Super Strong Legs Maïa!

Over the summer, our little car-free family has been up-close and personal with the self-propelled lifestyle. The girls had a total of six weeks of paid day camp, not counting the two weeks with Nana and Grampa, or the week they were at horse camp for three days, and home with their cousin Marissa for two days. The camps were not in our neighbourhood, so we had to get there somehow.

On the days that called for thundershowers–and in this hot and humid summer, there were a few–we bused it. But the rest of the time, we biked. The four and a half kilometers would be a breeze for me, but it was a little trickier for the girls. At first.

Our first time out together, I wasn't quite recovered from my appendectomy, so I was happy to ride slowly. Solanne was on the trail-a-bike behind me, and Maïa on her own two-wheeled steam beside me. Up until then, Derek had been taking them in to camp. Now, I was ready to bring them in, and he would pick them up at the end of the day. Unfortunately, Derek forgot to tell me what to expect.

So when we were on the road, on a very slight incline that would last about 200 metres, Maïa slowed down to a crawl. Then she stopped. There was no way she could get going on the slant, so she had to walk her bike. Very slowly. Which meant I had to walk mine. Which meant Solanne had to get off the trail-a-bike and walk beside Maïa. Solanne is in the same terrible habit as Maïa of picking up random stuff from the ground. So by the time we got to the top of the "hill," she had a handful of treasure, which she wanted to hold in her hand while biking. We had a strong disagreement about it. Finally, I had to ditch my bike and take the rocks from her little hand and tell her to get on her bike. There was some whining, some more feet dragging. All this lasted about 15 minutes. We could have been almost half-way there by now... I was losing my patience. I blurted out, "this is why I hate biking with you people!"

Solanne burst out crying. Maïa got on her bike, determined to get going.

We biked in relative silence the rest of the way, save for me giving Maïa direction on where to turn next, when to stop, when to go.

The next day, after apologizing and telling them that I in fact enjoy biking with them (generally), we were off again. And Maïa made it up to the first stop sign on the incline.

The next day, she made it up to the second stop sign. By the end of the week, she had made it all the way to the top without stopping. I was so proud of her, and she so proud of herself, that this time I burst into spontaneous song:

Super Strong Legs Maïa
She's my superhero!

Everyday, when we got to the top of the hill, I sang that song to Maïa. Sometimes, Sol would join in. Sometimes Maïa would join in. Always, Maïa wore a smile of pure pride. Good for you, I'd think. It was hard, and you didn't let that stop you.

That song has become such a ritual that when we pass the spot on walks, we sing it. (I'm sure the people who live in the house at the top of the hill are sick of my silly song.)

Back to school

Today was the girls' first day back to school, and my first solo morning bike ride since June. And at the top of that hill, I sang Maïa's anthem to myself.

And suddenly, that terrible day I wished had never happened, the one I'm a little embarrassed to admit to, was overlayed with Maïa's theme and all those days of accomplishments.