ice cream or bust

Our neighborhood had a Bike Parade for the kids last week. The kids all spent some time decorating their bikes, scooters, wagons, etc. in red, white and blue, then proceeded to parade them to the church down the street, where they were welcomed with ice cream.

I thought that Henry would be able to scoot all the way down the street to the church, but I thought wrong. We began near the front of the parade of children and ended dead last. It was no competition and it was 100 degrees, but it sure was a sight to be the only ones left on the street. All of the parade fans that lined the sidewalk had since taken their lawnchairs inside. All of the kids were down at the church quenching their thirst with water and downing a heaping scoop of mint chocolate chip. Henry was still attempting to make his way to the festivities. He would jump on his scooter for 2 minutes. Ask to walk for 2 minutes (as I carried the scooter). And then scoot for another 2 (and so on and so forth). He kept asking, "Where's the finish line?" His cheeks were getting redder and redder. My patience was wearing thinner and thinner. Then, a van arrived. The man (whom I knew) asked if we wanted a ride. I didn't want to give up on Henry and his hard effort, so I turned and asked him with a little hope in my heart that he would take the easy way out, "Do you want a ride to the ice cream party?". He hopped off his scooter and ran to the van. I don't know if he was tired of scooting or if the ice cream was calling his name. So we caught a lift to the finish line.

Preston showed up to the gathering shortly thereafter, and I recapped the happenings for him. He told me that I failed to teach our kid determination. I was thinking that he was showing determination......determination for ice cream.