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Posts Tagged ‘bike’

We welcomed 2011 with a long-distance high-five from across the room.  Well, it wasn’t even that.  More a mental one.  Our kids were in bed at ten-thirty and completely asleep with their eyes rolled back  by ten thirty-one.  And I sat here and my husband there yawning our way to midnight.

If you did anything at all, say, blow your nose, I guarantee it was more  rip-roaring than our last hour and a half waiting for both clock hands to get to the twelve. 

Anyway…what I realized here in January, other than it not being swimsuit weather, is that without meaning to, we drug a few things with us from 2010.

Like our band-aided light socket.

And the brown marker art on the inside of the bathroom door. 

Though the longevity on this one is really something.   Seems we just can’t pee and scrub the door at the same time.   Or remember that we ought to after we flush.  Quite the marvel.

And the random paint project taped to the wall with a single strand of tape.  One of my favorites.

And here’s the guy who “didn’t do anything.” And who’s tucked himself away in a Christmas tote with a…(rubbing eyes…) a sucker. 

Which is why we thought we’d put that kind of energy to work.  So here’s our son on his first bike, fresh from under the Christmas tree.  

 Nevermind his sister’s pink gloves.

Or the sheets of ice on the roads.  Or the 26 degrees. 

Or the mere fact that none of the rest of us are on bikes.

Desperate times, people…heh.

Which ain’t it so much as it is my son who’s climbed into my lap insisting he needs my ‘bu-ttention’. 

Which is why I’ll end here…

Gots me a little boy to love.

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Whatever Works

We nabbed ourselves a walk today.  It’s what we do around here when the sun shines for ten minutes in a row.  We even put on shorts–just to show how risky you really can be in western Washington on the last day of September.  Then one kid grabbed a bike and pedaled away, and the other said real big that he was going to pull the wagon.

Which lasted about the length of our driveway.

Because you can do so much more when you’re not pulling.  Like study friction.  And its effect on your mom’s arm.

Or yell, “look at me, mom!”  And show her this.  Which will tempt her to leave you right there.

But because she loves you, and because you finally put your shirt back on the body part it belongs, she’ll even let you rest your head on the handle.


After all, her motto on this walk is–Whatever Works.

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