By Leigh Sain
“I cannot ride this bike anymore, ever again!” My little one stomps his dirty shoes and levels his glare at me.
It’s Tuesday, just a simple little Tuesday in July. But after two months of summertime togetherness, I guess we’re all showing a little wear and tear.
His helmet, which is completely held together with duct tape, bobbles loosely on his head and I wonder is there really any point in him wearing it?
“It is a horrible bike! I hate it! Every part of it is broken! Look how everyone is leaving me out!” His demands are punctuated by the salty tears that wind their way down the edge of his angry face.
And I am pretty sure I should scold him. Yelling and stomping are not allowed at our house and the word “hate” is outlawed (when I remember to enforce it). And I am not in the habit of giving out new bikes just because a screaming tyrant declares he needs one. I open my mouth to regain control of the situation just as I look outside and see the bike tossed in the yard.
Oh, yeah, that bike. Read More