Introducing...the BIKE!

It was 103 degrees today.
I knew the BIKE was coming and when I received the phone call from the happy man at Numotion, I felt like a child at Christmas.

And he came like he said he would.

Very kind. Very patient. Very Sweaty.

Delivering the BIKE with a smile, dress-up pants, square-toed oxfords and white sunglasses...which June promptly ripped off his face (I gave him permission to wear something cooler when it breaks 100).

June knew that THAT was her shiny red-raspberry bike.

And for a very brief second we had to take her off of it so we could adjust the seat, turn some screws, sign some papers. 

Of course she immediately threw her body on the ground in convulsions, thrashing with rage, spitting fire and hurling insults because she thought we were sending back her new toy. The gall of these people.

SO we took it for a test drive...
Along with the rest of the circus.

Sass (short for Sassafras) went and got her bike when we weren't looking.

Getting a slow start here...the poor 6 year old was patient

And they are off!

 

 

I must say we only made it around the block...but mostly because everyone was roasting and dripping and Sass was moving at a snail's pace in her rain boots and walking-the-bike technique.

Super pumped and proud of herself!

June would like to thank Numotion for having such a knowledgeable and friendly team of mobility specialists and she would ESPECIALLY like to thank the Bloomfield Group for their generous grant which aided us greatly in the purchase of this trike.

F-i-v-e

Dear Iva June,

Five years ago today you entered this world. 

Created by the Master Himself.

Planned and perfect.

The most beautiful baby I had ever seen.

http://haynephotographers.com/

  And your Daddy and I knew from that moment on that you had your own schedule, your own way of doing things. 

You were taking time taking IN, 

measuring widths of spaces, 

 counting circles turning, 

listening closely to every beat of every heart that held you close.

 

And we thought the day would never come when you'd venture out on your own, exploring new ground, paving your place in our family, 

straining toward independence.

15 months

And I know there have been times we haven't understood you.  

And you haven't understood us.  

But we are learning to speak each other's language. 

It's hard.

Hard to speak a language that has no translation, no natives, no norms.

No guidebook.

But I don't tell you enough that I'm proud of you. 

That even though we do things differently, that it's okay.  

And I'm sorry if I've gotten frustrated with you.  

I need to be patient.  

Like you are with me. 

 

I could spend some time listening to what you are trying to tell me.  

Even more time.  

Because you have something to say.  

And it is much wiser and more wonderful than 

All these ridiculously tainted thoughts renting space in my head.

You say.

Look at the leaves dancing up there, 

black shadows twirling proudly against the orange sky.

Every move orchestrated and predicted. 

Do you see the way the water moves on the river? 

The way it feels against the span of my hands, 

dripping slowly down the length of my arms,

creating tiny rainbows that glisten as it circles back into the water?

Put your head on the piano. 

Feel the pounding of the keys against your body

Through your heart. 

Right to your very core.

Hold me close.  

Let me wrap my legs around your back, 

My arms around your neck.  

Too hard.

So you know I love you. 

Forever.

Happy Birthday my sweet Iva June.

I would tell you to relish the years,

take time to capture each moment,

to listen.

But you are wise beyond your years, my dear.