Bubba has been wanting a new bike for a long time, and we started testing out bikes at Wal-Mart a few weeks ago, trying to determine which one would be a good one for Santa to bring her. We talked her out of two others, since they were not going to be long enough for her giraffe legs. She insisted that she could ride like this:

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when she needed to turn the bike so her knees would not impale themselves on the handlebars. I kept pushing for an 18" bike, versus the 16" one she wanted to deform herself upon, and eventually she tried it and found it to be preferrable to cocking her knees out at a 45 degree angle to move the handlebars half an inch in either direction. She has been asking for this whole time to buy it herself with her tooth fairy money, and I demurred, since my sweet mother-in-law and I have both been wanting to get her the bike for Christmas.

I gave in though, seeing her sweet little face light up with the thought that she would buy her own ticket to freedom, her own hell on training wheels (yes, training wheels--she likes to take her time to learn how to do things, and that's cool with me....she'll grow up overnight when she's a teenager. Until then, she can be my baby and take her time with the "risky" stuff like not having training wheels on her bike). I agreed the other day, when she went with me to the store after a doctor's appointment for her asthma which always gets worse in December, that she could buy it for herself.

Every waking moment since then, she has either wanted to ride her bike. We did not allow her to for a couple days due to the weather and her asthma. Then yesterday, as I lay here on bedrest and snuggled in bed with a sweet little boy who wanted to cuddle and watch "Finding Nemo" on the tv with me, Mower wanted to work out. I asked him to take Bubba with him, so she could have something to do other than complain in my ear about how she wanted to ride her bike. We all agreed that Mower would take her, let her play in the children's area while he worked out (which has been a great shift for him--he's lost 40 pounds within the last 2 months, my anorexic, exercise-bulimic hubby of mine) and then get her to go swimming, after which she could ride her bike.

The kid's area was closed, so Bubba patiently waited on a stationary bike while Mower huffed and puffed his slimming-down ass on the elliptical for an hour. One minute left in his cool-down and the fire alarm went off. No swimming after the evacuation of the building, and as they were on their way home, no more daylight. Mower informed Bubba she would be unable to ride her bike, and she promptly informed him he was "MEAN!!!!"

Mower and Bubba got home and Mower sat Bubba down to watch "The Grinch That Stole Christmas." I called him to see why they were back so early, since I am supposed to stay in bed and he pretends he cannot hear my shrill, nagging baritone of a voice echoing through the cluttered house. He explained what happened and that he had given her some homework. She was supposed to watch the movie and tell him afterward which one was meaner, Daddy or the Grinch. I had to venture downstairs last night to go to Labor and Delivery for observation of some weird preggo things, and saw that Mower had not been choked with the cute pink and purple tassles from her bike, so I correctly assumed that either she is planning that for another time or that she decided the Grinch was meaner.