Monday, August 19, 2013

Like Mother, Like Daughter

Oh! Oh, oh, OHHHHHHH!!  What an experience tonight!  Words cannot adequately describe what happened after dinner.  I'll give it a shot, though. It's definitely blog-worthy.

On Sunday, as I was perusing the aisles of Sam's, you know...purchasing all of my bulk items (seriously, the "big Tide" is worth it! We washed clothes for MONTHS with that thing! We do some serious laundry too..), thinking about all the things we need (a deep-freeze! A popcorn machine!). I came across this fantastic big-wheel/trike thing. It was a great price, and we have yet to really work with our kids on the whole pedaling thing--bad parents, I know. I have guilt over it. Anyway, the guilt told me to buy the thing. I brought it home, put it together, and Anderson proceeded to "pedal with his butt", as he calls it. This means he pushed it with his feet, like a push bike.  Think Fred Flintstone. Yeah. Not what I was going for.

Tonight, after dinner, we went outside. I told Anderson that if he'd really try to learn to ride his big wheel, I would give him a special treat.  He is easily frustrated when he can't do something, so he needed a little bit more motivation than just the going for a ride itself.  He's always up for a special treat. Amelia heard me make this deal with him, and she wanted in on the action. Fine, great, she can't ride anything, either (here is her sweet ride--not as sturdy but it is VERY small, which is what she needs...). So, we got the trikes out of the garage and onto the sidewalk...and that's when all hell broke loose.  I think the best way to describe the chaos that ensued for the next 45 minutes is to take it kid-by-kid.  You'll just have to picture all of this occurring simultaneously.

I worked with Anderson...and thank god for that. Amelia might not be alive if I had worked with her--but more on that in a minute. Anderson is...shall we say...absent-minded. And that is putting it kindly. He would start to pedal, but kind of forget that he had to steer the bike. When he'd grab the handle bars to steer, he'd forget to pedal. It was like he couldn't do it all at once. Yes, he got frustrated and whined, but it was tolerable.  We took the bike to the end of our street where there is no traffic, put it in the road on a slight hill, and let it go. Comedy, friends. Comedy.  He would get going, but suddenly he'd be distracted by something and turn his head--and then veer straight off to one side. He pretended to wave at an imaginary person on the other side of the road and ran over someone's planter (it was okay). He turned completely around to talk to me and went straight off the curb.  He drove into the weeds. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.  It was totally what you'd expect from him. Absent-mindedness at its best, and a struggle to put everything together. He'd get going, then stop, and forget how to do it.  We did this around the entire block. Stop and go. Stop and go. 45 minutes I tell you.  He did, amusingly, pretend to be the ice-cream man in an ice-cream truck--his big wheel has an authentic Schwinn bell and it's fabulous. All in all, I call it a success for him. Is he independent and riding? Not yet.  Does he get frustrated? Yes. But it's so much better. I'll take it.  He's excited about it, and that's worth it.

The daughter?  She is a WHOLE. DIFFERENT. STORY.  Let me start by saying this was my Facebook status last Wednesday:
If you know me at all, you know I have some mild road rage issues. Okay, they're not mild. They're terrible.  Notice Matt's comment? That really happened.  I didn't notice that the old iPod was playing the kiddie song "I am H-A-P-P-Y", and some crazy dude swerved at us as I was driving.  I might've used a certain gesture and dropped a certain..."f"oul word. Then we cracked up--because I mean really? The song H-A-P-P-Y was playing. And I did that. Yeah. I have issues.

Well, apparently my daughter is carrying on that horribly inappropriate legacy. Fortunately for us, she doesn't know any good curse words. I know...shocker.  I am positive that, if she did know any juicy words, she would've used them tonight.  Friends, it was not pretty. She would get pissed if she slowed down at all. And when I say pissed, I mean absolutely IRATE.  She would yell at the bike. She would yell at the road. She got off the bike and threw it down. She got off the bike and hit it. She yelled at the GRASS. The GRASS, you all! And the hills? Oh my gosh. I could hear her screaming from a street over. She cried, and she screamed, and she yelled for the entire 45 minutes.  She was never, ever satisfied.  The thing is, she did a really good job; she just doesn't have the muscle mass to push through any big hills yet (hello? 20 pounds?).  She has great steering, great pedaling skills. She just wasn't fast enough for her liking.  Clearly, she is a perfectionist. And clearly, she has WAY more of a temper than I realized. The whole time, Marty was so patient with her. If I had been with her, I can tell you right now that I would have picked the bike up in one arm, and her up in the other, and we would've gone back home. I cannot tolerate that kind of whining/screaming/hollering/yelling/whatever it is. Maybe it's because I'm like her, I don't know. All I know is that this mama doesn't play that.  As soon as Marty caught up to me, he quickly said, "Like Mother, Like Daughter". Even I didn't have that kind of temper at four years old, people.  In the end, I guess I'm glad he stuck it out with her. She got so much better and she was definitely proud of herself, even if she did scream like an absolute banshee the whole time.

If you're struggling with the visual, never fear--I fully intend to get this on video as soon as humanly possible. I was too busy keeping Anderson from swerving into parked cars to do any videoing, but it's just too hilarious not to try. Tomorrow...and I'll post it.

We are in so much trouble with that one...

1 comment:

  1. Amelia reminds me of my oldest so much. Peas in a pod. My mom always told me I'd have one just like me - more like she threatened that I would. And God help me, I did. Everyone I know looks at her, shakes their head and tells me "she's *just* like you." Gee, thanks.