somehow, I don't think "the evil bike" chronicles will make the top 5 novels list.

I knew I shouldn't have let Jack force me into buying him a bike. I didn't want either of my kids learning how to ride a bike until they were at least 10 years old, so they'd understand fully and be able to remember what to do, instead of it all pouring out of their minds as soon as a new thought came along.


He was fine when I'm with him. I run by his side as he rides along the road in front of our house. He was getting so good that I decided to take off the stabilizers, and Jack was really excited. 


He was great without them too, I was so proud. When we had to go to the store across the street, he'd beg me to let him ride beside me, and I'd say yes because he was so confident. He'd ride beside Daisy and I, ahead of us slightly, and by way of knowledge he'd stop by the crossing guard and wait until we got there, getting off the bike and holding the handlebars until on the other side of the street. 


We'd all cross together, and he'd then hop back on and ride to the store. 


It was great. 


But, yesterday, it all went wrong. 


Jack was finally confident enough to ride up and down the street on his own.


"Don't go anywhere near the busy street, okay?" I warned, as he strapped his helmet on.


"I won't, Mommy."


I was a little nervous. He seemed confident, but what if something happened to knock it? What if he had a little scare, and he was never the same again? I pulled up a chair to the window and watched through the drapes, keeping my eye on him the whole time. 


I turned my gaze away for a few minutes, I had to check on the range for lunch. As soon as I turned to go back into the living room, Daisy came running up to me from outside. 


"Mommy, Mommy!" she was yelling, pointing at the front door.


I was a little confused. Usually, she just squeals when she sees a bee, wasp or even a ladybug. 


I followed her outside and found Jack, lying on the ground, underneath his bike, groaning.


"Jack!! Are you okay?"


He obviously wasn't. He wasn't crying, but anyone could tell he was in pain. 


"Honey, it's okay, Mommy's here," I kept repeating, pulling the bike off his quivering body and laying it against the yard fence.


I picked Jack up. He didn't seem to have any cuts, and his helmet was still in place, so his head was fine. I tried brushing down the dirt off his jeans, and that's when he winced. 


"Honey? Does your leg hurt?"


Jack nodded, in too much pain to actually speak.


"What happened?" I persisted.


Jack paused for a second, catching his breath, before saying, "Fell. I hurt my leg, Mommy."


I needed to know more. Had he fractured it? Sprained it? Broken it?


I drove Jack and Daisy to the emergency room, and Daisy was as good as gold. She waited patiently, not uttering a word. 


The doctor checked out Jack's leg, pressing down and mentally recording his winces and sharp intakes of breath. 


I felt so sorry for Jack. I felt it was all my fault. Luckily, he got away with only a slight sprain, with orders of bed rest and no school for a few days until it heals. 


Jack doesn't blame me, he doesn't blame anyone really - just the bike ("Mommy, can I get a new bike? That bike is evil."). 


But, obviously, we all know the bike isn't evil. I just can't help feeling it is all my fault - I took my eyes off him for literally 2 minutes and in that short space of time he fell off and sprained his leg. I feel so guilty...