Mother Doesn't Always Know Best

It was well past time for the training wheels to come off Christa's bike.

She was riding so fast and was so well-balanced that she wasn't really using them anymore--she just didn't realize that. And the truth was, the training wheels were starting to be a hazard, hence the nasty scrape on her arm accompanied by much wailing and sobbing.


Rob convinced Christa that she'd be better off without the training wheels. So after dinner, we went out to the garage and helped her suit up. On went a pair of pink and purple knee pads. Then a coordinating pair of pink and purple elbow pads. Then the matching bike helmet.


Rob had her take a few warm-up spins around the cul-de-sac before he removed the training wheels. Rob's job: to hold on to the back of the bike and run alongside it. My job: to man the camera.


Within seconds, Christa was biking on her own.

"Hold on to her! Hold on to her!" (I'm screaming this at Rob as I'm trying to focus the camera on my daughter balancing and pedaling around the cul-de-sac.)


"Let go! Let go!" (Christa's screaming this at her dad as she's enjoying a sense of profound six-year-old accomplishment.)


Rob held on for a few seconds--and then he let go.


It was the right thing to do.


I've raised three kiddos--and this letting go requirement of motherhood is no easier with my fourth than it was with the first three. I know I've got to do it--but I tend to want to do it slowly.


Sometimes the best thing to do is just to let go.

Sure enough, Christa took a spill--but only a minor one. She'll take more. But that's no reason to hold on to her. That's no reason to put the training wheels back on her bike. She doesn't need them anymore. And she doesn't need me or her dad hanging on to the back of her bike either.

We'd just slow her down.