Yesterday I rode Bear Creek Trail in Ellijay, GA for the second time. Thanks to my friend Chris Korte, I was able to ride a full suspension Specialized, which is much like piloting a water bed with good steering. Instead of climbing like real men, we decided to shuttle ourselves up top, Chris, myself, and Chris’s friend Dave, going down two at a time while the third man drove back down. Oddly enough, we found that riding down the mountain is faster than driving. By almost ten minutes. Of course, that’s not too hard to believe after I tell you that I held the group’s speed record of 29.1 mph. That’s down the side of a mountain. A bumpy one. ‘Twas awesome.
Of course, that kind of speed comes at a price. I was warned about a downed tree near the top of the trail, and I stopped for it fine, but when I swung my leg over my bike to dismount, I ran my leg right into one of said tree’s broken branches. Shortly after getting back on, I took a tumble over my handle bars that probably would have killed me if I hadn’t had my helmet on. So that wreck left me with some road (trail?) rash on my left shoulder, which made sleeping last night a pain (Ha! Puns!)
I wanted to take some video, but I made the decision to live the moment rather than just try to document it. I only half regret it. I do have SOME video though, which I hope to have up before the end of the week.
On to more suburban topics. My sister, Page, moved in to a house right down the street from me. .2 miles away to be exact. It’s a five minute walk. 2 minute bike ride. 6 and a half hour plane ride. (You gotta compensate for security.) It’s been 7 years since Teresa and I have lived relatively close to any family. My other sister, Kathie, moved to Columbus a while ago, but that’s still 2 and a half hours away. We can do some weekends together, but it just ain’t the same.
It’s funny, riding back and forth between houses, dropping my bike down in front yards, and running inside. It’s a lot like being 8 again.
We’ve already had several dinners together, I’ve gone over late at night after Tree goes to sleep to just hang out…it’s almost like having a real social life. I could get used to it. Guess I need to start scheming now about how to keep them from moving at the end of their lease. Unless they want to move next door. Hmm…maybe I should scheme to drive out my neighbors…
Heck, tonight Teresa and I even get to go on a date! Well, maybe. I don’t know if Tree has talked to Page about watching the kids yet. So…80% chance of a real date tonight! Only a day after our 7 year anniversary no less!
Yesterday we were getting ready to go out, everybody putting on shoes, rounding up supplies, getting Noah to choose a small toy to bring…you know, the regular routine. I open the door, start ushering Noah out, and Teresa looks at me and says, “Are we bringing Desi?”
Calmly sitting in the other room, oblivious to the world, is little Desmond.
“Oh yeah. Yeah, we should probably bring him.”
See, this is how my mind starts to internalize things. Teresa was in love with Desi and dreaming of her new four piece family within weeks of finding out. I, on the other hand, am like a fine wine. Facts must age in my brain until they’re ready for use.
As we load into the car, the old process of buckling Noah in has now expanded to buckling Noah in and getting Desi locked in. I try to avoid the second part, as putting a newborn into a car seat is akin to fitting potato chip into a change purse. It looks like it could fit, but your pretty sure something will snap in the process.
So while it used to be “Me and Tree and the boy” now it’s “Me and Tree and Noah and Desi.” It’s no longer “Noah is an addition to our couple.” It’s “We are clan Bullard.” We are a traveling troupe. Matching t-shirts would almost be appropriate.
After a long struggle (search “poop” and see how many posts come up) Noah has finally come to terms with the fact that poo belongs in the toilet. Turns out the breaking point was simply lying about the world’s supply of Noah-sized diapers. We warned him that we were running low, and that soon he’d be forced to poop in the toilet. It was a game of human waste chicken. Who would blink first?
Noah held out until the very last diaper, and then only held it in for a day before finally deciding the toilet wasn’t the spawn of satan (in regards to poop…peeing in the toilet has been no problem for months.) I got a call at work from a tiny voice saying, “DADDY I POOPED IN THE TOILET!!!” This time it wasn’t a wrong number.
So my life has changed in a very good way. I haven’t had to clean up anything resembling adult poop in over a week. It’s almost weird. He’s tells us when he’s going about 50% of the time, so sometimes you’ll just walk in on him, or it will be really quiet, and you’ll get suspicious.
“I NEED PRIVACY!”