It's a big weekend for Alison. After months of putting off her father's quest to get her interested in anything athletic, she's tossed off her training wheels and is rapidly becoming a little female Lance Armstrong.
Yesterday was the big breakthrough. This evening, she showed off for Mom in a parking lot that was designed as overflow for Glendale Mall. It's mostly unused. Freshly asphalted, it was a perfect venue for her two-wheel slaloming.
She's perfected the stop. The start is a little shaky, and her turns are smooth and graceful, but wide; hence the empty lot as the perfect venue.
Her legs are bit too long for her bike, which helps with the wipeouts.
Jeff is so proud he's already planning to get her a new bike for Christmas.
Alison is 7, now, and getting to be a bit more modest than her days of streaking through the house with nary a stitch of clothing in sight. She's generally OK with me seeing her in the altogether; less so with her father. She's also been told more than once that when she's demanding, she gets less off what she wants, but good manners go a long way to getting her what she wants. Hence, the following request that came when Jeff entered her room to check on how quickly she was getting into her pjs:
"Now, could you politely get out of my room? I don't want you to see me butt naked," she informed him.
A few of you have asked how the Alli is going, and I'm happy to report that it's going well. I'm eating better for fear of public embarrassment. Whatever it takes, aye? But I won't lead you astray that there are no side effects. While snuggling in bed Alison decided she needed to reassure me of the depths of her devotion. Unsolicited, she declared: "Mom, I love you. Even when you stink up my bathroom."
Jeff was talking to Alison in the car the other day. I don't even remember the subject matter, but he was apparently a bit too generic in his description.
"Dad, could you be more pacific?" she asked.
Just to follow that last one up, Saturday afternoon Ali and I were digging holes in yard planting bulbs and mums and decorating for Halloween. She wanted her own shovel so I sent her into the garage to get a spade. "You know what that is, right?" I said.
"Yes," she said, trotting off, only to come trotting back.
"Mo-om. I said I knew what it was, but I don't know where it is," she complained.