Having written an entire rule about being on time, this is hard for me to admit – I was running late. I was supposed to be at my friend’s house for dinner at 5:00. It was 4:40 and we were just getting our shoes on. Knowing that it would take about 15 minutes to bike over there (and five minutes to get the kids into the bike trailer), I knew had to get moving. Just jumping in the car was not an option since the car was on vacation with my husband.

 

Well, as the luck of any hip mom sometimes goes . . . my younger son couldn’t find his sandals. He is two, so they could have been anywhere. After madly searching for a couple of minutes, we found them under his bed (that was a new one!. Then, after successfully getting both boys buckled into the trailer, I realized that the air on the trailer tire was a little low. Have you ever tried pulling 90 pounds of kids in a bike trailer with low tires? I pulled out the air pump and went for the tire valve. Oh, the tire valve. It was wedged tightly against the tire rim. Frustrated, I tried to pry it out with pliers, only to hear a quick “phssssp.” Not even a whole second long, and every ounce of air came out of the tire. I guess I should have taken the 90 pounds of children out of the trailer to relieve the pressure on the tire first?

 

Now I didn’t know what to do. The tire was far too flat to limp to the nearest gas station for air, and my wimpy air pump was getting me nowhere. I was about to give in and call my friend to cancel our dinner date when my neighbor walked over. “Why don’t you just ask Jerry to air up your tire?” Betty asked. “Oh, I could never bother him,” I quickly replied. Jerry is our professional cyclist neighbor. His bike is worth more than my car. I did NOT want to ask him to put air in the tires of my piddly little bike trailer. But as options go, mine were limited, and Betty wasn’t about to let me stay home when a solution to my problem was so obvious and close. So, with my well-intentioned neighbor watching to make sure I followed through, I walked my bike, bike trailer, and two boys over and timidly knocked on Jerry’s door. And, as is generally the case, he was more than happy to help out.

 

Sometimes we confuse being hip with being able to do it all ourselves, but things often come up that prevent us from getting it done. I could have stayed home (and almost did), but instead, I took a very small risk and asked for help. The payoff was great. My tires were filled by an expert, my bike trailer has never pulled more smoothly, and I got to have a fabulous supper with one of my hippest friends.

 

Now if I could just figure out how to make that bike helmet look hip . .