Just Like Riding A Bike

You may remember that despite being the freaking awesomest dance partner in the world, I'm actually a really bad and neglectful father. As always, it's a good thing the children managed to eek out some decent skills anyway. Probably stuff they learned from the wild animals that roam the neighborhood and help them with their homework.

The exact moment the snow melted, Beth started begging me to put together a Frankenstein bike from the tattered carcasses of the sad and broken hand-me-down bikes collecting dust in the corner of the garage. As the youngest she usually has to pick at the scraps her older sisters leave for her. This also means that sometimes after all the recitals and lessons and games and errands take up the day, there's only time left for a little malt liquor and then bedtime.

There's been no time to put a bike together yet, let alone teach her to ride it. So what did the little fart go out and do yesterday? She opened up the drawer marked wrenches, pulled out the number fifteen, took the training wheels off one of the bike zombies, strapped on some pads and a helmet, got on that bike and rode it like a pro.

Shake and Bake

First time. No crashes. As if she'd been doing it for all six of her grubby little years. By the time I got home from work today she was riding around the neighborhood with the boys on their dirt bikes jumping off curbs and plywood ramps. Proving once again, she's better off without me.

Of course, without her father's superior and athletic genes, she'd never have been able to pull it off. At least that's the sort of thing I tell myself while I'm locked in my car and stuff.

She's not SO amazing though. It hasn't even occurred to her to tape a playing card to the front fork so the spokes make a motor sound.