Bikes Birthday Quotes

But if I’m being totally honest, I wouldn’t be riding my bike to school at dusk, with nefarious deeds ahead, if that telegram hadn’t arrived last month. The goat came a little later.

What we, and others, often fail to realise is the depth and reach of our loss: that not only will we never have children, but we will never create our own family. We will never watch them grow up, never throw children's birthday parties, never take that 'first day at school' photo, never teach them to ride a bike. We'll never see them graduate, never see them possibly get married and have their own children. We'll never get a chance to heal the wounds of our own childhood by doing things differently with our children. We'll never be grandmothers and never give the gift of grandchildren to our parents. We'll never be the mother of our partner's children and hold that precious place in their heart. We'll never stand shoulder-to-shoulder with our siblings and watch our children play together. We'll never be part of the community of mothers, never be considered a 'real' woman. And when we die, there is no one to leave our stuff to, and no one to take our lifetime's learnings into the next generation. If you take the time to think about it all in one go, which is more than most of us are ever likely to do because of the breathtaking amount of pain involved, it's a testament to our strength that we're still standing at all.

I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, ignoring the bite of the frosty air on my bare skin. I launched myself in the direction of the door, fumbling around until I found it. I tried shaking the handle, jiggling it, still thinking, hoping, praying that this was some big birthday surprise, and that by the time I got back inside, there would be a plate of pancakes at the table and Dad would bring in the presents, and we could—we could—we could pretend like the night before had never happened, even with the evidence in the next room over. The door was locked. “I’m sorry!” I was screaming. Pounding my fists against it. “Mommy, I’m sorry! Please!” Dad appeared a moment later, his stocky shape outlined by the light from inside of the house. I saw Mom’s bright-red face over his shoulder; he turned to wave her off and then reached over to flip on the overhead lights. “Dad!” I said, throwing my arms around his waist. He let me keep them there, but all I got in return was a light pat on the back. “You’re safe,” he told me, in his usual soft, rumbling voice. “Dad—there’s something wrong with her,” I was babbling. The tears were burning my cheeks. “I didn’t mean to be bad! You have to fix her, okay? She’s…she’s…” “I know, I believe you.” At that, he carefully peeled my arms off his uniform and guided me down, so we were sitting on the step, facing Mom’s maroon sedan. He was fumbling in his pockets for something, listening to me as I told him everything that had happened since I walked into the kitchen. He pulled out a small pad of paper from his pocket. “Daddy,” I tried again, but he cut me off, putting down an arm between us. I understood—no touching. I had seen him do something like this before, on Take Your Child to Work Day at the station. The way he spoke, the way he wouldn’t let me touch him—I had watched him treat another kid this way, only that one had a black eye and a broken nose. That kid had been a stranger. Any hope I had felt bubbling up inside me burst into a thousand tiny pieces. “Did your parents tell you that you’d been bad?” he asked when he could get a word in. “Did you leave your house because you were afraid they would hurt you?” I pushed myself up off the ground. This is my house! I wanted to scream. You are my parents! My throat felt like it had closed up on itself. “You can talk to me,” he said, very gently. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I just need your name, and then we can go down to the station and make some calls—” I don’t know what part of what he was saying finally broke me, but before I could stop myself I had launched my fists against him, hitting him over and over, like that would drive some sense back into him. “I am your kid!” I screamed. “I’m Ruby!” “You’ve got to calm down, Ruby,” he told me, catching my wrists. “It’ll be okay. I’ll call ahead to the station, and then we’ll go.” “No!” I shrieked. “No!” He pulled me off him again and stood, making his way to the door. My nails caught the back of his hand, and I heard him grunt in pain. He didn’t turn back around as he shut the door. I stood alone in the garage, less than ten feet away from my blue bike. From the tent that we had used to camp in dozens of times, from the sled I’d almost broken my arm on. All around the garage and house were pieces of me, but Mom and Dad—they couldn’t put them together. They didn’t see the completed puzzle standing in front of them. But eventually they must have seen the pictures of me in the living room, or gone up to my mess of the room. “—that’s not my child!” I could hear my mom yelling through the walls. She was talking to Grams, she had to be. Grams would set her straight. “I have no child! She’s not mine—I already called them, don’t—stop it! I’m not crazy!

