My Parable of the Bicycle

Always smiling before we go (pic from last year)

Some of you are familiar with the original 'Parable of the Bicycle' in Stephen E. Robinson's book Believing Christ. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you can read more here, because what I'm about to tell you is probably twice as long (you've been warned) and not near as lovely. This is my own real-life mean mom experience. But I learned something, so it can be a parable of sorts too.

My sweet Aubrey girl has a small princess bike. She has outgrown it, but I told her a long time ago that she couldn't get a new bike until she learned how to ride without training wheels. So her long, lanky self pumps those pedals with all her might, teetering on the blasted training wheels, and whining all the way. It just about kills me to take her out with her bike. But when the sun is shining in Washington and I'm going nutso indoors, somehow it always seems like a good idea--at first.

One day she was begging to ride her bike to school. Her school is just a few blocks away. There is a perfectly suitable bus that picks her up within eyesight of my back door; but no, she wants to ride the too-small bike. So I thought I would be zealous, pack a picnic lunch, load the boys in the double jogger stroller, and go on an adventure. I warned Aubrey about complaining and said we would turn right around and come home. She promised, PROMISED that she was going to be okay. You know where this is going.

We passed the point of no return when we saw the bus pull out on the main street--alrighty then, looks like we're riding to school today. So of course I'm running and pushing about 60 pounds of kid (Lincoln & Jace), and Aubrey starts in, "Mommy, my legs are hurting." (We can still see our house across the field.) To which I reply (breathless myself), "Yup, that's what happens when you exercise. Keep going." And more whining, "But Mommy, it's so haaaaa-aaard, can you give me a boost?" "No Aubrey, no boost. You have to keep your speed and keep pedalling." She thinks about it and keeps trudging away, then, "Mommy, I can't do it. Can't we just go home? I want to ride the bus to school." Now I'm getting angry. "NO, Aubrey. You said you could do this. The bus is already gone. You have to ride your bike to the park, eat your lunch, then go to school. Just keep moving, and quit whining!" "But my legs are reaaaaaally hurting." And on and on and on.

Of course everything I say to her is amplified because I'm running along and she is trailing me by 15 yards or so. People are probably looking out their windows wondering who is yelling at the poor, crying kid on the wee baby bike. Maybe they're getting ready to call DCFS. Oh yeah, and Jace spit up all over himself right after we left, so Lincoln keeps telling me, "Mommy, Jace did a yot of pittys on him's shirt." What have I gotten myself into? My only comfort is in the fact that I will NEVER be dumb enough to try this again.

At least the boys are content. If you look closely, you can see Jace's spit-up

Fast forward to last Friday afternoon. It's gorgeous outside, a shame not to get out and take advantage of the sunshine. But I just can't do the training wheel thing anymore, and I'm convinced Aubrey can ride farther and faster once she figures it out. A few of my friends have posted lately about their daughters learning to ride two-wheelers, and I've tried playing the peer-pressure card ("Look, Aubrey, so-and-so is doing it."), but she doesn't care. 

So it's time for tough love. I tell her matter-of-factly that we are taking off the training wheels, learning to ride a bike, then going for a run to a new park. She cries. I go out in the garage, get the tools, remove the training wheels, and she is still crying. Oh, the DRAMA! I'm trying to tell her it will be okay, promising that I'm not going to let her fall, encouraging her that it's not that hard, etc. Still crying.

As I hoist the now-training-wheel-less bike back up on its feet (so to speak), it seems like something is jammed. It's hard to push. What's going on? I check the hand brake, and find it's . . . stuck. Are you kidding me? I look at the front tire, and I can see skid marks on the rim from where the brake has worn off because Aubrey has been forcing the tire through the brake pads, while her mean mom is yelling at her to quit whining. Yeah. No wonder her legs have been hurting. 

It's like in spin class when the instructor tells us to crank up the resistance and then yells. "Take off!!! GO! GO! GO! GO!" I know I'm in pain when that happens, and I'm sure it hasn't been much different for my little girl.

I still make her try (not because I'm a mean mom, but because I didn't yet realize the full extent of the problem), then Gavin came home and fixed it. It literally took him less than 5 seconds to adjust the brake cable. That's all--and he didn't even need tools. Who knew? We love having a super-Daddy to save the day. 

Hopefully soon we'll have an updated post with a picture of her new bike, proof that she has mastered the skill. In the mean time, the lesson of the day is to listen to my kids and know that maybe once in a while there is substance to the drama. 

Sorry, Aubrey, for torturing you all this time on your bike stuck with the brakes on. My bad.