Scooters, childhood, and the like.


This week was a blur of…
  • ·      writing long midterms (all this time that I’ve been trying to do more push ups I should have been doing more finger exercises)
  • ·      finding, naming, and trying to kill the mouse in our house (while hoping our little friend is still a bachelor and has not yet started to provide for a family)
  • ·      getting more cultured by eating yogurt and  drinking mocktails while watching people perform Shakespearian Star Wars and seeing (on a separate occasion) Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro
  • ·      cruising around Provo on a push scooter (like the ten-year-old I still often wish I was and sometimes pretend I am)


Which is why I love Sundays. Not because of the unrelated scooter bullet point but because of the blur portion referred to at the beginning. Because God graciously gave us a Sabbath day of rest to remember what happened during the blur of the week and breathe a little more deeply and figure out how to better the next week.
Except right now I am doing more cookie eating and less breathing than desirable.

Sunday whip cream spooning to compliment the cookie breathing
inhale three cookies
exhale carbon  dioxide
inhale three more cookies
exhale carbon dioxide

And then I realize I actually need more oxygen than cookies to survive so I breathe regularly for a while before inhaling too deeply and picking up more cookies again.
#sundaybreathingpatterns #ormaybesundayeatingpatterns

Anyways. Back to business. Business being the discovery that the next best thing to a therapy puppy is push scooter.

It’s been probably….twelve years since I last rode a scooter. However up to that point in my life, my scooter had been my main mode of transportation. My neighbor friends and I took our scooters everywhere and used them as getaway vehicles when we went through a let’s-pick-everyone’s-flowers-and-put-them-in-a-bucket-of-water phase. (Everyone goes through that phase, right?)

I don’t exactly know why my scooter love died, but it was renewed again this week. My dear brother Logan bequeathed me his push scooter (which was actually probably the same one I used as a ten-year-old) and on Friday, I decided to test it out again.

I felt as brave as the kid in Little Manhatten--
minus the city scenery and my beloved
holding onto me
Though slightly rusty and also slightly terrified (since my other dear brother Taylor broke his arm riding this dangerous device), I soon fell into utter scooter ecstasy, laughing aloud as I flew down University. I don’t actually know if I starting laughing because of the looks people gave me as I passed them or if the looks they gave me were because of my apparently non-warranted laughter. But it was fun. So. Much. Fun. 
(separation for emphasis)
I just felt like such a child again, totally free, innocent, and fearless.
Until I arrived at my destination and was forced to be a normal almost-adult-but-not-really-person.


So now I know how to live again.
Except actually not apparently because I’m still trying to use cookies for oxygen which has obvious problems.

BUT I know that a scooter has healing and rejuvenating qualities (like unto the Sabbath). So next time you are feeling stressed and upset because you don’t have a therapy puppy, I suggest finding a push scooter and letting your inner-child out for a ride.



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