I Wanted to be a Dad

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a Dad.

I was reminded of that today when my eight year old asked why I almost never ride my bike.

My husband is taking the two older boys on their first official ride, an eight-mile kids’ version of Elephant Rock. They got their Elephant Rock t-shirts and race number stickers for their helmets. They did a warm-up ride last night before dinner. And the excitement this morning was high.

“Mom, why don’t you ever ride your bike?” I know it was his way of saying, “I’m nervous. Please come!” But what I heard in that moment was, “Mom, why aren’t you as fun as Dad?”

I am staying home with our four year old who, though he learned to ride a “pedal bike” last weekend, is not quite ready for an eight-miler.

And that’s how it typically goes. Moms stay home with the little ones when the adventure really gets going.

My husband has earned this special time with the kids. He works long hours, arriving home just in time to get them all riled up either right before dinner or just before bed. I have the luxury of being with the boys all the time, especially in the summer, when we spend hours at the pool. I see them with their friends. I go to their basketball practices. I do homework with them. I read them stories. I get to snuggle with at least one of them at least once a day. I really get to capture the little moments of their childhood in my memory.

I know I have the better deal! And I love being their Mom.

The problem is that my husband just makes the day more fun for all of us.

And on a day like today, when they are off to conquer the world on their bikes with Dad in the lead, I remember being a little girl who wished she could be a Dad.

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