We got to school, and she saw the other little bikes lined up, and wanted to ride down to them. She couldn't even get her knees past the handle bars. Too small.
No prob. I told her I'd get her tricycle. We'd gotten it from our good friends when their sons had outgrown it. It was navy blue and white, and was a little rusty. But it works. I ran home and got it. When I got back, Norah was playing with her little pals, and I surveyed the bikes. They were big kid bikes with training wheels. Yikes. And fancy ones. Lightening McQueen grinned out from a couple of them. I looked down at Norah's trike.
I made my way back to the car, and considered hitting Target. Don't be stupid, I told myself. They're too little to make fun of each other for that stuff... right? I made myself go home to work, as I was now about 10 minutes late. Which is really damn sad when you work from home.
I called my mom later. I told her about Bike Day, and how I was worried because Norah doesn't really "get" pedaling yet. Had we missed the boat? Rob and Tamara's kids practically pedaled out of the womb. Her BFF Samantha was tooling around their basement last time we went over for a visit. Ruh-roh.
My mom advised we start working on pedaling and steering with the trike. Once she started to understand and do better, we should get a big kid bike. She reminded me that one of Norah's strengths is athleticism. She's not dunking or doing triple lutzes yet, but she runs, jumps, somersaults, dances, and moves constantly. We weren't nurturing one of her strengths.
She was right. I threw up my hands and resigned myself to the fact that our college savings account would now be designated to future therapy. Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration. But I was disappointed in myself, because I usually try to make Norah do what I value-- art, music, reading. She likes that, too, but I need to nurture her in her other strengths. Which blows, because I'm frickin' lazy, and I hate running and shit.
She's happy, we're practicing, which is a whole other story, and we get to be creeped out by the dead button eyes of Lalaloopsys. Norah likes creepy. Shrug. We're nurturing that.