Triple A

Good idea: Locking your bike up at the library so as to not entice anyone struggling with “theft challenges”.
Bad idea: Locking your bike up at the library so as not to entice anyone struggling with “theft challenges” and learning that person might be you.

We live approximately two miles from our local library. It is a quaint library with a few sweet librarians and a few, well, that we avoid. We played on the playground and eventually exhausted our options within: lost a child down one aisle while another darted for the computers and another knocked down a stack of books causing the first lost child to emerge just in time to be upset for some unknown reason setting off an ear piercing squeal to give me opportunity to bashfully smile at mothers around because it was my child who was “that child” in the library. Then, within seconds, “that child” engineered a ladder out of chairs to “go to the moon” at the new rocket kids’ corner display* and “that librarian” comes out of nowhere to tell me “that isn’t allowed here” and gives me a look of “wow, really, did you go to mother school? Because I did and that wasn’t taught.” I digress.

We enjoy the library for two reasons: one, it is a free location that we can still come out of with resources to last us days. Two, it is with biking distance of the house. Now that Cody can sit up I have felt more inclined to cross a busy roadway with him in the circus set up we call “bike riding”. It is quite literally “riding” in the truest since – think horse back riding and I am the horse. The method to saddle and bridle said horse feels more involved than if we did in fact own a horse and decided to adventure to the library on it. One child rides the handle bars in a “Frog“. More children ride in the buggy behind. And up until recently I no longer strap one child to my chest. Workout? Darn-toot’n.

So once all “riders” are strapped to the “horse” with helmets, garage door openers, library cards, and the like, it is off we go for two-ish miles to the Public library. Timing things “just so” in hopes of avoiding packing too much stuff and allowing any extra room to hold treasures from the library. There’s where I went wrong.

I did pack diapers. Did anyone need them? No. I did pack my ID/money just in case. Did opportunity present? No. Did I think to pack a sleeve of emergency Ritz crackers or a water bottle beyond an empty** baby bottle? No. I was trying to be European or something clever like that. You know, those awesome mothers from France or England or whatever that “pack light” that aren’t like those fat and crappy Americans “over the pond” who have too much stuff for their kids and can’t say no. Anyways…

We leave the library with attitudes in good order. Bellies just on the verge of hungry and are ready for the trip home. It isn’t pouring rain like last week’s trip. Good. The kids get their helmets on without pinching any neck skin. Great! And then the bike lock…

That magical piece of engineering that doesn’t require a key but rather a handy combination… that won’t work. Fifteen minutes later I call my dear husband at work, holding back profanities as to why “his” bike lock won’t unlock. Why “he” insisted I lock this bike up rather than just hope there are good people who won’t steal the circus carriage.

Fifteen minutes later he is beside me trying to unlock it. Kids are fussing. Bellies are officially empty. The thought of walking two miles home with three kids isn’t a happy one. It of course is now 95 degrees and any pleasant thought of our time in the library has now escaped me. Ya know, those moment where you want to text your spouse saying how wonderful our children are… gone. Completely gone.

Five minutes later I am in the police station next door to the library. I had always wanted to go in there. It looks like the library building on Sesame Street. It used to be the library when I was a kid I’m told. Anyways, this is not how I imagined I would tour the place. Instead, with Cody strapped to my chest, an officer is called, arrives – gun on hip, badge close by, the stance of authority – and proceeds to gently grill me:

“Ma’am, why don’t you have the key to your bike lock?”
I stare at him stupidly through my sweaty brow, “Because its a combination lock?” I ask rather than tell, as I am slightly intimidated.
“Ok ma’am. And what kind of bike do you own?”
I jostle Cody up and down trying to keep air between our sticking bodies and assure him this “adventure” is closing and lunch is coming…
The Officer repeats himself since I have yet to answer and amends with, “This is routine to be sure you are the owner of the bike.”
I clue in (finally) as to the seriousness of his questioning, “Oh, yes. Makes sense. Here, how about this as proof… (I clear my throat to give me time to change my tone from sarcasm to helpfulness) As you see, I have a sweaty baby plastered to my chest. As we round the corner to my bike you will see two more small children waiting with their father who came to help us and could not get ‘his’ bike lock unlocked. You will see a buggy connected to my bike and three small helmets accompanying. I think if I was to steal a bike it wouldn’t be this one.” I hold my breath realizing that last bit could get me in trouble and hope this Officer has a sense of humor.

He rounds the corner and his demeanor changes from tough cop to absolute sheepish grin. “You weren’t kidding. I’ll go get the cutters…”

We made it home. After the Officer attempted to cut the lock with two different tools and complimented Chris on his “quality” bike lock. Cody survived, fell asleep even on the way home.

Good idea: locking your bike in a public area.
Bad idea: locking your bike in a public area without insuring it with triple A

*A kids corner that was thought up by people without children. Six foot wooden maze/wall structures, even those beautifully done with fun activities on each wall or made into rockets, are a dumb idea. There I said it. I have lost children behind the walls of those structures. Heck, there might still be a kid there. Who’s to know?!
**Ok, admittedly I didn’t even pack the baby bottle. It was gross from days before that Rory found in the backpack as she proceeded to unload it and all other contents onto her little brother’s head while I was attempting to remove the bike lock.

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