Bike Riding

Soon after our arrival in Nice, a friend gave Anna (3) a sweet little hand me down big girl bike. She needs training wheels, so the bike has been parked in our hallway while we have been settling in. So, for Christmas, we gave Anna training wheels and Justin (6) his first bike without.

Their first training day was at a neighborhood park. I spent the afternoon giving Anna gentle pushes on her back when she didn’t quite get the hang of pedaling. She was determined to master the skill, and would protest, “Me do it myself,” if my help was too obvious. Scott spent the afternoon gripping the back of Justin’s green hooded sweatshirt while jogging alongside him. Knowing how patient Scott is (very) and how cautious Justin is (very), I resigned myself to many afternoons like this in the coming months.

So, a few weekends ago, we decided to be good parents and take the kids biking again. Anna was making progress, and I only needed to give occasional invisible pushes to keep her going down the sidewalk. Anna has to stop occasionally, get off her bike, and window shop. We live in a city, so there are at several Too Interesting Not to Stop at Windows on the way to the park—the Buddha in the Vietnamese restaurant, the games in the children’s consignment shop, the children’s magazine in the book/newspaper shop … Our most serious window is the Dogcha shop (a dog paraphernalia shop—this is France, and the French truly do love their doggies). After a good, long gaze, Anna will comment, “Maybe I need a dog,” before letting me help her back on her bike to continue our journey. Our progress is painfully slow for me as I help her dodge restaurant chairs and bend to scoot her across streets.

As we turned the 10 minute walk to the park into a 25 minute exercise in motherly patience, I was thinking about the sacrifices that we make as parents--like my husband choosing to spend the afternoon running alongside Justin while I gave my invisible pushes to Anna. I was feeling the tension of thoughtful sacrifice. I knew full well when setting out that I would really rather be cuddled on the couch under a blanket reading a book and sipping hot chocolate. But I also was feeling good, in a disciplined, I’m doing the right thing, even if it’s not the most exciting thing kind of way.

Then we reached the park. And there was Justin, beaming, riding that bike with Scott a full five meters behind them. I honestly felt like my heart leaped--cheesy, but true. I’m pretty sure that something jumped or wiggled in there. I was so very proud, happy, surprised, amazed… What started as parental duty ended in family joy complete with a sticky celebration of oven-baked s’mores the next day. There’s still a bit of dried on marshmallow on my black boots that I haven’t had the heart to wipe off yet. I’m kind of sentimental about these things.

Full disclosure—the way back from the park was not all that joyful. Anna was weary and wanted me to carry her and her bike the 10 blocks home. I refused. There was a tantrum, tears, and a good 5 minutes sitting on a window ledge before she tearfully gave in, holding my hand as she sniffled her way down the street. Fortunately, our bakery was open, and I was able to buy her a pain au chocolate to spur her on. It is a long walk.