Another Guest post by the lovely Peta who writes at http://minrva.blogspot.co.uk/:
Cycling. A thoroughly freeing and enjoyable pastime, in my book. But for those who are not proficient, the suggestion of cycling can conjure up visions of skunned knees, bruised hands and scraped elbows. Miss is learning to ride…
Unfortunately, Miss is blessed with our family trait of an irregular torso:legs ratio, which makes reaching the pedals of a regular-sized toddler bike quite the stretch. But someone out there at “Ozbozz” has, in their infinite wisdom, made a little pink scooter with significant flexibility in the handle bar height department.
With my trusty bicycle, I have been known to challenge a mountain or two. But the thought of Miss learning to ride the way that I did (fear of falling is a great motivator to keep upright) is a little worrisome. Miss is learning to wear her safety helmut every time she rides, just like her Mama did, which does help ease my mind some.
Miss is learning to run and explore safely, to be inquisitive of new things without fear, and to make good observances about danger. But will Miss show such sense when riding her ‘gooter’?
Miss is encouraged to climb the ladder, to walk up the slide (the wrong way) and to conquer the climbing frame. But will Miss manage such balance when riding her ‘gooter’?
Miss is provided many opportunities to develop independence skills, such as self-dressing, replacing books in a bookshelf and measuring food portions. But will Miss achieve such coordination when riding her ‘gooter’?
The moment of truth, as they say, arrived. Miss was escorted around the block by Papa, who encouraged practise on the flats before attempting the slightly-sloped home straight. Papa lined up Miss, with scooter, at the top of the slightly sloped home straight while I braced myself and prayed for the best; I could not watch. I could hear, but I could not see. But I could not hear anything. No squeals of delight nor screams of despair. Nothing.
As they rounded the corner to our front gate Papa explained the silence. At the top of the slightly sloped home straight, just as Papa gave the gentlest of push-starts, Miss had exclaimed: “Not too fast, Papa!”
Ah bless, Miss is not the daredevil I feared she would be.