I can't tell you how many friends have said, "I wouldn't tell anyone else this story if I were you." So what do I plan to do... post it with pictures. Why? I think it is funny and so me.
There are certain things I believe are a Dad's job.
1. Taking out the trash
2. Carrying Christmas decorations up and down the stairs
3. Putting things away in the garage
4. Teaching the girls how to ride their bikes.
Luckily, I am a modern Army wife. Plus, I don't like my trash to pile up for a year so I do most of the things I mentioned. But you will be the first to find out that I am stepping back into time. Returning to the kitchen, the cave, the rib. I am not going to teach Greta how to ride her bike. Let me rephrase that sentence... I am not going to try to teach Greta how to ride her bike AGAIN. I am saving that one for Gene.
I'll shorten the story of the day I tried to teach Greta to ride her bike by telling the "Gigi Version."
G: You should have seen it. Mom didn't want to squish Greta and kill her so she dived over her, rolled three times, and hit the light pole.
In my defense:
I didn't hit the light pole.
I did dive over Greta when she tried to "jump" off of the bike.
I did the Rambo dive because I didn't want to be on the evening news as a tragic story where the "big boned" Mom fell on her five year old and squished her to death.
I did end out leaving part of my knee on the pavement as well as pulling muscles in my back and shoulder, spraining my wrist, seriously banging up my elbow, and a nice variety pack of bruises.
I did have to visit to the doctor, get x-rays, and more doctor visits are scheduled.
I think this is all so funny and will make for a good story when Greta is older. Greta will learn how to ride her bike before she goes off to college. I promise.
1 hour ago