"Come here," he shouts, to be sure I hear him through the door.
"What?" I ask, somewhat annoyed.
"Come here," he says, now more insistent.
"What do you need?" I am finally back up and running with my computer and am perfectly happy to have my face buried in it for the moment, thank you very much.
"Just come here! I want to show you something."
I get up and go to the door. Brother bounces down the steps and grabs his bike. I am intrigued and step out onto the porch in my socks, wondering if he is going to do what I think he's going to do.
He walks it to the end of the driveway, hops on and then takes off.
What's the big deal?
Last March we bought him a new bike for his birthday and took the training wheels off his old one. For almost a year we've been trying to coax him into giving it a shot. A couple of times we even did the whole hold-on-to-the-back-of-the-seat-take-off-running-then-let-go thing. But he was too afraid. He just wasn't ready.
But today, he did it...all by himself.
I started jumping up and down in the driveway, screaming and cheering, almost crying, acting like a complete and total lunatic. I grab the camera, I text message my husband, I call friends. The next door neighbor sees and cheers for him, too.
Next thing I know he is down the driveway, out the gate, and halfway down the street before he hits the brakes with just the right amount of pressure, slowing and stopping perfectly, just like a pro, and turns to give me a huge grin.
That's my boy.