Tuesday, May 3, 2011
First Bike Ride
A few months ago, our office had a little happy hour where spouses and kids were invited. Elijah took this opportunity to go completely bonkers. He ran up and down the halls screaming and chasing every kid in sight.
At some point in the festivities Eli lost track of his bladder and whizzed all down the front of his pants.
I was standing with my boss when Eli raced up to inform me of his newly soaked sweats. I announced, “Who wants to take this kid home? He peed himself.”
My boss, who is an incredibly nice man, said, “I’ll take Eli. He’s cool.”
Eli looked him in the eye and said, “No, seriously. I peed on myself. Look.”
The point I’m trying to make is Hamann men have weak bladders. At any given moment, I’m about five seconds away from wetting my pants. And I’m willing to bet big money that my dad or one of my brothers is currently standing at a urinal.
Now hold that thought for a second.
Our buddies, the Goodriches, gave Eli a bike recently. I dunno if you’ve seen these, but it’s one of those bikes without pedals. It’s called a “Skuut.” But I refuse to call it that.
Last Sunday, Eli and I went on its inaugural run. He did pretty great. Especially since his sense of balance is that of me after several beers.
But he goes REALLY slowly. A woman in a motorized wheelchair literally passed him on the sidewalk. Eli convinced her to give him a ride.
And now the purpose of the pee opening. Eli asked me if we could ride to the park, a mere block and a half away. I suggested we take Luca in his stroller as well.
Suddenly and without warning, the gallon of water I had consumed earlier in the day came to full term. I announced urgently that we were heading home from the park. I shoved Luca to the end of the block and waited for Eli to catch up on his bike.
And I waited. And I waited. And I waited.
It became clear that I would not make it at the current pace. To encourage Eli to hurry, I turned to my old friend, Yelling. I shouted, “Get your ass in gear, boy!”
This was the moment Eli rediscovered his love of dandelions.
I raced down the block and grabbed Eli under one arm and his bike under the other. I then shoved Luca’s stroller the rest of the way home with a series of violent kicks.
I won’t reveal if I had an accident. But let’s just say Eli had the right to say, “Who wants to take this dada home?”