The bicycle ride

My husband scrambles around the boot of the car, trying to put the back seats down in preparation for the bicycles. Meanwhile, I refer to the instruction manual and shout orders from the doorway about which lever to try next. Eventually, they fold down and we begin squeezing the bikes into the boot. Crouched in the back, my husband heaves them in, trying different angles to get the boot to close. “We have got to get a bike rack,” he says through gritted teeth.

The children excitedly climb in, sporting brightly coloured cycling helmets in preparation for their first proper bicycle ride. We wave to Daddy, who has the garden shed to build, and tell him we will be back in an hour. We arrive in Sturminster Newton at the entrance to the newly opened North Dorset Trailway. We heave the bikes out and set off with a backpack full of essential rations, consisting of Jaffa Cakes and a bottle of water.

The sun shines down on us as we cycle along the path past water meadows and over the River Stour. As I watch the children ride ahead of me, I realise that a whole new world has opened up, now they have abandoned the stabilisers. My son “vrooms” ahead, occasionally skidding to a stop, to check on his mother steadily pedalling behind him. As we approach walkers I call, “Keep to the left.” They pedal over to the right and then wobble over to the left, just missing a few passers by and their dogs.

Much to the children’s delight, we then come to a hill. “Brake,” I shriek from behind them as I watch them speed down, dust flying up behind them. “We can’t,” they shout. After a quick stop to embark on some ‘brake’ training and to re-energise with a Jaffa Cake, we are on our way again. The children are determined to cycle to Shillingstone and back. Admittedly, I am nervous given we are amateurs on our first bicycle ride which happens to be six miles long. However, we successfully reach our destination and head back with a little less enthusiasm. Suddenly, I hear a yell and turn to see my daughter take a tumble onto the path. She begins screaming, holding her knee. I dab the graze with a bit of tissue from my pocket and instantly regret not having a first aid kit. I know that a plaster would result in an instant recovery. We try to jolly her along with another Jaffa Cake and encourage her to get back on the bike. However, having now also spotted a graze on her arm, the tears roll full and fast. For the next two miles I am bent double pushing a small bike, as well as my own while my daughter hobbles behind me sobbing uncontrollably. “Call the air ambulance,” she cries. Walkers stroll by, greeting us cheerily and I struggle to smile. An hour later, overheated and exhausted we see the car park ahead of us. “I think I’m alright to cycle now,” says my daughter as she climbs onto her bike and speeds off. I watch in disbelief. “Never again,” I mutter.

Trantrums

You pour cornflakes into the breakfast bowl instead of Weetabix. This is enough to set off the first whiney whinge, evolving into crying and accelerating into a full raging temper tantrum. The next half an hour is then spent reasoning, coaxing, diverting, bribing or just ignoring. Anything to put an end to the little red faced person standing before you screaming (oh – and the baby joins in just for good measure).

Our son, bless his little Spiderman socks, is a professional ‘Temper Tantrumist’. Being three, he has got it down to a fine art, having practised hard at it for the past year. I find myself thinking ahead to potential hazards. Have we got the right wellies with us, are the crusts cut off his toast? Ridiculous I know, but faced with a tantrum, I will do whatever it takes to fend them off.

The worst is the public Temper Tantrum. Lying on the floor rigid and screaming at full volume to attract the most attention possible. Most spectators look on either sympathetically or disapprovingly. However, we all suspect they are thinking that we can’t control our child. To our relief we recently saw someone else’s child having a major tantrum in public, to which my husband turned around excitedly and cried out, “Bring it on.”

On one tantrum occasion, someone said, “You need to consult Super Nanny.” Horrified at the thought that I was considered a totally inadequate mother, I took their advice and watched the programme. It featured children (and parents) at their very worst. Our family seemed angelic. However, it did prompt us to introduce ‘The Naughty Step’. You place the child on a step, to reflect on its behaviour for a minute for each year of its life (three minutes for a three year old etc). More often than not, our children promptly got straight off it. I see there are now even mobile naughty mats, which you can use in public places. So you could soon find yourself dodging children parked on little mats in the aisles of supermarkets.

We will continue to ride the wave of temper tantrums, and as for Super Nanny’s advice, I have decided to place myself on the naughty step for 33 minutes of my 33 years and reflect on my behaviour, preferably with a large glass of Chablis in my hand.