After this weekend, I cannot tell you how loudly I am screaming those words!

Despite my best attempts to keep it from happening, my youngest daughter learned to ride her bike without training wheels.

It was a perfect storm of coincidences that brought about this rite of passage for her. A beautiful early fall day, me out of the house for a while, freshly paved asphalt on our road, the “discovery” of her perfectly-hidden-by-me-bike in the basement and her father’s adventurous spirit to name a few. And to give them credit, they didn’t tell me of their plans because they knew I’d worry myself sick.

It wasn’t until after she was gliding gracefully on two wheels did I learn of the crash into the tree, the up-close-and-personal introduction to the telephone pole, the near beheading on the no-where-near-the-road but tied into the ground phone or power lines and the attempt at flying over her handlebars as she plowed into her father.

As my husband recounted each event in great detail, I marveled at the lack of blood, band aids and emergency personnel at my home. I cringed as he explained how she literally grabbed the lines by her hands and let her bike go under to keep from choking herself. I laughed at the video he made of her climbing on her bike, getting that wobbly start with the front wheel going back and forth wildly, riding smoothly and then promptly crashing into him.

Saturday night as I passed by her room, I caught a glimpse of her sleeping. I stopped and smiled as the gentle rise and fall of her chest indicated a deep, content sleep. I remember sleeping like that. I remember riding my bike all day having all sorts of adventures and then collapsing from the exhaustion of it. The feeling of freedom as the wind blows in your face and the sunshine warms your skin. The smell of fall (or spring) is in the air as the seasons change and those few but worth-the-wait days when it’s perfect to be outside.

To say she’s “hooked” on riding her bike would be an understatement. She wanted to skip lunch on Sunday to go home to ride. She couldn’t wait to try out her “new ideas” of peddling while standing, steering with one hand and beating her 25 second record around the circle near our home. Yesterday evening I watched as she bravely attempted each idea. She was successful at some and others; I give her another week if that.

She’s growing up too fast. Sooner than I wish she’ll trade those handle bars for keys, the manual peddles for gas-powered ones. And in this knowledge comes two absolutes: 1) I will use everything within my power to keep her from getting there too fast and 2) I’ll still be shouting “use the brakes!”