We came back to the house with Z's booty, and after she'd opened all her gifts (me furiously writing down descriptions and giver's names on the big easel), I went out to the shed, and brought her new bike in, covered in a tarpaulin.
"Hey sweetheart! What's that big thing over there? There's a tarp--it looks like there's something underneath it."
She came over, and pulled the cover off, and..."HEY! IT'S A BIKE!!!"
She sat on it, fell over, got back on it. Walked it around the living room. I promised we'd spend the next morning riding it.
Anyway, the next morning, we threw the bike in the trunk, and headed out to the Arboretum. Unloaded everything at the top of a slight rise, strapped on Z's helmet, she sat down on it, and off she went--just like on the balance bike. The biggest problem was that she caught her Achilles Heel with the pedal a few times while using her feet to stop.
Ten minutes later, she had her feet up on the pedals, pedaling while I gave her a "assist" with a couple of fingers to the lower back. We found a nice circuit to ride around, with a slight downhill on one side, then a long straightaway, followed by a short uphill, long straightaway, then back to the downhill again. The first time through the corner at the bottom of the downhill it was all concentration. Then she cried, elated, "I'm going soo FAST!". Then the third time she yells, "I'm Lightning McQueen!"
The fourth time, the front end started to wobble a bit, she overcompensated, and...CRASH...down she goes, face-first into the pavement.
Seconds later, she's sobbing, face a mask of pain and disappointment. Tears streaming down. She holds out her right hand--road rash covering her knuckles. "Owwwwww!!!"
So we sat together on the side of the road, her tiny body wracked by sobs. Me trying to say comforting things. Also thinking, "she's never getting back on that thing after that." After a few minutes, she pulled herself together, and said, "I want to go over to the castle" which is the hilltop with the old columns from the Capitol building before it was razed in 1812.
"Ok, do you want to walk?"
"I'm going to ride my bike!" like I was being an idiot.
Says a lot about me, but I think I was more proud of her then than I was the day she first walked. She really is a persistent little bugger.
On Monday, she rode all the way to school, no assists from me. When we got there, she sizes up a seven year old on a race-car themed bike, looks him in the eye and says, rather pointedly "I don't have any training wheels."
Ok, next lesson: On Not Gloating...
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