The supplies sat and sat in our garage
Finally, Gretchen decided to F her F (Short for Face your Fear). We took her to the park by our house to learn on the nice little path winding path around the lawn. There were four firefighters playing pickle ball that day on the tennis courts slightly detached from the fire station and kids playing at the park.
Now, if you know Greti, you know she can be a tad dramatic. Off she goes trying to balance on her bike screaming her lungs out :"I CAN'T DO THIS!" I gently remind her of her little saying to F your F Gretchen (Face your Fear). As we pass the firefighters playing pickle ball she yells, "I CAN'T F MY F BECAUSE MY F IS SUCH A F THAT I CAN'T F MY F!" then she sobs. As you can imagine, the firefighters had stopped playing their pickle ball game to look at the young girl using what they thought was terrible language. And the parents watching their kids play at the family park were either chuckling or trying to figure out what the heck that was back there.
I sat her down by a tree to cool off while I took a stroll on her tiny bike with my knees looking like wings of a bird. I laughed on my little jaunt and by the time I had circled she had simmered and was ready to try again more calmly. She did it.
Gretchen still has to learn how to start, but she is clicking with the whole bike thing. Micah is now the only one left. Please help us.
2 comments:
Way to go Gretchen! We'll have to have a bike-riding party...you know we're all over that sort of thing at our house!
She's such a potty mouth . . . who's her mom, anyway?
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