Screech!
So… the happy holiday train has come to a screeching halt (I’ve been so self-satisfied this past week, I wouldn’t blame you if you’re secretly delighted to hear that).
Today my nine year old pitched a dramatic, and I mean a Lawrence Olivier-worthy fit while we were trying to get ready to go on a picnic. This picnic involved us all being on bicycles–which we begged borrowed, stole, pumped up, broke (by accident) and re-adjusted over the past 24 hours.
But the readjusting did not suit Svenja. There were things about the situation that she didn’t like: for instance, the fact that we wanted her to get on a bike. A big bike. A bike for a ten year old. She prefers tiny bikes for tots on which she pedals like crazy and gets exhausted after five minutes. So we’re trying to persuade her that this bike is actually the right size for her and that she can do it! Yes she can! And she is busy sobbing, screaming, throwing herself on the filthy black tarmac and basically looking adorable and abused.
People in the garage area are slowing down to watch. Â An old lady looks at me with a scowl and says, “You don’t want to put her on a bike that’s too big! She could hurt herself!” A man stares at me and says, “Why’s the little girl crying?” (What he meant was, “What kind of monster are you?”).
What do you think happened? Did we pedal off on our family picnic, all of us happy and smiling, or did we give in to our little monster? Did Svenja have her own chauffeur-driven picnic excursion just so we could ENJOY SOME FAMILY DOWN-TIME?