#trikeathon

We had a scare at the preschool this past week.  It was cold and snowy on Monday and Tuesday, threatening Wednesday's greatly anticipated Trike-A-Thon.  However, Wednesday dawned into a radiant morning of sunshine and rising temperatures.  The Trike-A-Thon would go on as planned.

For those of you who have not already guessed, a Trike-A-Thon is like a marathon....only with the never ending sound of squeaking, grinding, honking, crashing tricycles, manned by three-year olds.  What a glorious event it was to behold....

The Trike-A-Thon participants were the envy of the whole school.  The snow had melted, the sun had come out, and the whole world was their's to explore and conquer.  The three-year olds pedaled around the sectioned-off portion of the parking lot with an air of superiority, as the younger members of our preschool looked on with awe and wonder.

The front of the school faces the parking lot, and off to the side of the building is the playground for the two-year olds.  Their playground is enclosed by a chain-link fence, so most of the two-year olds who were out to play pressed against the chain-link to watch the three-year olds flaunt their freedom.

My job during this time was to try to maintain some kind of order in the midst of the madness.  Most of the time I was helping crash victims back onto their trikes, steering kids away from the temptation of puddles, and encouraging those who had collapsed into a heap of exhaustion to keep pedaling.

As this was going on, I started to notice something peculiar.  I looked closely at some of my students and sure enough, they had water droplets glittering off of their plastic helmets.  I wondered how they were getting wet since I was making sure they stayed out of puddles, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky....and then I saw it.

Huddled against the chain-link fence was a line of two-year olds spitting steady streams of water out into the parking lot as my three-year olds rode past.  Their cheeks bulged like chipmunks as they prepared to empty their loads on innocent passers by.  Apparently not all of the two's were happy that the three's were allowed to experience the exhilaration of trike riding while they were cooped up inside of their playground.  

But where was their source of so much water?  My question was quickly answered as a few of the spitters snuck out of line to reload.  They waddled over to the corner of their playground where a Little Tikes kitchen set was stationed and dipped their heads into the plastic sink.  The warm sun had melted two days worth of snow, leaving those little stinkers with all the ammunition they needed.  They slurped up another round of melted snow, returned to their positions at the fence, and waited for the next opportunity to strike.

Their chance came before I could put an end to what was happening.  One of my little boys had already pedaled within spitting range and the two-year olds let loose, spewing glacier water into his unsuspecting path.  Taken unawares by the onslaught, the little boy lost control of his vehicle and crashed dramatically onto the pavement.

I ran to his aide and inspected the damage.  His Elmo helmet, knee pads, elbow pads, and wrist guards had ensured that no part of his body ever even touched the ground, so fortunately he survived the ordeal.