My husband has never really been all that handy. I know some of you are married to guys who can fix a leaky pipe while putting together a piece of Ikea furniture while watching a ball game.
Rick? Well, he’s got that ball game part down. Solid.
But my husband has countless other skills like spotting celebrities, juggling and singing in tune so I’ll be sitting pretty when I open up my own little community theater.
As a result we have a lot of little stuff in our apartment that just needs fixing and we can’t quite figure how to actually make that happen. Because I’m clueless too.
I wish I could do it all… kill a moose, drag it back with my bare hands and then fix that broken closet door knob, but it’s just not me. (That last sentence was inspired by the multi-talented, multi-tasking Sarah Palin, but should in no way be read as an endorsement of such candidate.)
So I was a little apprehensive when we ordered the most adorable, pink retro bike for Dylan.
That arrived in a big box.
Needing some assembly.
But man, did my husband make it happen.
Now the handle bars were a little crooked and the seat was too high and the front light didn’t quite work.
And as Dylan set off on her first official spin, the left pedal did fall off.
And then a few yards later, it fell off again.
Listen Dylan, no one said riding a bike is easy.
But Rick is not a man who accepts failure. His girl would ride. So he ran back home, grabbed the wrench he borrowed from our super and fixed that little retro number. And off she went on the most lovely of September days.
And I understood the moment perfectly. This is just the beginning of a trillion moments to come where I watch with pride as my little girl pedals away.
Of course, 14 seconds later, I chased after her and grabbed her handle bars so she wouldn’t careen into some pedestrians and flip over the curb.
But still, for a few moments, it was joyful to just watch that little pinkalicious girl fly.
mama bird notes: