Operation Save The Bike

So, by now I have made it abundantly clear that my mini-human (and my oldest niece) live for their “dirt bikes”. I mean people, when I have to take my child to the car in the morning to get him to family members who watch him while I’m at work I have to make sure his “dirt bike” is nowhere in sight when I head out to warm up my car. Because if his little butt see’s his “dirt bike”, game over, I have to battle him to get in the car at 6:50AM and take away his bike. My neighbor has five boys so she’s okay with the early morning battles.

Anyways, let’s get back to the post, I think I’m going to start making myself a jacket and putting little awards on it for the number of times I have had to save both mini-human’s “dirt bikes”. Or them. My favorite story involves my precious niece, just a quick background she is almost four, she thinks she’s a princess to the point that my son bows to her, she loves dresses and fun hair, she is a girls girl. But she too loves to be outside, having fun, and most of all riding her “dirt bike”. Again these “dirt bikes”? They’re Strider bikes people, and they get ridden so much I’m shocked they aren’t destroyed. Geez sorry back to the story. So my sweet little princess of a niece comes over, after the littlest of three kids goes down for her nap we get dressed, she is in some teal light pants with glitter on the sides and a pink camo jacket. I’m still not sure why my sister insists on sending anything other than black but I just keep thinking they’re old pants that don’t matter. I’m gonna have to remember to ask. She gets her hair done up in a princess bun and my son gets dressed and we journey outside. They hop on their bikes and they are off. They’re really good about staying out of the mud unless I’m down there with them (again that anxiety likes to kick in and I’m terrified they’re going to drown in the mud), they take laps around the house and fly down my driveway. We have recently gotten chickens so my first chunk of time outside I’m in the garage harassing the girls, and they usually fly by every other minute and yell something at me. Not this particular day.

On this particular day I was minding my own business trying not to follow the kids around like a crazy clingy stalker, and for a moment I felt so at ease. And then it happened. I heard the terrible sound of my niece screaming like she was dying and yelling “HELP! I’M DYING!”. So naturally me and my thick thighs drop the chicken stuff and run like the wind because of course something tragic is occurring and from how far her voice sounded I knew it was down by the mud pit and forest. As I’m running as fast as I can (which is just sooooo fast) I keep thinking I forgot my phone in the garage how am I going to call for help? I get closer to the mud pits and I can still hear her screaming that she’s dying and needs help and I can tell that when I reach her, her precious little face is going to be red and covered in tears. And I was right about her face being red and covered in tears. But I tell you what, as soon as I reached her my face turned about 10 times redder than hers. I get there, my son is standing at the edge of the mud just chilling on his bike, staring at her and not moving. First that’s rude someone is dying and you can’t bother to help? Obviously I need to get him in the Boy Scout’s or something. And then I locate my sweet, innocent, precious niece. And I don’t see her trying to keep her head above the mud (they went straight for the deep one), I don’t see in a bears mouth, I really don’t see much. This is what I see. Her bike fell over, and the stinking handle bars caught her rubber boot strap and had her hooked. She had mud on her hands and a lone hand print on her pants. She was not dying, but I’m thinking she might have wished she was after the fact. I just stared at her because I was so relieve and so mad at the same time, that’s a really awkward sensation, like I’m super glad you aren’t actually in peril but I just spent 10 seconds panicking and on the verge of vomiting. I picked her up by her arm, half chucked her in the bushes (I held on to her but it was the nearest spot to get her out of any mud) and picked up her bike, we held hands (I held her wrist and half carried her with me), and we went up front to the porch. I didn’t even have to say anything I just pointed at my front step and she sat down, still crying. I finally relaxed and tried to reason (with a nearly four year old) that that was not a good reason to scream that they were dying. Her response was fabulous, it was along the lines of the fact that she was trapped by her bike and she was covered in mud. Apparently a hand print on your pants qualifies as being covered in mud. I was then asked if I save the bike from the mud, I just walked away and told them to go play in the driveway. Toddler’s are the most precious, but they really tick me off sometimes, especially when I have to do my fast run.

Another story involves my very own miniature human creation. It also again involves the big mud pit. At some point his bike fell over and instead of continuing to straddle it and pick it back up (like he always does guys) he decided to put one foot on it and lift it up. Do you see the problem here? He then starts getting upset and yelling at me (like it was my idea for him to pick it up in the most ridiculous fashion) to save his bike because it was getting muddy. I mean apparently on this day he was going to some bike convention and he needed his bike in prime condition? I don’t really know because since he got his bike it has never been clean. Again, I just kinda stared at him and the more he yelled at me the more I got angry. I tried to explain to him to move his fat baby foot but he was beyond reason. Sooooo instead of being a calm mom and helping my child I moved him, grabbed the bike and threw it. I mean this spurred on the breakdown but I felt good for a solid 5 seconds.

I’m sick of saving these bikes. Those are only two stories. These kids got these bikes for Easter like 2 years ago. There has been a lot of bike saving. I’m over it. Save your own bike next time tiny tyrants.

I know I don’t know who I’m kidding, I’m going to have to keep saving these bikes. This is my life, muddy bikes and breakdowns. Not always, but I solid portion. And I’m okay with that.