Assuming it would rain--because, well, it's January and it's Oregon-- I planned on taking the girls to an indoor gymnastics open gym to play this morning. When a call came in from a friend to join them for biking in the park--because, lo and behold, it's SUNNY this January in Oregon--I nearly changed my plans.
But then, I know how that goes. I relish the time with my friends, and the kids relish their time with the other wee ones. Then, we come home, they head into (much needed) quiet time/naptime and DOH! I haven't spent any of my precious Saturday with my kids!
So, I asked the girls what they'd rather do, loading the question like nobody's business. (I think it went something like, "Do you want to go jump around on fantastically fun toys at place we hardly ever get the chance to go or ya wanna ride bikes? Jez, do you even have a bike? Winnie, I think your training wheels are broken. But, you know... it's up to you.")
Guess what we did?
They bounced like crazy. And we had a blast together. I briefly lamented not being out in the sunshine (must. soak. it. up. while. it's. here!) but got over it listening to the incessant giggles and "C'mon Jez! Let's try THIS!" and "NONA! OVER HERE!"
And Winnie. Dear, sweet, sometimes timid Winnie. She hasn't learned to fully trust her strength or physical abilities and when it comes to physical activity she is often scared of the "fall" or the "hurt" or the "whatever else could go wrong." She not only looks before she leaps (good thing); she frets before she leaps (something we're working on). She got in line, onto the rope and off of the rope 3 times before she was able to push off the mat and swing without reaching for me (instead of holding onto the rope... yikes!). The third time she got off, we talked about needing to trust and believe in her strength and that she was just as strong or stronger than any other kid there. She did it!
She was really proud. And really done with the rope. Back to the trampoline!
"Hey Mom! I got myself up here when you weren't looking. Now what?"
Now, you borrow some of your sister's fear. Just a little. And don't give it back.