Every cast has a silver lining.

I have totally dropped the ball in one area of child-rearing.

And that is the learning-how-to-ride-a-bike area.

We don’t have a driveway that’s conducive to riding a bike, plus we live on a busy road.

So the kids can’t just hop on their bikes and ride down the street.

The middle school is just down the road from us, like a tenth of a mile, so that’s where we usually go.

But even being that close,

loading up the bikes,

shlepping everyone down there,

trying to help Number 3 and 4,

while making sure that Numbers 5, 6, and 7 don’t run away,

or get run over by their siblings,

is more tiring than the NYC Triathlon.

Plus it takes the patience of,

well,

someone way more patient than me.

The last time we attempted the middle school, we took the tricycles too.

Number 6 spent pretty much the whole time like this:

It sucked.

And so,

I have avoided it.

But Number 3, a couple months ago, and approaching his 8th birthday,

revealed his complete and utter embarrassment that he didn’t know how to ride a bike.

“Mom. I’m the only kid in my class who doesn’t know how to ride a bike.”

Ugh.

Fail.

So I promised him that by his 8th birthday, he’d know how to ride his bike.

We took the training wheels off, and started practicing in the backyard, going downhill, and just learning how to balance.

On Number 5’s birthday, we got her a big girl bike, and Grammy and Papa even helped everyone out.

Number 3 is super athletic.

He got it right away.

Number 4,

um,

not so much.

She couldn’t get the balancing.

Or the steering.

She spent most of the time screaming.

Crying.

Ripping off her helmet.

Eventually she ended up in a far-off corner of the yard where none of us could see her.

But we heard her yelling, and wailing.

“Why? Whyyyyy? Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?????”

Number 4,

who comes by almost everything she does very easily,

annoyingly easily,

had reached her frustration limit.

And watching her brother having almost instant success just pushed her over the edge.

She blew a gasket.

So this weekend, on Saturday while I was in the city at the triathlon, Number 3 and 4 slept over at my parents’ house.

They took the bikes with them, and my parents brought them to the same place I learned to ride a bike when I was a kid.

There are 2 hills there.

One is small and gradual.

The other is big.

And steep.

My father took Number 3 and 4 over to the steep hill and told them not to go down it.

And then they started practicing.

Number 3 reached the next step…

Pedaling.

On the pavement.

All by himself.

A proud moment for him.

Number 4’s patience gauge was nearing its max.

She had reached the fuck this stage.

She went over to the steep hill.

I don’t know whether she actually meant to or not,

but she went down it.

And that’s how she ended up like this:

and then this:

She fell on the grass, but she must have landed in just the right, or wrong, way.

She fractured the growth plate in her elbow.

We were hoping for a waterproof cast, but the doctor said the people who got them were experiencing lots of skin irritations, rashes, infections…

so they stopped using them.

Which is a major bummer.

Because keeping Number 4 away from the pool is pretty much the same as putting a wild stallion in a dog crate.

So we’ve got 27 more days til that mothereffer comes off.

We have already learned an important lesson about why Mommy and Daddy and Grammy and Papa tell us not to do certain things.

And that most rules are made not to make kids’ lives miserable, but quite the opposite.

Still,

I feel bad.

Bad that it’s summer.

Bad that this is going to be a crazy hot week.

Bad that she’s going to miss the rest of swim season.

And championships.

Bad that she can’t swim out to the dock at the beach,

or invite friends over for a swimming playdate.

I’m also a little scared.

Okay.

A lot scared.

Number 4 is like a bull in a china shop.

The chances of us surviving the next 4 weeks without her concussing one of her brothers or sisters with that deadly weapon on her arm are slim.

But there’s got to be a lesson in there somewhere.

Other than the now-you’ll-listen-to-Mom-and-Dad-and-Grammy-and-Papa-when-they-tell-you-not-to-do-something lesson.

We are going to find it.

We are going to focus on the things happen for a reason side of this.

The, See? if you hadn’t broken your arm, we wouldn’t have been able to do this! part of it.

After all,

this may be one of the biggest obstacles any person needs to learn how to deal with.

It doesn’t go away when you’re a grown-up.

How often do we get wrapped up in how badly things are going?

And focus on all the negatives?

And wallow in the why me’s?

This is not the first time Number 4 is going to experience disappointment.

I might as well use this opportunity to give her a skill she’s never going to outgrow.

Time to make some lemonade.

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