Enter Exhibit A

I often have a dream where I'm in court and on the witness stand being questioned about my lack of parenting skills by a vicious attorney. My grown children sit at the Plantiffs table... and the lawyer brings over pictures that I took and says, "Oh really? You never tried to sabotage your children's attempts to socially fit in... may I enter into Evidence Exhibit A" The coutroom gasps as the pictures are revealed and I wake up in a cold sweat.

This is one of those incriminating series of pictures. The preschool has a Bike-a-thon fundraiser every year. Last year, Mr. Boy didn't participate, and I have NOT heard the end of it. So this year, we buy a helmet and ask the neighbors for pledges, and away we go. I let Mr. Boy decorate his trike because I thought other people would too... they didn't. I also thought most 4 year olds ride trikes.... they don't. Even though I haven't seen Mr. Boy ride his trike in a year or so.. I thought it was still plenty big for him... it's not.Also.. there was only one other trike there. It belonged to the youngest child in school, half Mr. Boys age. I knew the moment I pulled into the parking lot watching the parents unload big kid bikes from the back of their White SUVs ... Uh oh.. Exhibit A here we come. (sidenote: 90% of the parents at the preschool drive white SUV's... I'm actually know as the mom who "drives the non white SUV". )

The whistle is blown and the kids take off and Mr. Boy's ginormous legs are pedaling as fast as he possibly can, hitting the handlebars every time. Kids are whizzing by... they have done 3 or 4 laps by the time he has completed one. By lap 3, Mr. Boy is sweating profusely and I'm nervously fumbling for his inhaler and wondering if the school has a spare oxygen tank handy.... He is working so hard, and I'm ridiculously proud of him. He is unphased by the other children whizzing by. Even better, all the parents know him and are cheering for him. (one of the perks of having a child who tends to be in the center of mischeif, the parents hear all about my child's mischevious acts commited each day by their fascinated, yet well behaved, children) The coach is on the megaphone cheering for him.... and all Mr. Boy sees is a hundred faces all cheering him on. He successfully completed eight laps, and was stoked to earn a medal and a green popsicle. On the way home, as he rubs his bruised knees, he says, "I think it's time for a big bike. I just keep forgetting how big I am."

Mr. Boy, please forgive your parents who are just doing this all for the first time... we have no idea what we are doing, and the 3000 parenting books we have didn't mention that by the age of 4 you should have a bike with training wheels to participate in preschool bike-a-thons.