Freewheeling ain't always so guiltfree

After a few days meant to absorb the trauma of a Maya incident of note, I'm finally ready to dump my story on the entire World. I'll be brief. Maybe. But honest. Unquestionably. For those that check in for Maya updates, this one's for you.

We've got a new house that we adore already. Maya's hit the ground running at full speed, which in this was part of the foreshadowed problem. She adores the backyard/back deck/sandbox, and sleeps like a drunken hippie in her new room. 'Nuff said 'bout that. But we're also in that crazy mode of organizing that requires certain moments of poor parenting. Cough. As in Wednesday afternoon when I was trying to put things into our garage storage space while Maya played in front on her tricycle on our slanted driveway. Bear in mind, we've begun to see an adventurousness in her demeanor that wasn't really in full bloom until rather recently. So picture me fully distracted sorting out a few decades worth of camping equipment and untenable luggage. And Maya pushing her trike up the incline of the driveway. And then mounting said trike. And pushing off. Rumble rumble CRAAAASH! Scream! Picture me instantaneously expecting the Seattle Police or Child Protective Services EMTs being dispatched to our house. Blood. Cedar bark everywhere. Sadness. And...scene.

So here's the good news - Maya's fine. Better than fine, she's undamaged. She drove her renegade crotchrocket into the landscaping just off the otherwise more ominous concrete driveway. I felt like the worst Dad EVER for a few days, hence the posting lag. But she's healed amazingly well. A bloodied and abrased nose, no broken teeth, no permanent scars, no lawsuits. Yet. She is pretty young to be appropriately lashing out, after all. Still, I had a ringer up my sleeve that had nothing to do with Larry Craig's lawyers. Maya's grandparents and aunties arrived in the days after "The Crash" on a pre-scheduled visit to check out our new digs. I've learned Maya heals like a club fighter. She even hugged me somewhat recently. And she wanted me to tell y'all she's rockin' and rollin' like never before. We may even buy a new trike sometime soon. Of course, it will be one that only works on the flat until she's 16. If it ain't been invented yet, I'll make it. That's the kind of Dad I am.

Hope your own guilty moments do nothing to diminish the beauty of the opening Weekend of the NFL Season. Rock on.