Last night the kids and I walked down to Brennan's school where we played some basketball, swung on the monkey bars, and I got called "daddy" by some random little girl who was convinced I was her father (she almost convinced Brennan too...he gave me that "you're not, right?" look). Before leaving the house and walking the 4 decently long blocks down to the school, Zoe and I had an altercation--she wanted to ride her bike down to the school, but I knew it would turn into me carrying said bike, so I said nope. She began to get really cute and sad, so I relented--with the condition that she ride it the whole time, and that I would not help out if she got tired (which inevitably happens every bike ride, about 45 seconds after it begins). She agreed, stopped crying, and away we all went.
45 seconds later
Zoe: I'm tired.
Me: Sweetheart, you know the deal.
Zoe: But I'm sweating.
Me: Sweat is good for you, and you know the deal.
Zoe: But now my knees hurt.
Me: Mine too. You'll get used to it.
We finally arrived at the school 10 minutes later and had some good fun. I smiled awkwardly at the young girl's mother as she called me "daddy." The mother failed to correct her or giggle. She just looked at her, then looked at me. I smiled, and she just kept looking at me. I felt like I should introduce myself, or give her my business card. I really didn't know what to do. Brennan got the concerned look on his face, so I assured him that I only have three kids. I didn't go into great detail of how I can guarantee there is zero chance I have additional children, but I didn't need to, he believed me. When it was time to go, we began the trek home, with Zoe and Brennan jumping on their respective bikes.
45 seconds later
Zoe: I'm tired.
Me: You know the deal.
Zoe: But I'm sweating real bad.
Me: You are very cute and convincing, but I'm not carrying that Dora bike.
Zoe: My knees are sweaty.
Me: Let me feel. No they're not.
Zoe: But my tummy....
Me: Stop.
Zoe: But I love you.
Me: Good grief.
Zoe: *lip curling*
Me: I'm not carrying your bike for you. Let's go.
We continued along until we reached Prospect which is one of the busiest roads in town. As we approached the street, I told Zoe I'd carry her bike while she held my hand and crossed with me. Brennan was to stay at my side on his bike. There was a sizable break in the traffic, we looked both ways (because that's what you do!) and seized our opportunity. When we reached the sidewalk, Zoe let go of my hand and took off running. Just as she did this, Brennan came zooming up behind her: there was the screeching of tires, the grimace on my face, and the inevitable collision of boy, girl, and bike, all three heaped together on the sidewalk. Both of them started screaming (Brennan because he felt bad, Zoe because she just got mauled). And then it happened. Zoe looked down at her foot and saw blood. True, real, red blood. Just as she was about to start really letting loose, her face softened and she realized what this meant: "he WILL carry the Dora bike now." She began to sob cutely, then looked up at me with those big blue eyes, and began:
Zoe: I'm bleeding daddy. I can't walk.
Me: Oh, you're right, that looks like a bad owie.
Zoe: *through sobs* Hold me Daddy! Hold me! Hug me!
Me: Ok...but only because you're...oh forget it, come here.
Zoe: *on my shoulders, running her fingers through my hair* thank you daddy, I needed you.
Me: I need you too sweet girl.
Zoe: *with thumb in mouth* I love you daddy.
Me: I love you too.
Twinkle twinkle little Zo.
How I wonder where you'll go.
Over land and through the sky.
With a twinkle in your eye.
Twinkle twinkle little Zo.
I love to watch you grow and grow.
And when the twinkle doesn't get you what you want, a scraped shin and a tire mark across your thigh certainly will.
