"Okay." She said and began to find her shoes.
I didn't say anything more so I'm sure she was uncertain, especially since she kept glancing up at me. Finally she exclaimed, "Mom, are you serious?"
I chuckled. "How were you going to get there?"
"On my bike."
"How about you just come with me instead?"
Here's where the mis-communication starts. When I said--why don't you just come with me, she heard--on our bikes at 7PM in the dark in 35* weather.
She flew out the door while I went to get my coat (still unaware of the word confusion). You can imagine my surprise when I saw her at the end of the driveway sitting on her bike waiting (in snow boots and winter coat no less).
"No, we're driving."
"But you said we could ride our bikes!"
"I'm not riding my bike in this weather." I chuckled.
"In the car."
"How 'bout I ride and you drive... I can keep up!"
The look on her eyes was absolutely priceless. One of those moments where you know compromise is the best option, lest you break a tiny heart.
I sighed. "Okay, okay. You ride your bike and I'll follow."
What were the odds she'd last all the way to the store, anyway... right?
Still, I couldn't believe I was doing this. She couldn't either. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head, but being a smart little kid she didn't wait for me to change my mind.
Moments like these are the stuff you remember forever. Watching my little girl pump her legs and grit her teeth and ride her bike with all the determination in the world (it's about 2 1/2 miles to Wal-Mart). Me in the car next to her with my hazard lights on, going a whopping 5 miles an hour.
At one point right after a four way stop I heard a 'thwump...splash' and turned to see her eating concrete. Her eyes bright as she stared back at me.
"I'm okay!" she announced, "I want to keep going."
I smiled, "Okay."
Two minutes later she biffed it again, "I'm alright!" Was all she said.
We kept going--past the Elementary school, past the Middle school. Vicbowin's eyes alight with the thrill of this adventure.
"Are you cold?" I hollered.
"Do you want to get in?"
"We're almost there."
Yep, it's the sort of thing that you know is going to be a memory. It's the sort of thing that sticks in your own brain like honey. Sweet and lasting and not likely to go bad.
When we got to Wal-Mart we put her bike in the back of the car and went in for the nails. Both of us happy and smiling. We held hands and she beamed.
"Is my face red?" She asked. "It was really cold."
I smiled, "Just your cheeks."
Her chocolate eyes glowed. Her steps became a little bouncier.
She had just achieved an incredible feat. Her mom had let her ride all the way to Wal-Mart and she had done it!
She was proud.
What a great girl I have.