Now that you’ve all been introduced to Coco, I couldn’t wait a moment longer to share about our family bike rides.

We’ve had some gorgeous Spring weather (okay, 2 days) here and we have taken full advantage. 

Imagine:  My hubby on his pimped out bike.  (I hate that word, but it is so appropriate.  He has a built in air pump, cup holder, a mileage meter. A red squeaky horn my son gave him for Christmas and purple fuzzy dice hang---  you get the picture).  His helmet is tightened and his camel backpack is loaded with yes, you guessed it, water. 

My daughter is strapped into her pink helmet and matching floral bike.  She has hand breaks now and she’s not afraid to use them.  My son is going for cool look.  He doesn’t have training wheels any longer, so he thinks he’s achieved the look. He isn’t aware that his bike is entirely too small for him and that his dad is shopping for new birthday bike.  (My husband remembers his BMX days and has convinced me we’re really going to have shell out the dough for this one because at his age (almost 6), it’s a status symbol.  Whatever.

Of course, you’ve seen me and CoCo. (Thanks for the ‘you look so cool’ comments.  You are all lying, but I love you for it.  Notice I am NOT wearing a helmet.  This bugs my kids.  “Leave me alone.  I want to have head trauma.” My answer bugs my husband.

The baby is safely tucked away (okay, she’s seriously strapped in with two harnesses and a lap belt against her will), but she stops crying as soon as I start pedaling.

My husband leads, the big kids are in the middle and I’m at the end.  We are a picture of true family togetherness.  The wind is blowing wisps of our hair.  I can feel the warmth of the sun kissing my skin. The birds are chirping a perfect melody. Leaves are swirling around us as we race down the wooded pathways.  It is like a dance and we are in perfect rhythm.  

Okay, that is what I used to think a family bike ride would be like.  Before I had a family OR a bike. 

This is a clearer picture.  My husband does lead.   But he rides like an 11 year old on his dirt bike, cutting through the woods and doing little jumps when the urge hits him. Guess who follows?  Yep, my kids whose middle names should be accident and stitches.

I’m so busy screaming-the birds have shut up.

Here’s just a small sampling of what may be heard:

“Watch out.  You’re going too fast.  Hurry through the intersection.  Move over there’s mud ahead.  Wait.  STTTOOOPPPP!! There’s aaa cccaaarrr.  On your left.  Honey, when I say on your left, we can’t pass on the right. It confuses joggers.  Don’t you ride through that dog poop.  Okay, mister you are in trouble.  When we get home----”

I stop the bike and scream for my husband to wait.  I turn to check on the baby.  She’s fine-sort of.  I mean she’s alive, but for the last mile, she’s been eating dirt out of the bottom of the bike trailer.  Her face is covered  and somehow she’s managed to take off her helmet and get one leg thru the seat belt.  And oh, of course, she bursts into tears the minute I stop and interrupt her snack.

Pleasant, huh?

I’m exhausted, hoarse and completely un-relaxed by the time we pull in the drive way.

We stink, we have twigs in our hair and mud splashed all over our clothes from the puddles we should have dodged. 

“Want to go again tomorrow,” my husband smiles at me.

My mind replays our family ride:  4 near misses, 3 people run off the pathway,  2 wrecks and one scraped knee, and a baby who’s probably swallowed a tapeworm.

“Absolutely,”  I grin back at him.

For the Soul:

"God has brought me laughter, and everyone who hears about this will laugh with me."  Gen. 21:6