I’m a doer. If I’m not DOing anything, I get stir crazy. Some call it ADD. I call it “being a doer.” Growing up, I was the one trying to get all the kids to play the new game I invented. Or any game for that matter. Or anything, anything at all. Come on… play with ME!
So now that I have I kids, it’s much easier to get the kids to play with me. I have more leverage at this phase in my life. And, it’s even worse when Donnie’s not here (You should see all the handmade things in my house). It’s worse when Donnie’s not here because he’s usually the voice of reason, doubting Thomas, negative Nelly. Ok, maybe not negative, but he’s sorta like the dad in Finding Nemo. I’m Nemo.
Today, when I got the marvelous idea of going on a bike ride, Donnie would have suggested a 1-mile ride to the park. Nope, not me, I think big. “Ok kids, let’s go to the farmers’ market.” It’s only 3 miles one way and 92 degrees with 41% humidity. It’ll be fun.
So I pulled the baby carrier behind me with a 22-pound butterball, sucking on his two fingers and buckled in nice and tight. My back tire was only slightly flat so I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal. I really love the curvy sidewalks, they add a little fun flair to an otherwise pretty drab ride.
About 2 miles into the trip – with 5 water breaks and one tired 4 year old – my back tire was smashed against the pavement. It was like trying to ride a bike with a wheel made of slightly melted tar.
At this point you may be wondering, “Why didn’t she just turn around and go home?” Well, that’s another thing you should know about me. Not only am I a doer, but if I choose to do something, I will MAKE IT WORK. (even if it seems moronic to do so). We rode on.
Nearing our destination, we played frogger at the crosswalk to the farmers’ market. You wouldn’t think I’d have to play frogger at a crosswalk (where they have red lights). Where people are required by law to stop. Anya nearly got hit by someone who decided that red means “go” and not “yield before turning right.”
We made it! My mom has a booth at the farmers’ market so we hung out for a few minutes. Then I kindly asked her to take Logan’s bike home, because that kid was spent. Then I threw him in the baby carrier with Riley (if you’re keeping track, that’s about another 35 pounds to my load.)
We made it back in half the time, drenched in sweat. Red-faced and breathless, I’m pretty proud of myself for dragging that tar-tire, butterball and mini-Donnie uphill on the pointless, inconvenient, mocking curvy sidewalks back to our house.
Of course, then I get on Facebook and see people clocking their 5K runs in the same amount of time as my bike ride OF THE SAME DISTANCE!