Scrambled Thoughts XIa - Miami Style

 11 - Boats are not generally confused with airplanes.

But, turns out, it's possible to be tricked into a double-take when one looks like it's flying.

 12 - To the stranger in the park: thanks for teaching my son how to ride a bike. 

 

There was a time in Miles's life, not too long ago (but, then again, I guess nothing in Miles's life was too long ago because, five years old) when he didn't give up easily.  When he was just a few months older than one year, for instance, I watched him step up and down and up and down and up and down a little stair (which was so small it might be better identified as a 'lip') in our cement patio until he could do it without falling.  "That kid is persistent!  He sure doesn't give up easily," I remember my dad saying as he watched the same scene.

But then Miles got on a bike. One without training wheels, mind you.  And the world around him shattered and crumbled into a million pieces when he realized that learning this new skill was going to require some work and effort.

He gave up.  And then he gave up again.  And again and again and again and again.  And again.  Day after day.  (But the flip side to all of this giving up, of course, is that in order for him to have given up that many times, he had to try that many times which, in the end, means maybe he didn't give up after all?) And each time he'd walk away crying I'd tell cryptic stories about people falling off horses and getting back on them again and then I'd decode the morals for him and he would be left wondering why we didn't just get him a horse instead of a dumb bike anyway.

Every day for two weeks we rode to the park with training wheels on his tires and a wrench in my stroller and, once we got to the playground, the wrench would come out and the training wheels would come off until he rediscovered all over again that he could not just innately ride the thing, but would have to work.  There was usually blood and there was always sweat and tears, and at the end of the day (which sometimes lasted 3 minutes and sometimes lasted 3.5), we put the training wheels back on the bike and rode home.

I did mention a stranger in the title... and I'm getting to that point now.  After a particularly grueling 3.5 minute day after a long string of particularly grueling 3 minute days, a kind old man rode up on a bike of his own.

"I see you're trying to learn how to ride a bike, young man," the stranger said.  "What's your name?"  In response to this question, Miles characteristically hid behind my leg and focused his concentration on a crack in the sidewalk so intensely that I wondered if it were possible to get him to focus his concentration that much in any other situation... such as cleaning his room, for instance.

"Hey," I whispered over my shoulder towards Miles's head, "did you hear this nice man ask you what your name is?"

Such concentration!

"This is Miles," I answered to the stranger for him, "and he appears to be feeling rather shy right now."

"Well, that's okay," the stranger said.  "Let me tell you something, Miles, and you don't have to look at me while I tell you.  When I was learning to ride a bike, my father taught me something very important and very helpful, and when I became a father I told my own sons the same thing, and now I'm going to tell you.

"All you have to do is remember to turn your front wheel in the direction that you're falling.  So if you're starting to fall over on your left side, quickly turn your wheel to the left!  And if you're falling to your right side, quickly turn your wheel to the right!  Good luck, young man.  You'll get it."

And with that the old man rode away.  Miles broke his concentration from the crack in the sidewalk to stare in awe as the stranger slipped down the path through the trees.

And wouldn't you know, the very next day Miles was ecstatic and riding like a champ.  And I was rather embarrassed in the discovery of my apparently awful teaching skills when it comes to bike riding.

Anyway, after riding didn't seem like an impossible dream to Miles anymore, his old persistence and determination came shining through and he rode and rode and rode and rode until he could turn wide circles and then tighter circles and eventually start all by himself.

I think I'll call that guy the Old Stranger Angel Man from now on.  Just because it's fun to say.

13 - Pools are relaxing.

There need to be more things in life like pools. Energy drainers for the kids, energy fillers for the adults.


14 - Pools are also very not relaxing.  Like, if this guy is around.

From before he started crawling, he's had one thought circling through his brain - how can I get into that water?  He even perfected his crawling at the pool-side because the water was such a strong motivator.  The only problem: he sinks like a rock.  Which makes pool time quite the opposite of relaxing for the mama. 

15 - Losing friends is sad.

Really, it was a matter of time.  Candy enclosed in glass over a white marble floor?  It was still tragic, though.  Carson took it the hardest.  Timothy was thrilled however, because, gumballs! 

16 - Loaded Nachos.  The menu description reads: "the most common reactions to this item are: "oooh," "ahhh," "wow," and "where am I?"

I laughed at the description, but figured they couldn't be that impressive (I'm a bit of a nacho snob because that's what I ordered every. single. time. I. could as a teenager).  However, the second I saw the waiter coming with this pile of deliciousness I said, "oooh," and as he set it down in front of me I said "ahhh," and as he was walking away I looked at Carson and said, "wow," . . . and then I stopped myself because I realized I was practically quoting everyone else who had ever ordered these nachos and I refused to say "where am I?" because I already knew that the answer to that question was Flanigan's.  

Carson and I happily packed them away.

17 - Every time the kids find a coconut, they ask if it's ripe.  And every time the kids ask if the coconut is ripe I say I don't know.

Google searches seem to be consistently inconsistent (it depends on what you want, they say (okay, so the problem is that we don't actually know what we want)).  But since there were several that washed up in the waves, we had fun trying to open them.  This one required a hammer and a screwdriver used as a chisel.

Everyone was quite unimpressed with the taste, but using the hammer and screwdriver was exciting. For Brian.