I’m raising two daughters who could not be more different from one another if they tried. Not only do they look like they could not possibly be related, but nearly every facet of the personality is opposite. They also inherited very different physical abilities.
Sadly, Cailey inherited my sense of grace, and therefore has to work far harder than her sister to accomplish feats such as, well, conquering the RipStik.
As you probably know, unless you live in a perpetual state of cluelessness (like me), RipStik-ing is the cool form of skate boarding. There are only two wheels, and the center of the board is some sort of springy thing that twists. In order to propel the thing forward, you not only have to balance on two wheels, but you also have to move your feet back and forth.
To me it looks both complicated and dangerous. And worthy of far more insurance than we currently have.
Emme got a RipStik for Christmas last year and mastered it almost immediately. Cailey wisely had no interest in her feet leaving the safety of the pavement. However, this last month Cailey decided to tackle the RipStik. She borrowed her sister’s RipStik (and by “borrow”, I mean that I had to intervene and force the older sister to allow her sister to give it a go) and worked for the better part of an afternoon riding along the park fence. I watched her tenaciously attempt to balance, fall off, walk back to the beginning of the railing and start all over again.
She did this until she could get from one end to the other without falling off.
Then the negotiating began. Both girls had Christmas money burning holes in their skinny jeans. Sadly, Cailey blew most of hers on a DS game that was non-returnable. So she only had $20 to work with. Her sister on the other hand had $50 and was desiring a new RipStik, since she no longer thinks that hot pink is a respectable color for a tomboy of her ilk.
We looked high and low for used RipStiks on Craig’s List, but none were forthcoming. Then my girls but their negotiating heads together to see how they could both get what they wanted. For two days, their was peace in my valley as my girls became the best of friends while determining how best to procure two RipStiks.
In the end, after much haggling, online looking, and pinky swearing, Emme sold her hot pink RipStik to Cailey for a cool $20.00, and was then able to purchase a brand new RipStik in a bright red color.
Of course the bickering began almost immediately afterward. And soon after that, the injuries. Cailey decided that she was most assuredly an expert RipStiker. During a park experience, I told her that she needed her helmet which had been conveniently left in the car. She decided to RipStik her way to the van, negotiating a precarious hill. Rather badly. I turned to see her laying in a heap. All covered with bumps and scratches. She was holding her ankle and self diagnosed herself as having broken it.
It should be noted that she injured everything except her hard little head.
I hauled out the first aid kit and applied bandages and ice everywhere. After about 30 minutes she discovered that she had not broken her ankle, so she strapped on her bright pink helmet and got back in the saddle.
That particular child has the tenacity of a ferocious bulldog. I’ve often said that it will serve her well in adulthood, but it will likely be the death of her parents.
Has the RipStiking phase hit your household, and what injuries have you racked up?