Today, the weather was almost pleasant, and we took the boys to the sculpture garden so Owen could show his grandfather how he bikes, "Faster than my Dad runs, faster than a car, faster that anything ON EARTH."
We're working on his confidence.
He pedaled faster than I could walk, so I let him go ahead, stopping him periodically by yelling, "Red Light!" He would freeze in position and wait for me to catch up, then zoom off into the distance once again.
As I walked, watching my boy navigate his world, I thought about autumn, and how pleasant it will be to visit this park. I thought about the crunch of the leaves and the bite of the air, and my boy, pedaling without consequence, without purpose, just simply because it's so much fun.
Then, it hit me. He will be in school three days a week.
Three days a week, he will not share these gorgeous moments with me.
Three days a week, he will belong to his friends and his teachers.
For three days a week, he will have a world entirely apart from me.
This is how it should be.
Yet, as I watched him, I realized that with every day, he is pedaling away from me.
At this time next year, he will be on the cusp of kindergarten. And then it will be first grade, than middle school, and on and on it goes.
So incredibly fast. So incredibly soon. He's pedaling away, faster than his Dad's powerful strides, faster than a car, faster than anything on Earth.