In my town there is a hill. No problem in the car, not even worthy of 2nd gear, but when you’re on foot (and alright, slightly over the average weight for your puny height) this hill is a bitch to slog up twice (or four times!) a day.
Rafe and Olivia both go to school at the top of and slightly along from this hill. At the end of the day Rafe is pretty tired so I usually take the stroller (pushchair for any British readers) along for him to ride home in, as it’s a bit of trek.
Now, I’m pretty safety conscious. In a laissez faire kind of way. I don’t store the bleach in a locked metal box in the attic for example. I don’t let anyone drink it, either.
On this particular day, Rafe was in his stroller and we were walking down the hill. The stroller is new, but a bit wonky, probably because Rafe is pushing the recommended weight, by virtue of being almost 5. I decided to stop fighting its list to the right and just go with it, so I started pushing Rafe on two wheels, zigging and zagging our way down the hill, as he laughed uproariously. Not going to fast. But, fast enough that when I hit a rock on a zag, the stroller upended. I held onto it for a second, but eventually I crashed into the stroller and Rafe crashed onto the ground. (oh, yeah. Laissez Faire- stopped making Rafe wear the straps at least a year ago). I just barely managed to avoid falling over the whole thing and landing on top of poor Rafe.
He (thankfully) just laughed. (It was pretty funny) But when I stopped hugging him and pulled him off the ground and uprighted the stroller, I realized that there was traffic on both sides of the school crossing and the crossing guard (lollipop man!) watching us. *sigh* Nobody seemed amused by my antics.
I cracked a joke when we walked past the lollipop man, but he just gave me that look. You know the one- the “Someone ought to report you.” look.
So, there you go, when cruising down a hill, keep the stroller on all four wheels, and please, no zagging.