Lasting Impressions

Last week, my husband and I gave in and bought the babies a pair of bicycles.  For months prior, every place we saw a bike became a 20-minute rest stop for us.

"Bike!" they'd say.  "Bike!  Mine!  My bike! Up, up, up!"

Then we'd explain that it was not their bike, and I made them say bye bye.  Imagine their excitement then, when on one Saturday morning, my husband set off in search of baby girl bicycles.  I was excited for them.  I told them over and over while we waited for him to come back, "Daddy's getting your bikes.  He's getting them right now.  Bikes?  Daddy's getting you bikes!"

Little did I know what I was doing.

When he did come back, of course, it was time for a nap, and by the time they were up, my husband and I had totally assembled, pink tiny bicycles waiting for them.

Only, I was no longer part of the equation.

As the babies had cutely repeated my mantra of "Daddy!  Bike!" back to me that morning, they must have connected those two terms permanently in their minds.  So that when we went to take the bicycles outside and ride around on them, I was not allowed to touch the bicycles.  Any time I went to push, or help my husband in anyway, we'd end up with a screaming toddler.

"No, mama!  No!  Dada push!  Dada bike!"

That was cute for the first five minutes.  Eventually, though, we made a rule.  No bicycles unless mommy can push, too.  They haven't ridden their bikes since, really.  A few minutes here and there.  But only Dada is pushing.  It takes 30 minutes of cajoling to get them to even consider letting me help, and even then they only let me help to push them toward where Dada is so that he could take over.

And, honestly, they'd rather push it themselves than let me near it.

The moral of this story is always think before you say anything to babies.  Especially if it's something you're going to repeat.  They are constantly making connections that they will stick by as if it's permanent rule.  There is no logic involved, and no way to convince them after the fact that the conclusion they have made is in any way false.

Of course, I don't really mind not having to push a 30-pound toddler on a bicycle, so I suppose it's a win-win.

Bye Bye

Toddlers love to show off their newly-learned knowledge, and as they learn to communicate, parents can use this to their advantage.  This is a trick that I'm sure will not last for long, but, right now, it's one of the easiest ways to get my toddlers to mentally let go of something.  I tell them to tell it "bye bye."

Bicycles are entrancing to my babies, right now, and last week my husband and I took them to our town center where everyone had decided to ride their bike that day.  Gainesville is set up to accommodate this with bicycle racks installed every few feet.  Needless to say, the walk around town was long, but we had nowhere to be.  (That's another important part to going out with a toddler.  Make sure you have nowhere to be.)

Every few feet, we stopped.  The babies touched each bicycle.

"Bike!  Bike! Up! Up! Bike!"

But they can't ride a bicycle; they're too small, not to mention these were all other people's property.

"Yes, that's a great bike!  What color is it?"

"... Blue!"

"Yes!  A blue bike!  Say bye bye, bike."

"Bye bye.  Bye bye bike."

And no matter which way we turned, to their delight, there was always another bike around the corner, so they were always willing to say goodbye to the last one.  When we finally decided to go home, they were, of course, disappointed that there would be no more bikes.  They cried, but we hugged, and I explained to them best I could that the bikes would not be gone forever.  They would see a new bike tomorrow, or the next day, maybe in our apartment complex, maybe out on the street.  They got lots of hugs and accepted the love in place of the object, and we went home.

Sometimes it's hard to say goodbye to something you love, something you've worked hard on, something you committed to.  We often try to cling to what remains, even if the current object bears no resemblence to that which it once was, or that which it was supposed to be.  We feel that we can't just give up, that nothing else will ever come our way.

We're wrong.  No matter how old you get, you'll never be able to see the next bike around the corner.  You just have to trust that it will be there and let go of the old bike because it was never really yours to begin with.  And when you get around that corner, if there is no bicycle waiting for you, take a good look around.  I bet there's someone right there waiting to give you a hug and tell you it will be okay.