Like A Kid On Christmas Morning

The second day after "meeting" Bill online we decided to exchange email addresses. When Bill gave me his address, I had my first panic moment, wondering if he really was a psychotic killer or creepy nymphomaniac. His email address was crotchrocket@something.com. I freaked out and said something to him about being offended and he quickly clarified that a crotch rocket is a type of motorcycle (also known as a bullet bike), his favorite kind. I breathed a sigh of relief. Obviously I am clueless when it comes to motorcycles. I had never heard of a crotch rocket before.

But Bill wanted one, bad. He wanted any kind of motorcycle, really. He's talked about it the entire 8 years we've been married. I always told him he could get one, someday, but in my mind that day was always far off in the distance.

That day has come. Bill's little red POS breathed its last breath a few weeks ago and he's been driving my dad's shop loaner mini van ever since. The wheels in his head quickly began turning, and even I couldn't deny the logic of buying something much more gas efficient to get him to and from work (one job is across the river, the other past the railroad tracks) and school (a half hour drive one way at best). It really did seem like maybe it was time to make his wildest dreams come true. I mean, the guy is working two jobs and going to school. Maybe he deserves treating himself to a little something. Or a big something.

And so, after much searching on craigslist, Bill is the proud new owner of a black 1980 Kawasaki 750.


It's a far cry from his dream bike (it's not a crotch rocket) but he doesn't care. He is glowing, giddy, ecstatic. He drives it every chance he gets. The kids think it is the coolest thing on the planet and instantly started begging for a ride. So yesterday we bought a kid helmet and Bill took them both for rides around the neighborhood. I know, a lot of you mom's are dying right now that I let my kids ride on the back of a motorcycle, but apparently I'm not that mom that says "No way." I just gave Bill a lecture (three times) about being careful and told the kids (three times) to NEVER LET GO. They loved it. They won't stop talking about it.

(Payson kept talking about Daddy's coyote motorcycle.

We finally figured out he was trying to say Kawasaki.)

A little boy's dream come true. And Payson's, too.