After the wanton hyperbole of my assessment of Thing 1's cycling prowess yesterday, it is only fitting I should get a comeuppance. And so, en route to our Friday donut, I was reminded just how young my boy is. For some reason, he totally forgot about his hand brakes, and was frantically freewheeling backwards as he entered a busy 4 lane street from the perpendicular. It is possible to bellow while your heart has stopped.
He managed to stop about halfway into the first lane, in what appeared to be the empty space between bouts of traffic—by skidding his feet on the ground. After I got finished yelling at him, I hugged the stuffing out of him and then made him practice those brakes repeatedly the rest of the way to the Lab. And then I hugged the stuffing out of him again.
The donuts were good. I am grateful we all made it out alive. Well, until the saturated fat catches up with us in 40 years, by which time I am certain I will still remember this day. The giant roll of bubble wrap to totally enclose the children is on the way, priority overnight shipping.
He managed to stop about halfway into the first lane, in what appeared to be the empty space between bouts of traffic—by skidding his feet on the ground. After I got finished yelling at him, I hugged the stuffing out of him and then made him practice those brakes repeatedly the rest of the way to the Lab. And then I hugged the stuffing out of him again.
The donuts were good. I am grateful we all made it out alive. Well, until the saturated fat catches up with us in 40 years, by which time I am certain I will still remember this day. The giant roll of bubble wrap to totally enclose the children is on the way, priority overnight shipping.
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