My kids are bossy. I think they get that from me — I did win the senior superlative of “Bossiest” for my high school class. Nice. I think I was the only person in the entire graduating class — maybe the whole school — surprised by that.
I sometimes bike commute with the turkeys in the Burley, riding my mountain bike from college — 1997, also probably the last year that thing had a tune-up. It has like 2 working gears — hard and harder. This is no big deal on the ride to work, it’s all downhill.
You know what that means. Uphill home, baby. And it’s through a busy area, so to make it safely, I try to hit a light on a certain street to cross. Unfortunately, that light is at the top of a small but steep hill.
A hill I could not haul the kids up yesterday. I got off my bike and walked it, which was apparently horrifying for Jack.
“Mom! You get on the bike, mom! Ride your bike!”
“I can’t, you guys are too heavy,” I admitted to my tiny children who are both in the 5th percentile for weight.
“No we aren’t, mom! Ride your bike!”
Meanwhile, Viv: “Bike! Bike! Bike!”
It’s like hauling those two old guys from The Muppets around.
This weekend, in a frenzy I was scrubbing down my white kitchen cupboards (I hate white kitchen cupboards).
Viv grabbed a dish towel, and stood at various doors.
She would wipe it a little, then yell, “Mommy, DO IT!”
And I would have to come and wash that door. Then she moved to the next one. “Mommy, DO IT!”
Some people say they had no time for themselves after their kids were born. They let themselves go, etc. They should borrow my kids. Jack and Viv will whip anyone into shape.