As promised...

In my last post I promised more W stories, so here's this week's installment in the Life of W. (There are actually several new proud F&K stories, but those can wait.)

While W is my sweet and caring child, he is not, shall we say, an athlete. Which is odd, since he is the splitting image of his father, who was an athlete with a capital A. At the end of the day, W is my child. Which, while could land him a college scholarship, is unfortunate as a male child in the M household.

It is kind to say that we (W & I) are not coordinated. In any fashion. We are fortunate to get through the day with only bruises that we remember getting, since we often run into things and just don't notice. In a shock to only my husband, I was essentially kicked off my childhood softball team by being placed in the far left outfield. (The shock has worn off, I promise.)

So the weather here is warmer, finally, and the neighborhood is out and about, driveways covered in chalk and bike helmets. W is thrilled at the chalk. Draws me lots of pictures, writes his name, even tries his "opposite" hand in my effort to make the OT happy. And then, the bikes are brought out.

"You know, Mom, I like to walk and hold your hand."
"Don't you want to try your bike? Just to the next driveway?"
"You know, Mom, the weather is lovely. Martha said the weather is good for walking."

Hmmm.

This is all fine and well, I don't like riding bikes either, but I was left with fairly stern instructions by G. "Get W on his bike today. All he has to do is ride 2 driveways and I will be happy. He will do this by Spring if it kills us."

Hmmm.

Now, I must stop and confess that I am not a "pusher." If he doesn't want to do it, fine. It is not a battle I am willing to fight. But as the lone not-quite-5-year-old on the block who flatly refuses his bike, G has dictated that it is time. The bike must be ridden, or we, the M family of Northern VA will be entered into the Hall of Shame of playground parents.

Hmmm.

After much cajoling, wheedling, and bribes of the promise of Girl Scout cookies, the bike is out of the garage. And in no time flat, offered to F, who takes off like a speed demon. Not what I had hoped for.

And this is how G finds us as he pulls in. Me with a book in the lawn chair, F whizzing by on the bike, K on her scooter, and W drawing flowers. Not what he had hoped for.

I now interrupt this idyllic scene to insert the pushing. G pushes W, who then throws a bit of a fit, which ends... With W on a 2 wheel scooter, no helmet, going three driveways.

This is what I was hoping for.