When Pigs Fly

By DeeDee

Today I had a play date with Emme, Cailey, and their 7 year old friend who lives down the street. Just us gals. The three younger ones tore down the street on their bikes, while I ran staggered tried to keep up. Thankfully, when we arrived at the cul de sac, I could collapse sit on the sidewalk, take a breather, and attempt to listen in on the animated conversation of the prepubescent set concerning matters only directly affecting 7 year old girls.


Like how gross boys can be. Like I didn’t know this already.

The Friend thinks my girls are awfully fortunate that they’re homeschooled, because in public school, the bathrooms are so dirty, she shares wrinkling her nose. (She’s obviously never been privy to the interior of my children’s bathroom by, say, Friday.) AND did you know that once a boy actually peed in the bathroom sink at school. After all the appropriate “eewwws”, and “GROSS ME OUT”, I wondered, how did she come across this information? But I didn’t ask.

I was quickly becoming part of this little clique. You know, being included in the conversation and all, from the safety of the sidewalk, when all of a sudden, The Friend asked me if I wanted to ride her bike. My 7 year old daughter said, loudly, “NO WAY, MY MOM’S IN HER 40’S.” The Friend’s jaw drops and she turns to look at me in shock. “Oh wow!”

I’ve written extensively how I haven’t ridden a bike since well before I had children, and about the unfortunate encounter with that mailbox that leaped in my way and all. And about how there’s not enough insurance in the state to warrant my getting on anything with two wheels and a seat that is a quarter of the size of my derriere. But people, the gauntlet was clearly thrown down. That was a double dog dare if ever I’d heard one.

With six wide eyes staring at me (and possibly more if the neighbors were peeking through their blinds), and with the wind in my hair, and bugs in my teeth, I rode The Friend’s bike. Then I rode my 7 year old’s bike. And just because I felt like showing off, I rode my 5 year old’s bike. The one with the training wheels. And while I was feeling spunky, I also played a rousing game of tag with The Girls. Thankfully, The Friend’s dad called her to come in. He could be more than a little concerned regarding his daughter’s choice of playmates.

As I type this from traction, I know that I’m the oldest young mom in the neighborhood. And after today, in my daughter’s eyes, I’m definitely the coolest.

Originally posted at Fiddledeedee

4 Responses to When Pigs Fly
  1. Hannah
    October 25, 2009 | 9:52 pm

    You go girl!!!! Hat totally off to you.

  2. melissa
    October 26, 2009 | 8:02 am

    yayaya that is great hahaah

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