Training Wheels

Pardon my black, greasy fingers.  I just used tools.  Even tore up my clothes in the great feat of Putting Training Wheels on the Bike.


Paul was working this evening and Reuben needed training wheels put on the red bike.  I am woman.  I can do this.

Let's see...  Where are the training wheels?  Found them after ten minutes.  


Now, what tools and equipment do I need?  Got the bike and the wheels.  Dug through the tool drawer and found a wrench with a circle on the end.  First wrench I tried and it was the right size.  Yah.  I can do this.


Wheels amazingly attached and secure.  Reuben gives them a test run.  Chain pops off.  Nice.


I remember back to my tomboy days of reapplying my own bike chain and I know I can do this.  But, see, now the training wheels are in the way for me to remove the chain guard so I can get to the chain.  My childhood bike had neither training wheels, nor chain guard.  This is harder.


Find a screwdriver, remove chain guard and loosen training wheels enough to fix chain.  A wasp comes to buzz in my face, sun is burning down, and something bites my ankle.  But the boy must have his training wheels.


Done and we're off around the block with much rejoicing.


He hits a bump and the aforementioned loosened training wheel rotates and becomes nonfunctioning.  Should have put the wrench in my back pocket like I thought.


Back to the garage to readjust and tighten. 


Lap two around the block, his handle that used to have a rubber covering, back before it had fallen over a gazillion times from older brother's reign, bumps my thigh and pokes two holes in my nicest pair of capris.  Reminded me of when I taught first grade and would bump into the short filing cabinet by my desk and snag my dresses.  


But, Rube is smiley and confident and free to ride.


And I have grease marks on my hands to show my accomplishments.  Yah I do.