The other morning, The B and I went for a bike ride . . . .
You might think that there's nothing unusual in this. But, consider that it took a sceptical cyclist more than 18 months to figure out how to operate the pedals - a skill he mastered just this summer - and this becomes a significant event.
Bikes are all the rage around here and it has nothing to do with the Olympics.
Having decided that she wants a bike for her birthday, The G is counting the days until she turns four. Until then, she is reliant on her scooter in order to keep pace with her bike-mad brother.
The other day, The G and Dr Z out shopping and The B keen to go for a ride, I decided I'd join him on two wheels for the first time ever.
I thought we might make it to the end of the street, around the block at best.
But we ended up being out for some time, taking in the local park and the sea front, crossing one or two major roads and tackling a significant hill, The B's little legs a blur as he pedalled like never before.
Riding behind him, I suddenly felt a swell of pride as I considered how well he was doing.
Realising, at that point that, prior to leaving the house, he'd put his trousers on back-to-front, the feeling didn't last long . . . .
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