Chapter Forty Four; Peanut Butter the Biking Princess Genius who is better than her Sister (PB titled this one....can you tell?!?!?)

“Okay, now slow down. Good job. Big bump here. All clear. Let’s go. Hey, don’t pass me. Watch where you are going. Tree! Hello! Geez, kid!”

Peanut Butter, my soon to be second grader, has learned to ride a two wheeler this summer.

She is officially a big girl.

And I don’t think my life is ever going to be the same again.

This child is a maniac. And an old soul. And in one of her past lives, she was some distant relative of Lance Armstrong because this kid is killing me.

One week into finally giving up the training wheels she is making up for lost time in the biking department by running her mother into the ground. Well, at least all over the ground. We have put on an average of seven miles a night and I am not even a little kidding.

Jam Jam, my teenager, is far more girly (a fancy way of saying lazy). And it was awesome coasting along that parenting highway, let me tell you. Two times around the bock when she was this age and she was ready to head back inside and get back to her Barbie business.

Oh, the good old days of parenting when air conditioned activities were the staple.

Now, this kid comes along and I find myself not only covered in sweat but having to invest in a gel-filled seat cover for my ass. On top of that, the future Tour de France winner and I are biking so far into unknown territory (I think we may have been in Canada this time last week) that I needed to buy a bike lock because half the time I don’t even know where the hell we are when we do finally stop (i.e. I collapse.)

I will stop whining briefly and admit this is a ton of fun. I am having a blast playing biking mother hen with my little chick following behind me ever so obediently. At every intersection, I check the traffic and wave her on, “Okay! We’re good!” and pedal, pedal, pedal she just clicks along behind me, big fat smile beaming from beneath her big helmeted head.

We fly past Moms strolling fat happy babies, Dads walking behind little boys on their hot wheels, and grandparents trying to keep up with little girls on Hannah Montana scooters.

Peanut Butter and I are on to the next level, we are a team, and we are flying by the competition.

This week’s weather has been excellent, and only once did we get caught in a brief rainstorm down by the river. We took shelter under the Main Avenue bridge where I pointed out the cardboard that was serving as a bed for a homeless person. As the traffic whizzed above us and the rain poured just beyond our reach, my daughter was struck only by the sadness of this vagrant’s life, “Oh, Mom, can we come back here later and bring them some money?” The compassion on her little face, if I could bottle it, would end every war this planet has ever seen, I am convinced. I promised her the next time we biked this way, I would definitely bring some money. And I tell you something, that kid won’t let me forget it either.

The rain stopped as quickly as it had begun and we were soon back on the trail, full speed ahead.

I call out directions, “Now use your break, its a bit of a hill here. Alright, good job, now we’ll take a left. Excellent!” as we rode home into the summer evening.

She passes me and I let her, because the rest of the trail is smooth sailing all the way back. And as I watched her little form scoot ahead of me I am struck by how small she is in this very large world. Yet she forges ahead unfazed and oblivious to her microscopic presence.

For now, I yell out instructions and she heads them. I applaud her for following them and she hears me.

For now.

But time is a thief that will eventually steal these abilities from me in the very mundane and expected outcome that is simply, growing up.

I sieze the moment before its gone, and call out again, “Great job, honey! Look at you go! Keep it up! I am so proud!”

And she glances back momentarily to flash a smile as she yells, “Thanks, Mom!!!”

And there she goes. On her little journey. With me right behind her guiding and cheering.

My big girl.

Getting bigger every day.

In an even bigger world.

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Jam Jam reads my blog and on occasion I'll read an entry to Peanut Butter, especially if she's in it. The three of us sat on my bed last night and I read this one aloud to both of them. When I finished I asked, "Okay, I am thinking just something like 'The Adventures of Peanut Butter' will work? What do you girls think?" Peanut Butter contemplates and then announces, "Hmmm, I think Peanut Butter the Biking Princess Genius who is better than her Sister, and Prettier too," would be good? "Nice!" Jam Jam objects! But soon we all agree it can definitely work, we just have to take off the "prettier" part . . . because that is just too long. Plus not true. "Mom is the most babe-olicious one in this family," I tease....they pummel me with pillows . . . but the title is decided: "Biking Princess Genius who is better than her Sister" it is.