I’m a parent. I have lots of rules. Some make sense. Some don’t.
One of my most important rules states, “Don’t waste a 50 degree day in January.”
So when it hit 52 degrees while I was out running errands this past Saturday, I instructed the boys to put on shoes and their new bike helmets as soon as I arrived home. And out we went.
LittleBrother received a new “big” bike from Santa for Christmas as he learned to ride without training wheels over the summer. Two years ago, BigBrother also received a bike for Christmas from Santa. It’s funny the way those things work in brotherhood, isn’t it?
But that January, BigBrother couldn’t reach the ground when he tried to ride his new bike on a 50 degree day. We even removed the reflector from underneath his seat so we could lower it just a bit more. Still too short. ‘
LittleBrother could touch the ground just fine, reflector in place. Off he rode, following his brother. He moved a little slower than he did on the smaller bike he learned to ride last year; he couldn’t maneuver the turns very well as the bike weighed quite a bit more. He fell a time or two trying to turn around and ride back toward the house, but he got right back up, situated the bike, and started pedaling back in the direction he wanted to go.
They rode their bikes back and forth for awhile, enjoying the movement and the warmer air. I snapped pictures, walked back and forth as need be, and even ran a bit to get in front of a boy while wearing slouchy boots. (I ran earlier in the day, thus reaching my own movement quota for a warm day.) The sun warmed us, inside and out, and by the time we walked back inside, we all felt better.
Better as a family, better for having moved, better as a mom, as a dad, as brothers. Like maybe January wasn’t the longest month of all eternity and we hadn’t been mostly cooped up with each other since before Christmas. Like maybe even if we had, that it was okay, that it wouldn’t last forever.
And that’s really all you can ask for in January.