It had been days of looking for bikes for the girls with no luck anywhere we searched.
I never thought about how a pandemic could affect bike buying, but apparently, it really does.
After multiple fruitless missions, and sad daughter faces, we turned to Facebook Marketplace, where, on the very first day, we spotted a vintage Schwinn cruiser that had my 14 year old, Chloe’s, eyes sparkling, even though it was used.
We arranged with the seller to drive to where he was – a house tucked in the hills a city away – and as Chloe circled the lot to see how the bike rode,
he motioned to us to come this way.
Around the back of his shop he led the rest of us, and he pointed to another bike perfect for my youngest, who needed one, too.
She hopped on, grinning, and rode off to join her sister in circling outside.
Tessa was left standing alone.
She already had a bike, and certainly wasn’t expecting “Do you guys like Converse shoes?”
The man selling the bikes had eyes that were dancing as she nodded her head that – Yes, they really do.
Out he brought two pairs he’d had found and was selling.
Would you believe they were just the girls’ size?
How could he know they’d been searching, and not having much luck in the finding?
The trip home from that shop was smiles and song that night.
Bikes, shoes, and sunshine. Life felt beautiful.
I posted about it online,
commenting what a gift it was to have witnessed my girls being gifted that way in a time they’d thought they’d lost out in a hunt.
Truck full of treasures, then hair in the wind.
They had ridden off together the moment we got back home.
But then a friend commented on that post about them, something that took me by surprise –
She had a restored pink cruiser in storage she would give to me for free if I wanted a bike of my own.
I couldn’t believe the fortune I’d had:
Now there would be three bikes where we thought there might be none.
Several days later we scheduled to meet so that I could pick up that bike.
I’d never met her face-to-face before, and as I waited, I felt nervous and full of my standard insecurities, wondering if after meeting I’d still be a person she would like.
She had followed my writing, and sent me a friend request years before.
We occasionally comment on each other’s stuff;
And you never really know how deep what you send into the world burrows.
You just take risks, and hope you are loved.
She had said she’d be coming from fairly far away, and hoped her old car could make it at all.
As I waited for her to show, I thought about the type of person who drives far, and pushes past personal risk to give to someone they barely know.
I waved, recognizing her from her profile picture as she drove in, smiled at us, and began to enter the gate code.
We followed her car in, through twists and turns, and I found myself no longer able to choke back the tears.
“Why are you crying?” Justin asked me, noticing, so I explained it to him:
“I feel overwhelmingly grateful that she’d come and do this, even though it was a struggle to get here;”
And this is when my husband spoke words to my heart that I needed so much to hear –
“This kind of thing happens because you get out what you put in.
You would do the same thing for a friend.”
I realized then that I so often stand back happily giving,
but rarely expect to be loved in return the way that I did.
It was a real moment for me, winding through that storage place,
through rows of what looked like the same exact doors.
Which door do we choose?
What treasure is stored?
We get out what we put in.
When she exited her car, she said she could not turn it off.
The hum of her engine continuing on as she explained it had been running rough.
As she spoke I noticed her face – Kind and lovely, with the sort of eyes that I love
– The kind that tell a story of being refined.
Being burnt and then rising from the dust.
We hugged like it was the hundredth time that we had, and as she pushed the elevator button to go up, in a hushed voice she leaned in and revealed,
“You know, I was homeless once. People gave a lot to me. Now I like to pay forward the love.”
The love she paid forward was a gift from more than just her.
I am completely convinced of that.
Like a whisper of worth from God to me, because when she rolled the doors open to her unit
There right in front, like it knew it was meant to be mine,
was a bright orange cruiser instead.
“Huh,” she quietly mused. “I could have sworn it was pink…I hope you still like it.”
What she couldn’t have known was that that exact shade is my most favorite one.
“Nacho Cheese” as my girls call it if they describe.
I’ve painted two rooms in my houses with that exact shade, and always get comments on it.
It’s bright, and it’s vibrant, and it makes me feel the warmth of the sun even when it’s grey outside.
I cried again and hugged her goodbye, thanking her again.
Still misty-eyed as I watched her drive away.
That bike in that color, given in that way, wrapped up in my husband’s words…
They reached a part of me that aches sometimes – The part where I put everyone else first.
How many times have I bought the girls new outfits and accessories, while I pay in 10 year old clothes?
How many times do I serve up beautiful plates, while taking whatever scraps are left over for my own?
Do I believe I deserve extravagant love?
Even a kind that could turn a pink bike orange?
I love these girls so much, but I’ve often overlooked one:
The one that still lives inside of me.
She likes riding bikes, too.
She put cards on her spokes so she could pretend it was a motorcycle.
She likes to lay back in big, empty fields just staring up at the curly oaks.
She digs her hands into dirt, and artfully traces in shapes.
Her mind, full of endless design.
I parked that bike right next to the girls’ up along our jasmine scented fence.
A reminder that I am not in the background.
I am colorful, and vibrant,
and worthy of love.
I will ride with my face to the wind.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
