Of love and bike-wrangling

If there were ever any doubt in the kids' minds as to whether or not I love them and care about their happiness, there should not be any longer. Today is all the proof they will ever need. Today is Bike Rodeo day at the elementary school.

Erin has been talking for months about the bike rodeo, and by "talking about" I mean "demanding to 'practice' every time she was instructed to do anything less pleasant than bike riding, such as room-cleaning or going to bed"...pretty much ever since it was announced, several weeks after she learned to ride her two-wheeler. It was originally scheduled for last month, but got rescheduled due to rain, which was good because I forgot about it and didn't send her to school with her bike. Luckily I got to claim that I had advance notice about the cancellation--more proof for her that Mothers Know Everything.

This month I was determined to remember the bike rodeo and not repeat my past fails in the departments of school fundraisers and permission slips. Erin's heart was set on participating, and darn it, I was determined to let her. It would be easy enough, I figured, to load her bike in the car and drive her to school; if I left at the same time the bus usually picks her up, I'd still make it to work at my usual time.

Then at 11 pm last night, Chris informed me that he, too, would like to participate in the bike rodeo. This development made things exponentially more interesting, as with the back seats folded down for bike transport, only one child could then fit in the car, and no one wanted to ride the bus and entrust their bike to me alone.

So here's how the morning went:

6 am: Wake up to an alarm set half an hour before I've been rolling out of bed lately, programmed to the sound of obnoxiously loud church bells to ensure I pay attention and wake up. Panic because I don't usually wake up to church bells and in my half-asleep state, momentarily wonder if I have been transported during the night to a village in England.

6:02 am: Realize I am indeed still in Texas and need to get up right away because it's Bike Rodeo Day. Scurry to the bathroom to get ready.

6:25 am: Wake the children and realize too late I have not made coffee. Dash off to the kitchen, where I get distracted mid-coffee-preparing by unloading the dishwasher. (???) Remember I haven't started brewing coffee. Priorities!

6:45 am: Kids are now ready. I load Erin's bike into the back of my car. Spend 10 minutes trying to load Chris's bike on top of it, but apparently his bike is made of solid iron. Tell Chris I'll have to transport them one at a time, and will come back in 15 minutes or so for him. Realize I have no eyeliner on. Grab eyeliner to put on in car on way to work.

7:00 am: Arrive at school with Erin's bike. Get her checked in, get instructions on where/when to retrieve bike later. As I turn to leave, she informs me she'd like me to come and watch her--which up until this point she had not wanted, so I hadn't arranged any time off from work. Make promises to do my best to return, and do my best to not look at her puppy-dog eyes. I have no time for guilt this morning!

7:10 am: Return home and load Chris's iron bike into the car. Run into the house for coffee. Apparently still with eyeliner in hand, which I apparently leave on the kitchen counter without realizing it.

7:20 am: Arrive at school again, where I am now stuck in a line of 20 other parents all dropping off bikes. Discover that I have been wrong about Chris's bike--it is not made of iron. It is made of solid lead. Grunt and groan and eventually get said 500-lb bike out of the back of my car. Escape bike gridlock and head to work.

7:30 am: Sit in gridlock because I am now on the freeway when all of San Antonio drives to work. Glance in rearview mirror and realize my eyes are naked. My eyeliner! Mentally exclaim "Nooooooooo!" a la Star Wars.

8:05 am: Arrive at work and make plans to leave again in just over two hours so that I can go watch Erin weave her bike through six cones and ride in a circle as slow as she can go without falling off. Yes, those are the skills tested in the bike rodeo. With a name like Bike Rodeo and taking place in a state like Texas, I'd expect there to be some lassoing or clowns...but no, I will be missing an hour or so of work to watch my daughter ride in a small circle at .00000001 miles per hour for maybe two minutes.

Yes...THIS is love. Either that, or insanity.

Kids' memories: like elephants, but for all the wrong things

I am continually amazed at the sheer power my children have to recall the most minute details of seemingly insignificant moments that happened long ago. I won't go so far as to say they have good memories, because these same children don't remember what happened at school that day, to give me a permission slip for a field trip due that week, their house keys, their homework, their jackets, or even to put away groceries that they were RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE of putting away. No, when it comes to anything actually important, my kids' minds are a sieve.

But leave it to Erin to remember a conversation we must have had at least four months ago when I was likely busy doing something requiring concentration, and she was supposed to be cleaning her room. I don't quite recall how it came about, but she must have found an unused bedsheet in her room, and decided it would make a beautiful tablecloth. Knowing Erin, she probably decreed that the sheet, with its purple floral pattern, would make a great tablecloth for X holiday or for spring or even right that minute...and knowing me, I probably mumbled something to the effect of "uh huh, oh, but not now, let's try that later, go put it away," which of course means "that's a craptastic idea, it's a BEDSHEET, it doesn't go on a table, but I'm not going to hurt your feelings so go put it away and I'll hope you forget all about it." Which it appeared she did, as it wasn't mentioned for four months.

Fast forward to today, and the girl who can't remember where she put her shoes five minutes ago suddenly has an epiphany. "MOM! MOM! Tomorrow is EASTER! We need the special tablecloth!!! You know, the one with all the flowers!" I am wracking my brain, trying to recall what Easter tablecloth I have and where it might be packed away, when she returns with...a sheet. "HERE MOM USE THIS IT'S SO PRETTY IT'S PERFECT FOR EASTER LOOK AT ALL THE FLOWERS! Isn't it BEAUTIFUL?!!" And I try to explain again it's a SHEET, for her BED, and she has SLEPT on it and we don't particularly want to eat a meal on something she's slept on. And there are puppy dog eyes and crocodile tears and stomping of feet and protests that "BUT MOM YOU PROMISED, DON'T YOU REMEMBER?"

Sigh.

So it may be a good thing we don't have company this year for Easter. And if the tablecloth that shows in our Easter morning pictures tomorrow looks a little...off...all I can say is Erin is pretty darn persuasive. Which is a polite way to say "loud and obnoxious and sometimes it's easier to just give in than try logic and reason."