A New Mode of Transportation

M scored a Burley bike trailer on Craigslist last week and we went out for a little family bike ride fun today.

Nothing about this weekend turned out the way we planned. Laurel was mad about everything and melted into a toddler puddle over the most inexplicable events. We wanted to get some yard work done and do another little mini-camping trip to scout a permanent RV site, but it kept raining. Still, it has not been a bad weekend. We made blueberry pancakes for breakfast. I planned to study calculus, but instead went out with Sarah to a real bar, with no children. And of course, there was the bike outing. Ever since last weekend, when M got Laurel her bike helmet (it's yellow with monkeys on it), she has been looking forward to going for a bike ride, or at least the chance to wear her helmet. We decided to stay close to home, both because of Laurel's current combo of wiggliness and tantrums, and because I haven't really ridden my bike in two years. (TWO YEARS!?) We rode through Frick Park and then followed a couple of roads that have bike lanes to get to the library and Commonplace, for coffee. I was fine on my bike, by the way, even though I couldn't remember how to shift gears for the first mile. I am really excited about the bike trailer because it took no time at all to get to the library, so I feel like it really opens up a car-free way to travel again. Laurel seemed to enjoy it but was a little uncomfortable; I think we need to work on adjusting all the straps to make it work for a teeny tiny kid.

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there. This is the first year that I have really strongly identified as being a mother, as in when someone asks me what I do, I think of my role as a mom. I give hugs and stern warnings, and know that Laurel doesn't like her food served too hot, and I can tell she's getting tired before she gets cranky and I will read Good Night, Moon or Trucks or Big Bird's Birthday Party for the 700th time with the same enthusiasm as the first time. I don't let us run out of milk or clean socks or Cheddar Bunnies. I have a spare diaper and a packet of wipes tucked in my purse. I can function somewhat normally on two hours of sleep. I can recognize my own child's cry even if 5 or 6 other kids are crying or laughing or shouting. My heart jumps and skips and drops when I watch Laurel scampering up the playground equipment, fearlessly. I schedule my day around nap time and bed time. My car is covered in stale Cheerios. I am completely satisfied to sit on the floor and build towers and then knock them down over and over and over again. I remember what life was like before Laurel, but I cannot remember ever being this happy. This satisfied. This joyful. This scared. This complete.