Saturday morning, while Jason played golf, the kids and I lay in bed deciding what to do. I ticked through the undone chores, the piles of tasks cluttering my home and my head. Escape was the only option.
"Let's go on a bike ride," I said.
"Yes! Bike ride!"
The outing became a mission. Tires? Check. Sunscreen? Check. Guys? Check. Helmets, sword, water bottles, lunch money? Check, check, check, check.
The sun was out, and the air was metallic and cool from the rain the night before. We rode to the park past happy grass, the neighborhood clean. At the park, Lu climbed and spun, while Milo brandished his sword at playground dragons. I read a book in the shade, until Milo climbed into my lap to take a break, content to sit with me for a rare moment. He said he didn't like the mud, but I told him the rain had made the mud and rain was good, so mud was good too.
When we were done at the park, we rode off to have lunch. I held the handlebars lightly, my body and the bike supple over the road while Milo bumped along in the trailer behind me. As we coasted down the hill, Lu shouted, "Mom, wait for me." I said over my shoulder, "I'm here. You'll catch me."
What was making me so happy? I'd narrowed all my worries into only the actions needed to get my family safely and happily to our destination. I felt the wind and sun on my face, the road under my tires. I could hear the shouts of my children.
"We are going over a train," Milo proclaimed as we mounted the bridge over Mopac. "We are so high. Isn't that amazing?" And it was.