My oldest broke his belt yesterday at school. This is apparently a fashion emergency which must be remedied ASAP.
It is the weekend and my younger disabled child is home from school. Taking him shopping is never fun. The belt needing child is off school Monday & Tuesday but this is just something that couldn’t wait. Seriously, how could he go to church tomorrow without a belt to hold his pants up.
So we throw the wheelchair in the back and pile in the Chevy. We live in a rural area. Seriously, fill the car up with gas for a shopping adventure rural area.
Thirty minutes later we pull into Target. I put my youngest in the back of the cart since he’s too big for the front, send the saggy pants, no belt teenager to the men’s clothing & make my way to the clearance section of the store.
He catches up with me in 5 minutes, clearance rack belt in hand (I’ve taught him well) & ready to go. Meanwhile I am in clearance shelf heaven and am not ready. So I say, “hey go check out the bikes & see if they have anything here.”
15 min later with my cart full of $0.10 clearance packs of pencils, books, and stickers for the food pantry families, I head to sporting goods. There he stands in front of the row of bikes staring at his phone.
Clearly my distraction technique has backfired. He is standing there reading reviews on a particular bike. A bike with very good reviews. A bike that just happens to be 20% off today. A bike that he rode up and down the aisles and he claims is a perfect fit. A bike that he has money for after cashing a check this morning.
We trudge to the front of the store, the entire time I’m wondering about the contortionism that’s going to have to happen to fit this in the car.
My seats fold down so that wasn’t an issue. Putting the special needs kiddo in the back was an issue. Putting the bike near him & expecting him not to touch it because his brother would have a fit was a bigger issue. I had no interest in trying to remove a tire to make this thing fit better.
The wherlchair comes out, the younger kiddo gets his harness strapped in the small half of the backseat. The bike goes in, the seat a mere inches from the younger child’s head (so tempting to touch). The wheelchair now must go in the back seat in front of the child who has to cross his legs for the ride.
With the teenager’s belt on, and the fashion emergency ended, we begin the trek back from the city to our home far from everything.
Only a few stern conversations later we make it home. Everything must be carefully removed in reverse order. The bike is put in the garage, the wheelchair back in the rear of the car, and the kiddos in the house.
After all that commotion that had to happen today, I have to wonder how often the bike will even come out of the garage.