“Pam, Where’s your bike?”

“What do you mean, ‘where’s my bike’. Isn’t it in the garage?”

“No. Neither is Ben’s.”

The garage is a mess, but not that messy. Sure enough both bikes have disappeared. I am mad. That bike was my birthday gift. It was a nice bike. Why can’t I have anything nice? I storm around the house … cleaning. It’s a hereditary thing.

Two days ago Chris brings home a new bike for Mother’s Day. A couple days late, but what the heck. He tells me the kids are all chipping in to buy it for me. I tell him to return it because I am trying to teach the kids about not buying on credit, especially credit from the Bowman bank. My argument is rather convincing and the bike is returned. I am sad because I liked my bike and I will miss it.

Yesterday my girlfriend called to ask Ciera to babysit on Saturday.

“Hey, your bikes are still in my garage.”

“What? My bikes?”

“Yea, remember you and Ciera rode them over a couple of weeks ago and then you stayed lated because we ended up having a girls night?”

I am jumping up and down, but wait now I have to tell everyone that I had another “senior moment.” The moment actually lasted a couple of weeks. How did both Ciera and I forget about that? Right now, I don’t care. I have my bike back. I am on my way to get it now. Waiting at this stop sign. Waiting for it to turn green.