What with all our friends quarantined because they have the plague, and what with all the snow (which, you know, I thought I made clear I didn't want any more of? Hello?) Willow and I have been a little hard up for entertainment. So much so that a chance to go down into the basement--to do some laundry! And to go into her old exersaucer that is somehow now scary and exciting!--seems like an adventure worth savoring.
Okay, not really. But I'm trying, here. And that basement visit, against all odds, did in fact produce an adventure that I will remember for years (and took up a whole hour and a half, folks). While sitting in her exersaucer and warily avoiding the buttons that make animal sounds, Willow spotted her tricycle. The same tricycle that had belonged to Willow's uncle, and had been sitting in our foyer for a year, trotted out unsuccessfully several times, and eventually banished to the basement. Willow demanded to ride it. I figured it would go about as well as it ever had, so who cared that the basement is full of dangerous obstacles and dead water bugs, she wasn't going to go anywhere anyway, and hey, maybe it would take up a little more of our endless day.
You know--you know--that the moment you don't want a toddler to do something you had been wanting him or her to do is the precise moment it will happen. And so, given that, I was surprised but not overly shocked when Willow suddenly grasped that you have to push on the pedals to make them move, and not only did she understand this, but she really, really liked it too.
And so did I. I happily chased her around the basement, helping her swerve to avoid pipes, water heaters, boilers, drains, gravel pits, and probably dead bodies. And in the course of that hour and a half, she learned to push herself out of some of those gravel pits, to steer herself through doorways and around drains. Dave came home, peered down in the basement, and let out a startled shout when Willow just zoomed right past him all on her own.
Lest you think that I am some lazy, rest on my laurels, self-congratulatory-type mother, I will tell you that I worked my butt off to seal the deal. Round and round the basement we went, but that wasn't enough--oh no. I bundled Willow up and trotted us out to the park in 37 degrees for a real taste of tricycling. Fewer obstacles traded for steeper hills and way farther to go.
And she tricycled like a maniac. Probably about a half a mile, some of it uphill (the uphill bits needed some encouragement, as she'd discovered coasting on the way downhill, and couldn't understand why it wasn't working anymore).
I was so proud of her, I was shivering with excitement. I don't have photographic or video evidence yet. Give me time. And warmer weather.
Okay, not really. But I'm trying, here. And that basement visit, against all odds, did in fact produce an adventure that I will remember for years (and took up a whole hour and a half, folks). While sitting in her exersaucer and warily avoiding the buttons that make animal sounds, Willow spotted her tricycle. The same tricycle that had belonged to Willow's uncle, and had been sitting in our foyer for a year, trotted out unsuccessfully several times, and eventually banished to the basement. Willow demanded to ride it. I figured it would go about as well as it ever had, so who cared that the basement is full of dangerous obstacles and dead water bugs, she wasn't going to go anywhere anyway, and hey, maybe it would take up a little more of our endless day.
You know--you know--that the moment you don't want a toddler to do something you had been wanting him or her to do is the precise moment it will happen. And so, given that, I was surprised but not overly shocked when Willow suddenly grasped that you have to push on the pedals to make them move, and not only did she understand this, but she really, really liked it too.
And so did I. I happily chased her around the basement, helping her swerve to avoid pipes, water heaters, boilers, drains, gravel pits, and probably dead bodies. And in the course of that hour and a half, she learned to push herself out of some of those gravel pits, to steer herself through doorways and around drains. Dave came home, peered down in the basement, and let out a startled shout when Willow just zoomed right past him all on her own.
Lest you think that I am some lazy, rest on my laurels, self-congratulatory-type mother, I will tell you that I worked my butt off to seal the deal. Round and round the basement we went, but that wasn't enough--oh no. I bundled Willow up and trotted us out to the park in 37 degrees for a real taste of tricycling. Fewer obstacles traded for steeper hills and way farther to go.
And she tricycled like a maniac. Probably about a half a mile, some of it uphill (the uphill bits needed some encouragement, as she'd discovered coasting on the way downhill, and couldn't understand why it wasn't working anymore).
I was so proud of her, I was shivering with excitement. I don't have photographic or video evidence yet. Give me time. And warmer weather.
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