Who steals a toddler’s trike? I mean, REALLY. Humans who are dead inside would be my guess. Or teenagers. I’m going with teenagers because 3 weeks after Wyndham’s trike was lifted from our driveway, a neighbor found it in a nearby park a couple of days ago. Just sitting there, virtually unscathed.
Except for the telltale sign that some young punk had left as their mark. ‘Graffiti’ was scrawled across the seat in permanent marker. Which I got off, thank-you Google machine.
So rewind to nearly 3 weeks ago when it went missing and the neighborhood kids were whizzing around our crescent on their bikes, trikes and scooters.
Try and explain to a 3.5-year-old why they can’t join their friends. Why their beloved trike is gone. Poor little dude lost it and wanted nothing to do with his balance bike. He wanted his trike and that’s all there was to it. My heart wrenched and shriveled with anger at the little cretan(s) who thought it would be so badass-cool to snipe a toddler’s trike.
Obviously, Christmas came early and we made for the nearest toy store post haste. Whereupon we were met with a plethora of decisions in shiny, toddler-crack form. All of a sudden, Wyndham forgot all about his hardcore trike love and was all about possessing a scooter. Which, I sort of tried to talk him out of, with thoughts of getting it home and the lustre wearing off dancing through my head.
But Wyndham held his ground and I got him the scooter. And then I got his sister a pink one because I’m no dumbass and I’m also a bit of a sucker.
Fast forward to 2 weeks later amidst one epic meltdown over the realization that learning to master a scooter is hard and the rather quick evolution of Wyndham mastering that wanna-be skateboard. It is with gusto that he attacks pretty much any new thing to learn. This is how things usually go down when Wyndham experiences learning a new skill: one or two meltdowns stemming from the magnificent unfairness of it all and LIFE IS SO HARD MOM!!! To sulking a bit over mine or his father’s words of the importance on patience and the old adage of ‘try, try again’, to quietly getting back on his feet again with a reserved determination that inspires me. Big, grown-up me.
That would be called my kid schooling me, when I thought I was schooling him.
It took exactly one week for Wyndham to master scooting to and from school, at the end of which we came home last week to discover the resurgence of his trike. It’s like the fates knew and made me buy a scooter instead of a replacement trike. That’s it, right? That’s exactly why I came home with two scooters instead of a trike. Damn I’m blessed. (Hopefully you caught that sarcasm. Just checking in.)
Wyndham’s dad and I might have helped him along; we might have exhibited patience when he threw himself down on the pavement (in the middle of the road), and refused to carry on or hear anything about anything. We may have taught him how to balance and steer and brake…but it is Wyndham who reminded me how to take it all (eventually), in stride like a champ.
I was needing a bit of that. I also can’t get enough of how how ADORABLE he and his sister are in their helmets, scooting about our street with their friends, so proud, so happy. I’ll take more of that please, every single day.
Hey there Babble readers! If you didn’t know, I have an awesome Halloween giveaway happening on my personal blog this week with Wild Things Dresses! Check it out by clicking here!
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Via her humble beginnings, mastering in general mayhem: le petit rêve