Zap!

So I’ve got a whole bunch o’ kids. In fact, me and Top Management have so many that they’ve actually got a designation. You know how groups of animals have official collective names? You know, a gaggle of geese, a parliament of owls, a party of rainbow fish, a bind of salmon, and so on? Well, we’ve got a mess of kids.

I’ve trademarked that, incidentally, so please feel free to use it. But you need to send me a quarter each and every time you do. I accept PayPal. And, of course, cash. Lots and lots of cash.

[Bloggeriffic aside: know what the collective noun for butterflies is? A rabble. A rabble of butterflies. Is there a less appropriate collective noun? Or is there even more about butterfly behavior of which I’m ignant? Are butterflies infamous hooligans in the insect world? Are they notorious for rousing?]

Anyhoo, one of the nice things about having a mess of kids (I get to use that for free and, yes, that’s just one more of the many reasons to wish you were me) is that while you need a whole bunch o’ bikes (and, by the by, an army of ants is also sometimes referred to as a bike of ants, I kid you not), if you space your kids out just right, you only need one of each size.

Now for any of you what don’t got a mess of kids or haven’t had little ‘uns in a bit, you might not know—I didn’t until necessity forced me to learn—but bikes now come in a plethora of sizes. In my day there was really only two sizes: the one you started on, which was too big, and then the ten-speed. That was it. But they had banana seats, which were the best for ridiculously dangerous jumps.

Nowadays, though, there’s a veritable cornucopia of bike sizes. Because that way, of course, they can sell more bikes. They start ‘em mighty small these days, with four inch wheels so your fetus can get a head-start.

Okay, I exaggerate. But only slightly. The bike The Bean first learned on has, I believe, nine inch wheels. Which are really, really small. But as the biggest moves up a size, which happens with alarming frequency, then each kid down the line moves up a size.

Well, The Bean has now moved up twice since that small size. The most recent move came just a few days ago.

She wasn’t completely ready to move up a size but needs must. In this case, the need came along because her back tire was flat. And since it would go flat again five minutes after it was pumped up, my engineer’s mind finally figured out that there must be a hole in it somewhere. My detective’s mind noted that the tread on the back tire was almost completely worn away. My eidetic mind recalled that none of the girls stop smoothly if they can possibly manage to skid. And my accountant’s mind wondered if it would make more sense to put some scotch tape on the tire or actually get it fixed.

But then my junkman’s mind recalled that Brother John had given us a bike a few years back when his youngest had outgrown it.

My thrifty mind danced a little jig. A cheap one.

So I got the inherited bike down from the hook in the garage, pumped up the tires, lowered the seat and helped The Bean master this larger machine. Which took a few trips across the cul-de-sac. But within ten minutes she was riding better than ever—the larger tires allowed her to pedal uphill much more smoothly.

One problem: the back tire apparently has a hole in it. I could tell because it would go flat about an hour after I’d pumped it up.

But still. An hour. That’s doable, at least in the short term. I need to go into town to get it fixed, obviously, but sometimes weeks’ll go by without a trip into town. A tire which has to be pumped up every five minutes? No can do. Every hour? Hassle, but a bearable hassle, for a while, at least.

Now, an interesting thing about this bike is that it’s purple with bright orange handgrips and a bright orange seat. Which isn’t particularly notable. Except that pretty much all their other bikes had, of course, been pink.

This color change appears at first to be a much bigger hurdle than the size.

But it’s The Bean and she’s tough. She notes that "it really does look awful boy-ie," but allows that it’s not a deal breaker.

So I’m pumping the tire up yesterday—of course—and The Bean is walking around to put her waterbottle in the built-in holder (said holder being a major point in the new bike’s favor as far as The Bean is concerned). But she misjudges and bumps into the front wheel, which gives way slightly but not completely and she topples right over on top of the bike, smacking her face into one of the pedals. Which not only leaves a dent but, to add insult to injury, doesn’t even draw blood, meaning no chance for a band-aid, which of course allows everyone to admire your grievous injury. But does make her howl. And how.

So I hug her and after half a minute the tears taper off and she generously wipes her nose on my shirt and then says, "Okay, I’m ready now." And she grabs the bike and wheels it across the yard and out to the cul-de-sac. And on she climbs, her tippy-toes just touching the street before she pushes off and goes sailing on her way, not defying gravity but harnessing it, showing it who’s boss.

Ultimately, of course, it is. As it shows a few times.

The Bean goes up to the top of our slanted cul-de-sac and then goes zipping down at a speed which is truly, no kidding, terrifying for a parent to observe. I mean, I’d be scared if I watched nearly-eleven-years-old Max go that fast. My five-year-old? Fugghedaboutit. I think I peed myself a little.

And, sure enough, at the very bottom of the cul-de-sac, when she’s going the absolute fastest, there’s a grinding noise and I see her bobble a bit. My heart stops.

But she’s just fine and zipping back up and my heart begins to beat again. And then she’s zooming back down. And then there’s that grinding noise and I see her bobble a bit and my heart stops once more.

I work in a visual medium. So when I see my kid speeding down the street and start to lose control, I can’t help it—bad, bad images pop into my mind. I don’t want them to, but I have no power over such things. They’re just there suddenly. It’s not pleasant.

But this time, in addition to the Wes Craven slideshow in my head, I also realize the problem developing between The Bean, the bike and the pavement. And after some quick self-inflicted CPR to jumpstart the ol’ ticker, I call her to a halt—she skids to a stop, of course—and explain that she’s gotta stop pedaling when she’s at the very nadir of her route as that makes her pedal scrape the road, throwing off her balance. She’s interested by this information and agrees to take it under consideration. It’ll mean she can’t go quite as fast, so there’s a clear downside to it, which must be weighed against the increased possibility of turning into road pizza.

So she goes for another quick spin, this time sans constant pedaling and comes speeding up to me and screeches to a skidding stop and grins a billion dollar smile. Clouds suddenly give way, the sun shines down, a choir of heavenly angels break into "Louie Louie." It’s a good moment.

"You like your new bike, don’t you?" I ask in that way parents have of stating the completely obvious.

"Uh-huh," she agrees, patting the bike fondly. "Zap’s a good boy."

"Zap?" I ask. "Is that its name?"

"Uh-huh," she says again. "Because he’s so zappy."

And off she zaps.

Comments

[Jay]

thanks for the big ol' belly laugh - I needed that!

[Carrie K.]

Great post. - I can relate, as our road has a heart-stopping hill that my kids insist on riding down at top speed.

[Ann]

Well now I have the "Bean & Zap" slideshow playing in my head, and it is hilarious, a little scary, and full of charm. You are a funny, funny man! No wonder Top Management raves!

[kate]

you have an awesome talent in describing events-- go Bean; and dad, keep the ticker ticking.....

[sarah]

You want dibs on who's going over the handlebars first? Maddie or the Bean?

[Scott]

You want dibs on who's going over the handlebars first? Maddie or the Bean?

There's no contest: it'll be Lucy. Without question.