The Final Decision

I am back to thinking March -- March is the cruelest month. Do you remember my argument about this? No? That's okay. The long and the sort of it was I was having a disagreement with a poet who was dead before I was born.

At any rate . . . it was really a gorgeous weekend in West Lake Woebegone. Preschooler D and I took two walks to the park -- and not the close park either. We went to the farthest park. That's right. I said it. The farthest park. It's something like two and a quarter miles round trip down by the lake and it was worth the trip both times.

On Sunday we took Big Daddy and Colin with us. Grandpa John and Colin purchased Colin a new bike on their weekly errand outing on Saturday. This bike is so nice, I am thinking of pulling some sort of parental thing and claiming that he is too young for such a great bike. Or maybe I will look super sadly at Grandpa John and remind him it's been 20 years since I've had a new bike . . . and I'm still riding it. Or maybe I will be a big, grown up almost 41-year-old and buy my own bike. If only I had a job that paid money . . .

Now Colin is nothing if not cautious. Nothing. He rode very, very, very carefully. Very, very, very slowly. We almost beat him there. On foot.