The paci's are gone, and daily he hugs his bike and tells us how much he LOVES it. When I woke up this morning he was standing next to our bed with his helmet on. He tells me "thank you" for the bike constantly and is so grateful. But what gives me the most pause is that when we occasionally talk about where the pacis are now, he is most impressed and happy that he "gave them to someone who needs them," not that he got a bike out of the ordeal.
He is an incredible person. Many adults aspire to be like him, and I personally have always been inspired by his ability to love. I believe I am empathetic, and I know that he exceeds any ability that I have to reach out to others with kindess.
In believing that he gave the paci's to someone who needs them, he also assumed that Claire's paci's were gone too. Not a bad idea at all, except Claire really needs them to... well . . . let Shannon and I sleep as much as we can. So Claire's paci's now sit in a box on the dresser, up high, and she has one at school that she gets at naps, but we are careful to only call them by our secret code... the month of the year. Right now they are called "Julys" and next month they will be called "Augusts." It's a dangerous plan, but it has meant that her paci fixes only come while she's in her crib (and she wants two... one to suck on and one to hold and switch when the other gets too hot.) Hopefully our deceit will not bite us in the ass. I don't have much hope, for I am only so clever. Truthfully, he may have already found us out but is being nice enough to let us pretend that he doesn't know. (I remember doing that with my parents, and he's much smarter than I am.)
But anyway, the bike is the never ending hit around here. He has gone for long rides and tackled getting himself to move from standing (standing up and pushing the peddles), and coasting when he knows he's going too fast and is about to reach a place where he needs to stop. He has even barreled down a driveway full speed, hit a bump, and flown off the bike into the street... somehow not hurting himself more than a small bruise on his side, some raw hands and standing up with the wind knocked out of him. He stood up, didn't cry, but said he wanted to go home. At that moment a few older girls came by on their scooters with their mom and we had a little chat... and he was ready to go again. I'm so proud of him for his resilience and desire to improve.
He wanted to go for "just a little ride in Daddy's truck," because he gets cabin fever easily and knows how to fix that, and I asked him if he'd like to pack up his bike and take it to ride at the park. His eyes got really big and he sucked in his breath and jumped up and down, thrilled that he could and that we would do that for him. Grateful does not even describe it.
These pictures are not from today, but of him on his bike the day that he got to ride with his friend Max.
That day, Adam's buddy Max came to ride, and they "raced," but in race, that really means... we'll ride around the park and if I get off track, we'll come help each other back on. They are both winners, and both adore each other in the cutest display of friendship no matter if you're 2-3 years old or in your teens. These kids are the sweetest little guys.
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