Bike Ride

     Waves of water pounded against our home. At six o’clock in the morning, the sound soothed and lulled. I smiled. A quiet morning was just what our household needed. Slipping out the door with both husband and daughter asleep, I braced myself for the onslaught. But to my surprise, the hard rain had temporarily vanished. Instead of cascading waterfalls, Only a gentle pitter-pat of drops baptized my face. Puddles pooled over my feet. But the warm morning mist refreshed my spirits.

     With a deadline, coffee-date, and massage, my morning was already packed. But Sweet Pea and my husband would be able to enjoy a relaxing morning of fun. Sporadic rain showers dumped on and off throughout the morning. By the time of my coffee date, sunshine splashed in glorious rays. However, my massage was altogether a different story. 

     Upon my departure, thunder crashed and boomed. A rainstorm of mammoth proportions soaked me to the skin. I screeched and gasped my way home. Grateful to find the front door already open, I stumbled in.

     “We heard you all the way down the street,” grinned Sweet Pea. She and my husband sprawled on the floor. Legos dotted the rug.

     “We sure did,” my husband teased, “everyone heard you!” I stuck out my tongue and threw my wet clothes in the dryer.

     “We made you a sandwich,” called Sweet Pea. A girl who delighted in dousing other people with water, she grinned at my soaked stature. Teasing statements surrounding my wet walk peppered me as I ate lunch. But mother’s revenge is sweet. For as quickly as the downpour appeared, the sun now reappeared in bright array.

     “Let’s go for a bike ride,” I pronounced, “the sun is out and it is gorgeous.” Silence met my words. 

     “But it might rain!” protested Sweet Pea. Not wanting to get wet, Sweet Pea was resistant. Plus, my track record with rain showered walks and bike rides did not bode well in my favor.     

     “I don’t want to go,” pouted Sweet Pea, “Must I?” Her eyes pleaded with my husband. 

     “Yes,” I answered, searching for dry shoes, “go get changed.” Bless my husband! For despite my history of getting caught in rain showers, he dutifully unloaded the bikes.

     “If we’re going to go,” he said, peering up at the sky, “we better go now.” Onto the bikes we climbed and away we went!

     Huge puddles stretched across the roadways. Water sprayed against my legs and back. Dirt splattered my hair and clothes. Sweet Pea laughed.

     “Get her, Daddy!” she exclaimed, as another geyser soaked my sneakers.

     “What?” my husband asked with forced innocence. Sudden realization hit. My husband was purposefully riding us through puddles for the sole aim of getting me wet! Mother’s revenge may have been sweet but Daddy’s revenge packed a bigger punch.

     I shrieked as a fountain of water shot into the air, soaking me.

     “Ride through that one!” exclaimed Sweet Pea, who was thrilled to see her mother get wet. Then, surprise of surprises, it started to rain. And of course, it was not the gentle mist or sprinkle variety but a steady, streaming flow.

     All I will say is that between the rain and serving as my husband’s shield against puddle backsplash, not a dry spot remained on me. From top to bottom and everything in between, I was a dripping mess.   By the time we returned to our neighborhood, I had thrown in the proverbial towel. But no, it wasn’t over yet.

     “Let’s keep going!” suggested Sweet Pea, a sparkle in her eye. IN an instant, I knew her conspiracy. And so did my husband.

     “No!” I screeched, “I’m soaked!” But my family ignored my protests.

    “Sure!” my husband chirped, a broad grin on his face. 

     I was being set up. But I had no choice in the matter. As the second rider on a tandem bike, I was forced to follow. With great glee, my husband veered left into the community. He was on a mission….soak Mommy.

    One thing you need to know about our neighborhood is how it boasts several deep puddles after rainstorms. These remained for days. Often, Sweet Pea and I enjoy jumping and playing in them. But today, a different technique of splashing would occur.

     “Yay!” cried Sweet Pea, her legs gaining new energy. 

     Splash! Jet streams of waters deluged my legs, soaking my shirt and pants. Sploosh! Another huge puddle monsoon over me. Amidst shrieks and protests, we finally pulled into our driveway. Sweet Pea skidded to a halt and jumped off. She examined me with a critical eye. Then she stepped behind me and touched my back. With one finger, she drew a smiley face through the caked dirt.

     “There!” she said in triumph, “now you’re done!” But as my husband and daughter stood with Cheshire grins over their faces, I realized a sudden injustice. My husband was barely wet while my daughter though damp was hardly as dirty as I.
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     “Not fair!” I protested, “How did this happen?”  Sweet Pea giggled. 
     “You need a shower,” she answered with a grin, “And I’m so glad we went on that bike ride!”