The Elusive Genderless Bike

When Megan turned 4, we briefly considered getting her a bike for her birthday, but realized that she hadn't really even learned to pedal her own big wheel yet. Her friend up the street had actually been birthed riding a two wheeler with no training wheels, and we didn't want her to get discouraged and give up when it wasn't as easy for her. So we got her a little scooter and some roller skates, told her she needed to do better pedaling her big wheeler, and waited.

Fast forward through the summer, and Megan was doing much better all around. She could pedal her big wheel up the hill, she had a great time on her scooter, and she fell over every time she even sees her roller skates. Figuring that 2 out of 3 isn't bad (skates are hard!), we decided to hurry and get her a bike before it was too cold to ride it, and before we missed the window when most of her friends were still using training wheels (except for that kid up the street who is doing wheelies and backflips). The only thing standing in our way was the fact that I wanted to buy a unisex bike. Based on our kids' growth rates, I figured that Megan would fit on whatever bike that we bought for about 4 and a half days, give or take. As such, I thought it would be a good idea to get a bike that could be passed on to Henry, assuming that he one day develops the muscles necessary to pedal one.

Unfortunately, I wasn't counting on the fact that kids bike manufacturers have all colluded to recruit our boys for the military:



and to set up our girls to be unavoidably disappointed in their future husbands:



We searched for two months, and trying to find a genderless bike was like trying to purchase a genderless swimsuit. One day a cold burst of air blew through Arlington, and I caved -- we needed to purchase a bike, frugality and gender imprinting be damned!

This is the one Megan picked (why do all girls bikes need white wheels?)









Megan loves her Waikiki bike, and all it's girly girliness. She's doing a great job on her bike, and most days we go for a ride around the block, with Henry driving his little car.

Romantic Getaway (Plus Two)

Since we moved here we've been talking about driving up the coast all the way to Maine in the fall to see the leaves ("leaf peeping" to east coasters), but we never seem to have the time. Of course, we might have found the time if I had realized prior to mid way though the week last week that I had Columbus day off. Since it was near our anniversary, we decided to make a romantic weekend of it and call it a gift to ourselves.

Kim pulled her magic and found us a last minute deal to at least stay for a night at a ski resort in Pennsylvania, so we packed our Columbus day decorations and headed north.

They had a fall festival going on, and an alpine slide.

The kids enjoyed their first ride on a ski lift.

Despite Henry's overall fearlessness, Team Dad came in first (by a mile..)

It was a relaxing day, and we just enjoyed the grounds of the resort

The next morning we got up and headed another 30 miles into the country side to see Falling Water, one of Frank Lloyd Wright's most celebrated structures. This was another thing that we've been meaning to do for a long time, and David and Sarah's recent visit inspired us to actually do it.

Please ignore the lack of pictures, and the overall blurriness. Somehow in our haste we forgot to charge the camera before we left.

This was the last shot we got before the camera died.

So although it wasn't quite Maine, we did have a great time. We also learned that sharing a hotel room with kids means going to bed at 8:45. Maybe they're not invited on our trip to Maine...

Happy seventh anniversary, Kimmie. You're still a great tour guide, even if you can't read a map to save your life.

First and Last of September

Megan's First day of Preschool.




Our First Hike up Billy Goat Trail.




Our First Camp out over Labor Day in the backyard.




Henry's First time picking raspberries with Dad.


The Last of Henry's hunger strike. (We hope)


The last day of September, with new hair cuts and fall clothes.





Follow-up from last week's post: Against all odds, REI called and let Mike know that they found his shoe. Someone had "ditched it among the camping goods." He's back in business, enjoying his favorite TV show in his lounge shoes.

Sad Sole

I walk to work. It's a couple of miles from our house, and it takes around 35 minutes. I love it. I get to listen to my podcasts, be outdoors, and be alone for a bit. Because I walk to work, I wear my comfortable trail-running shoes, and leave a pile of dress shoes under my desk at work to change into when I get there. This means that I have to remember on Friday every week to bring home a pair of shoes to wear to church.

Two weeks ago, I jammed my Ecco's into the side pockets on my backpack, slipped on my trail-runners, stuck my headphones in my ears, and enjoyed a nice walk through the newly crisp autumn air while listening to an interview with Jimmy Carter about the eradication of the Guinea worm. Sadly, when I walked through my front door and took off my backpack, I noticed a serious problem -- only one Ecco had made the full journey.



I did my best to locate my missing shoe. After telling a friend and fellow bipedal commuter about my loss, he informed me that he had actually walked past a shoe mid-way in the journey between my house and work. It happened to be right in front of a bowling alley where he had passed it by, unaware that the shoe belonged to me. At this point we were both reasonably confident that someone would have turned in my leather loafer to the bowling alley. Unfortunately, the man behind the counter stopped spraying disinfectant in a pair of red and blue beauties long enough to inform me that they had no Lost and Found, and handled only one type of shoes -- and not the kind that I could wear while at work, unless I felt like growing a mullet and changing career paths to finally make use of the bowling class I took while in college.

The one good thing that came out of losing my shoe was that I was finally free to make good on my threat to wear my favorite tweed shoes to church. The Globe Castros are both stylish and comfy, and, importantly, less offensive looking with a suit than my trail-runners.

After two short weeks of fashion perfection in the Arlington 1st Ward, I wore my Castros to an REI "attic sale" this morning. Open only to REI members, an attic sale is a chance to buy returned goods at super cheap prices. You have to elbow your way past everyone else in a small back room, and never let go of something you're interested in, but it can mean up to 60% off on a ceiling fan for your tent, so it's totally worth it.

I was in the midst of of 25 other people and a pile of gently-used shoes, trying on some Merrel's when I made a key mistake -- I took off one of my Castros, and didn't keep my eyes on it. Quick as a flash, some other enthusiastic outdoorsman made off with my right shoe, and I was never able to locate it.



REI has my name and number, in case my shoe turns up, but I'm not holding my breath. If I got my hands on a Castro, I sure wouldn't want to let it go. I'd hang onto it for years, hoping against hope that someday I could complete my pair of impeccable footwear.

To the best of my knowledge, I have never lost a shoe before, and somehow I've lost two in the last two weeks.

Looks like I know what I'll be getting for my anniversary this month.