S l o o o w Motion Real Time
Riley is passionately in love with schedules. If you ask Riley what is happening on any random date on her calendar, she will recite every single one of life’s details that may be written there and even some that you may not have known she plans to have written there as soon as possible. Of course, part of this has to do with her love for the schedule, and part of it is just that Riley has an amazing memory for everything (she can tell me the cubby number and the lunch number of every one of her second grade classmates). Anyway, I digress. The point of all of this is that I started off our “track out adventures” by writing a daily schedule on the magnetized dry erase board on my refrigerator. Kevin was in the kitchen when Riley discovered it, and he said that an unmistakeable peace transformed her face the moment she noticed it.
You might think me cruel, but even though I know that schedules bring my daughter peace, sometimes I refuse to post one. It’s not that I mind having a scheduled day. In fact, if the truth be told, I am much happier with a schedule myself. It’s just that there are times when Riley’s love for schedules crosses the fine line between love and obsession, and she cannot function without her list of the day’s events. When I see that she’s going a little nuts, I put the schedule away and insist that she cope with not knowing exactly what will happen next. So far this time, no one has crossed the line.:)
Early Sunday morning, as I wrote out the day’s events, Riley stood next to me editing. I had written in a walk around the neighborhood for the family.
“Mom, it needs to say, ‘Take a ride on my bike on the sidewalk.'”
I smiled at her and added a line below the one I’d just written. “Ride bike on sidewalk—Riley”
It seems like every time we take a family walk, Riley sees a kid her age riding his or her bicycle on the sidewalk while the rest of the family walks nearby. I knew this fact had inspired her and saw no harm in entertaining her whim. Not to mention the fact that every time Riley sees said bike-riding kid we are always on our way back home, and we then get to hear about how Riley wants to ride her bike and how riding her bike is her favorite continuously for the next half hour.
When walking time came and Riley strapped on her bike helmet, Zoe immediately decided that she wanted to tour the neighborhood on her scooter. Sweet Adam watched Kevin getting out Riley’s bike and tried to climb on himself. Since his training wheels need to be replaced, I suggested that he take the other scooter. So, in the space of about five minutes our family walk turned into Mom and Dad walk and guide while everyone else rides something.
This turned out to be the funniest trip around the neighborhood I’ve taken in a long time. Riley insisted upon riding her bike so slowly that any typical individual would have to try hard to move that slowly. When we started to go down hill and it was impossible for her to maintain her slow-for-a-tortoise pace, she hopped off and told Kevin that she’d walk the bike “because I just need to be safe.” Every so often, Kevin would reach up and push her lightly on the back with an encouraging, “Come on, Riley, you can do this.”
“But Daaadd, I’m just tooo afraid.”
“Why are you afraid, Riley?”
“I’m just…I’m just too scared of riding my bike, Dad.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. I turned around and looked ahead, and just let the laughter pour forth. I kept remembering months ago, when Riley would take the down hills so fast that Kevin had to run to keep up with her. Let’s just say that now she’s matured enough to understand what can happen, and she also learned a little too well how to use the break.
Kevin just made me laugh harder every time he tried to convince Riley that her snail’s pace was unreasonable. Honestly, you cannot imagine how slow she was going unless you pretend like you are slowly riding your bike in slow motion. Then you might have a tiny clue.
I could hear her back there behind us arguing with him. “Oh! But Daddy, I don’t want to go fast.”
“Riley, I’m not even asking you to go fast. I’m just asking you to peddle a little less painfully slowly.”
Meanwhile, Adam was expertly learning to operate a scooter with such a loose steering shaft that he could’ve spun it in complete circles had he wanted to do so. He was having the time of his life. He giggled his way down the street, quickly figuring out exactly when to push with his foot and when to coast. Once, he picked up his foot a little too quickly and careened off the side of the road into the grass.
“Are you okay?” I asked instinctively. Adam slowly looked up at me, a sly grin widening on his face. You must understand. For some reason completely unknown to us, “Are you okay?” has been Adam’s favorite question for the last two years or more. I’ve told you that Adam is a quick learner. Over the course of the walk, there were several more falls, all obviously staged for my benefit. These falls even had rhythmic quality, ending with a flourish and then a raising of Adam’s eyebrows in my direction.
Zoe whizzed past all of us on her pink scooter (after which I heard Kevin say something like, “Come on, Riley. If a five year old can pass you on her scooter, you’re going too slow.”), then she slowed down a bit and kept pace with Adam and me. She’d get excited about the fact that she was riding next to Adam, turn to tell me, “Look, Mom! Adam and me are riding together!” and turn her scooter in the same direction she turned her head. Each time she “told me something,” Adam had to swerve quickly away as his sister drove directly into his path. To his credit, he seemed to enjoy the whole experience, oblivious to Riley’s anxiety. Zoe just loved the fact that for once, she had speed on her side.
