Scoot or Die!


Yesterday morning I was awoken to the sound of little feet creeping into my room. It was tentative and quiet. Almost like a wolf stalking a kill. Through half lidded eyes I saw him in the mirror. Peeking around the corner of the wardrobe to see if I was truly awake. I decided to feign sleep to see what would happen. Thank anything and everything I ever believed in that I was awake. Slowly he put down his water and bear. On tiptoe he crept ninja like to the within a few feet of the bed. Then like coiled snake striking he leaps upon the bed, taking two strides he becomes airborne. There is nothing quite like the sight of a horizontally flying toddler to snap one into consciousness. As I quickly protected my face I was asked (in a voice entirely to excited for not having yet had coffee) “Hi Daddy is it morning? Can I scoot?”


Emmet has a new love. Its of the three wheeled variety. Maybe one day he’ll graduate to two. Its a scooter. E would scoot from sunup to sundown if he could. He saw a bunch of other kids riding them and begged, for days, to have one. We told him when we move into our own apartment we’ll get one. Apparently he is past the point of forgetting these idle promises made by parents to stop his pestering. We had not been in our new place a complete twenty four hours before he looks up with an earnest face that only a three year old can muster and said “Can I get a scooter now? We’re here.” Well damn. What can I do now? I certainly did promise him. He absolutely remembered it. I ordered the meal, now I have to pay the bill. Turns out I’m a smarter Dad than I gave myself credit for. It was a great investment.


Its good exercise for him. And now he can keep up with me on a walk around the park. He’s had the thing for four days and is pretty darn good at it already. If only he could figure out that tricky little thing called a brake. Oh well I’m sure he will soon. For now the jump split works most of the time. Apart from a few battered bushes and some bruised knees its probably his favorite thing to do lately. I would dare to say he likes it even more than Angry Birds Space Game, his previous most asked for activity. And to answer the immediate question of concerned moms and grandparents everywhere, yes he wear his helmet when he scoots. To allay the fears of dads everywhere, no I do not subject him to ridiculous elbow, knee, or wrist guards or pads. Seriously, he’s riding a scooter whose base is 4 inches off the ground, not participating in a motor-cross race.


I’d love to write some more and expound on the virtues of scooting for the 3 year old. Hey that sounds like a bad self help book. But someone is holding his helmet and looking at me pleadingly.


I’m coming E, lets go scoot!


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