A few days ago, my oldest son was riding his bike, and he lost one of his training wheels.
But he didn't notice.
He just kept peddling.
His little brother stopped and picked up the wheel and told me, "I guess he doesn't need it anymore?"
I shrugged and told him I guessed he was right because that oldest boy of mine -- he was off and riding.
When we arrived home, I asked if he noticed the wheel had fallen off. He hadn't, and he asked me to take off the other one. Without a wrench, though, I couldn't get the thing to budge so I told him it would have to wait until John could get to it.
The next day at the first mention of a walk, that oldest boy of mine hopped on his bike and was ready to speed away down the street.
He climbed onto the bike and rode down the driveway, only to crash at the end and hurt his foot, ankle and knee.
Apparently, that other training wheel had been good for something: getting going.
After I nursed his wounds, I helped him learn how to take off while balancing, and after a few tries, he mostly had it down.
My husband asked that night if he wanted the other wheel off because hubs finally had his wrench set out.
My oldest, his eyes darted around as he thought for a split second before he said, "I don't know if I'm ready."
So he's been riding with one training wheel on.
Just in case.
Because sometimes, he'd summed up, it's nice to have a little bit of backup when you're riding along and suddenly you lose your balance.
I smiled at him, and told him, I get it.
I really do. And I'd love to have a training wheel right now as we figure out how to ride this rehosting-to-a******* bike.
Most of the time, it's fun and exciting and glorious and free-feeling. But there are bumps in the road where I feel a lot like my oldest boy -- it'd be nice to have that training wheel.