Ride with a Prophet

Summer is here and the weather hasn't wasted any time getting hot.
This weekend was no exception.

On hot days, we usually try to get outside early, whether it's going to the park,for a walk or a bike ride around the neighborhood.

Sunday, we woke up, ate breakfast and off around town we went. Making our daily circle up through the neighborhood, by the fire house to catch a glimpse of the big red trucks, down through the main street in town, stopping at the new corner market for water and a snack, maybe something to bring home for lunch and then on our home. 

                                  On our way back we were joined by Art,

a friend or our neighbor's whom he affectionately calls "The Prophet".

Art is a staple on our street. He is in his nineties and can be seen riding his bike around town daily, making stops at local stores and Brian's house bright and early. If you are lucky enough to engage in a never ending discussion with Art, they often include tales of politics, religion, stories of local nature, and aimless discussions on whatever comes to his wandering mind. Yesterday, while keeping us company on our ride back home, he shared with us, techniques to keep the kids from falling off their bikes, his desire to help the local economy by stopping in the local stores, a little bit of town history, pointing out the oldest homes on our ride, and a review on a new ice cream he had tried that he warned, wasn't worth the money.

Yesterday's walk went much better than our walk today.

On the way home, Sophia who had stopped to touch a flower, which happened to be a rose, leaned over to far and fell into a small bush of thorns, scrapping up her knee and getting about a dozen or so little tiny thorn pricks all over the left side of her body. After that spill, she wanted nothing to do with her bike. So, while George rode his bike, stopping every couple houses to get off his bike and shout out words he could spell, I walked behind him carrying my 42lb 3-year-old for four very long blocks, followed by my husband who pushed the stroller with the baby and carried her bike over his shoulder.

Not that your child falling is ever funny, okay, sometimes, but my husband recounts the incident this morning with affectionate laughter, "You let her lay in the bushes while she was being stabbed to death".

I can't help but giggle. 

Although definitely not true, maybe my reaction was a bit slow, but not on purpose, it was hot, I was unaware it was a rose bush, and maybe I just thought she would get back up. It was one of those slow motion falls, when you can't quite process what is going on, because, it was kinda funny. 

Besides, I doubt his reaction would have been any faster. 

I'm not perfect, just mom.