Tricycle

Jamie and I had our birthdays last week. This year I asked my husband for a bicycle as the one I had bought for a garage sale price from a friend while I was going to school was hopelessly the wrong size and horribly uncomfortable to ride due to the lack of padding on my derriere. And I'm cheap so I couldn't justify spending the money on myself. Fortunately, my husband likes spending money on me and liked the idea of going for family bike rides with a wife he didn't have to cajole into going.

But this isn't about my bike. I got one. I love it. I love biking with it, for the most part. I've rediscovered muscles I had lost and have been made aware of how out of shape I am. It's been great.

This is about my son's bike. Because he's way cuter than me.

While we were shopping for my bike, my son was getting fed up with the lack of entertainment available to him. He wasn't allowed to pull things off the racks, shelves or rods. He wasn't allowed to touch the bikes lined up like dominoes. The poor guy was grumpy. Until we found this:

The obvious is that we came home with it.

For who could deny these eyes the joy the toy brought?

And besides, don't we all have a soft spot in us for tricycles?

I'm a sucker.