Brake Down

In a small town in northeast Montana, located squarely on a reservation, I spent my childhood years between six and eight. I'm guessing I was seven at the time -- too big for my little bike, and too small for my mom's -- but I loved to ride.

The day I discovered I could reach the pedals on my mother's bicycle while sitting on the seat, marked the day I was "grown up" -- nevermind that I couldn't reach the ground from that position. I couldn't tell you whether or not I had her permission, but it sort of seems that I did, so I took off on a cruise around the block encircling the Northside Elementary School, which lay just across the street from the church my dad pastored.

The block in question was situated on a hill, which was steep enough to have to stand up on the pedals to get enough push, but not steep enough to give up and walk the bike to the top. The ride on the way back down was fast enough to give a little thrill, but not so fast I'd go flying out of control as long as I rode the brakes at the appropriate times -- I was never much of a daredevil.

I must have made the round trip three or four times, gaining confidence with each passing lap. Of course, confidence leads to over-confidence, and over-confidence leads to carelessness -- and in a child riding a bicycle far too big for her frame, that is a dangerous formula.

My last time around, on the down hill stretch, I laid off the brake. I was grown up after all, and I could handle a little more speed. I sat back and coasted, gaining momentum with every revolution of the wheel, and soon I was going too fast -- the rush of excitement turned to panic. My frantic efforts to brake my speed were ineffectual -- my mother's bike had only hand brakes, and my hands were the small and weak hands of a seven-year-old child. The rushing air slapped my face, taking my breath away and making a scream impossible.

As the bicycle and I flew down the hill out of control, the church came rushing to meet me. I would be at the glass entry doors any second, but the building itself was my only hope to stop the mad cascade to the bottom of the hill and into the busy highway below.

Somehow I managed to aim for the church, and as the tires leapt the ramped curb, I turned the wheel ever so slightly and slammed full force into the rock wall, narrowly missing going through the glass doors. My inertia sent me flailing forward, but the slanted bar on the bike broke my momentum, and I came crashing down on my pelvic bone. The seat behind me dug into my back as I ricocheted off the bar and slid down to the ground.

The front wheel was badly bent, and the bicycle was no longer usable after that day, but my mom didn't yell at me. She bandaged my wounded back and my wounded pride while she comforted me on the couch until my whimpering subsided.

To this day the scar on my back can bear witness to exactly how high the bicycle seat reached when I stood my full height from the ground, the day I rode my mother's bike.

That's All There Is

There is an episode of Friends in which Rachel found out about a pros and cons list Ross had made about dating her. Anybody remember that one? He is trying to decide between Julie and Rachel and he lists all these things about Rachel: She's spoiled; She has big calves; She's just a waitress, etc. When Rachel finally starts talking to Ross again, she says, "Imagine the worst things you think about yourself and the person you care most about uses them as reasons not to be [friends] with you."

I'm going to risk being transparent right now. There are things about myself that I am sensitive about. Most of the time I can joke about them in order to cover how they make me feel, but sometimes... (yeah, I occasionally have feelings) Sometimes somebody says something about one of those things, and it just goes straight to my heart (yeah, I've got one of those too).

No, I'm not "just a waitress", and I actually have freakishly skinny legs. I'm definitely not spoiled. Rachel's issues aren't mine. Instead people say I am hard to read; I am unapproachable and intimidating; or (my personal favorite) I seem to have no personality.

You know what? I am quiet, reserved, and I can hide emotion like nobody's business -- especially if I think it's nobody's business. But I don't think it's fair to assume that that is all there is to me. If you're going to reject me, please at least...

Nevermind. If you're going to reject me like that, you probably weren't worth crying over anyway.

I'M THE WORST EVER!

I would say the title pertains to my blogging of late (say, about the last nine months or so), but -- yeah, it doesn't.

I took the kids to the roller rink on Friday night. One of my friends from work had told me about lessons they do on Fridays, so I figured it was a good time to take the kids. They have the rink almost completely to themselves, and someone is teaching them how to do it right. Pretty cool.

Lou had never been on skates before in his life. It took him about ten minutes to get down to the other end of the rink where they started the lesson. Half-way there he had a major break down. I could see him leaning up against the wall with his head buried in his hands. I could tell even from a distance that he was crying. I was trying to keep Taz afloat, but I left him floundering for a few minutes to go tend to Lou (Taz LOVED it).

When I got to Lou, I heard him sobbing. "What's wrong, Buddy?" I asked.

"I can't do this!" He hollered at me. "I'm the WORST EVER!" I tried to encourage him and tell him he couldn't expect to be perfect on the very first try. That's why he was in lessons, to learn how to do it. He didn't want to listen to any of that. So, in the end, I had to hold him under the arms and push him to the end of the rink for the class opening meeting. I left him sulking on the floor and went back to keep an eye on Taz.

An hour later, I called to Lou that it was time to go. "Just one more time around, Mom! This is FUN!" he responded to me as he flew by the rink gate.

So much for being the worst ever!

That's 0% Funny

I think most of us have experienced this. If not as a parent, at least as a child. You're trapped in a small enclosed space with your worst enemy (a sibling). It's a road trip. And it doesn't matter if they are trying to bug you or not -- they BUG you. At some point during the trip, you will hear someone say, "MO-OM! SHE'S LOOKING AT ME!"

We had a similar experience recently. We were in the car, which is much more crowded than the van. We were on a short trip... just to church. Lou and QB were rubbing elbows -- literally -- and that is NOT a good thing. Lou was tired and not in the mood to be trifled with, plus he was going to church -- not his favorite.

After the usually bickering about which seatbelt belonged to whom and who was touching whom(to which, of course, I had wisely replied, "Keep your hands to yourselves"), QB committed one final crime which could not be tolerated in even the worst of torture chambers:

"MO-OM!!! Her doll is LOOKING at me!"

Well, I'm sorry, but it was so funny I just had to laugh. I mean, her doll? That was one I had never heard. However, my laughing was also not to be tolerated (I probably did overdo it a bit-- but, dang it, that was funny!).

In utter exasperation, Lou turned his anger on me, "MOM, THAT IS ZERO PER CENT FUNNY!"

End of an Era

Yeah, that's right. School is out. Eighth graders have moved on. I have three days left to be at work, and I will have officially completed my first year at the new school. Put the kids out in the wading pool for the first time of the season today. I have all my grading done, so the only thing left to do is plan for the summer vacation.

First thing on the agenda is to go pick up our new puppy. We acquired her at the end of March, but left her with family until we could be home with her full time for training purposes. We'll do that next weekend. Should be an adventure... and I must admit I'm a little nervous. I haven't had to train a puppy for thirteen years.

Next thing will be to switch the kids' rooms and put the baby in his toddler bed. That usually requires my complete attention and all my energy for a few days. However, yesterday at nap time he climbed out of his crib, dumped a whole shelf of videos on the floor, crawled back into his crib and went to sleep without anyone noticing. I think he's ready to handle the responsibility.

With the switching rooms two new paint jobs are required. Anybody up for some painting? The boys (for some strange reason) refuse to sleep in a pink room. And as long as we're talking about painting, I have about half a dozen murals to finish too. I find it's much more amusing to paint with company than by myself (hint-hint).

Aside from that, I'd like to lose about 50 pounds. So obviously, I'm not expecting much from my summer. How about you?