ride to her friend’s house along the speedway of 15th Street.
I mean just look at her. She is clearly in peril. She is unskilled and unprepared. Let’s run to the store and get elbow pads, knee pads, shoulder pads, a rib cage protector, maybe just an entire suit of armor. Why are humans not coated in some sort of protective shell anyway, like beetles or turtles?
Despite my current exploration into naming emotions, the only one I can think of to describe riding behind her on the sidewalk of a busy street is fear. No, terror. Physical discomfort. She’s too far in front of me. She’s going to slip on the wet leaves and veer right into traffic. She will probably ride right off the curb and into the drainage ditch. And why is that drainage spout so big anyway? A small human could fall in! I should call the city. Oh my god, she just raced across that intersection without even looking! Easy on the downhill! Stay in control! Brake! Watch out for those sugar maple droppings! Wet leaves! And oh my god, why is everyone driving so fast! Slow down! This is all just a death trap! Abort! Abort!
Not prepared. But we all survived the ride. Four times, in fact. The final time we headed home as she rode down the rollercoaster sized hill to our turn, she let out a massive WHOHOOOOO, her hair and helmet wings flapping in the wind. Then almost fell into the drainage ditch turning onto our street.
Obviously I must hide or sell the bike before she visits again but it was fun while it lasted. Two wheels is far to dangerous for mothers of breakable children. I think we will keep both feet on the ground inside the fenced in back yard from now on. But I should probably still order the suit of armor.
The Isms of the Ic 