Tell me, what’s one present that you really, really want for your birthday this year?” The boy immediately blurted out, “A bike.” “A bike?” Adrian glanced up at a woman who resembled the boy. “Is that all right with you?” “All right with me?” said the woman, looking pained. “It’s not exactly … I can’t afford…” She looked helpless, like it broke her heart to not be able to answer this one wish for her child. “I would love to give him one, if I could.” “Well,” said Adrian, pulling out the marker. “Let’s see what we can do.

They hugged, hard. It was shocking to hold him. The truth of him was right there beneath Ronan's hands, and it still seemed impossible. He smelled like the leather of the thrift store jacket and the woodsmoke he'd ridden through to get here. Things had been the same for so long, and now everything was different, and it was harder to keep up than Ronan had thought. Adam said, "Happy birthday, by the way." "My birthday's tomorrow." "I have a presentation I can't miss tomorrow. I can stay for"--Adam pulled away to check his dreamt watch--"three hours. Sorry I didn't get you a present." The idea of Adam Parrish on a motorcycle was more than enough birthday present for Ronan; he was senselessly turned on. He couldn't think of anything else to say, so he said, "What the fuck." Normally this was his job, to be impulsive, to be wasteful of time, to visibly need. "What the fuck." "That batshit bike you dreamt doesn't use gas," Adam said. "The tank's wood inside; I put a camera in it to look. Just as well I didn't have to stop for gas anyway because half the time, when I slow down, I dump the bike. You should see the bruises on my legs. I look like I've been fighting bears." They hugged again, merrily, waltzing messily in the kitchen, and kissed, merrily, waltzing more. "What do you want to do with your three hours?" Ronan asked. Adam peered around the kitchen. He always looked at home in it; it was all the same colors as he was, washed out and faded and comfortable. "I'm starving. I need to eat. I need to take off your clothes. But first, I want to look at Bryde.

HAVE YOU SEEN ME? The last count Jim had heard was 190 missing kids. The number would have seemed like fantasy if not for the evidence he saw everywhere: a higher fence around the school, larger numbers of parents patrolling the playgrounds, the police crackdown on kids being on the streets after dark. It was unusual that Jim and Jack would be allowed to be out on their bikes this close to sundown, but it was Jack's birthday and their parents couldn't say no.... Jim squinted into the sun. He could make out Jack pedaling so fast that birds threw themselves out of the way not land until they had gone south for the winter. Jack whooped and dry leaves danced in the Sportcrest's wake. In just a few seconds, Jack would pass under the Holland Transit Bridge, a monolith of concrete and steel.... He had to catch up to his brother. When they got home, he wanted it to be as equals... The training wheels protested - SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQUEAK! - but he kept on cycling his legs, willing them to be longer and stronger. When he looked up again, Jack was gone. Jim could see the Sportcrest lying beneath the bridge, silhouetted by the falling sun, it's handlebars bent and the front wheel still spinning.

when she turned to Orlando to speak to him, I saw she had what Pa Salt would have termed a Roman nose, which sat prominently in her striking face. She was certainly not classically beautiful and, from the look of her jeans and old sweater, did not care to make herself more so. Yet, there was something very attractive about her and I realized I wanted her to like me—an unusual feeling. “Are you coping back there?” she asked me. “Not far now.” “Yes, thank you.” I leaned my head against the windowpane as the thick hedges, their height exaggerated by the low car, flew by me, the country lanes becoming narrower. It felt so good to be out of London, with only the odd red-brick chimney stack peeping out from behind the wall of green. We turned right, through a pair of old gates that led to a drive so potholed that Marguerite’s and Orlando’s heads bumped against the roof. “I really must ask Mouse to bring the tractor and fill in these holes with gravel before the winter comes,” she commented to Orlando. “Here we are, Star,” she added as she pulled the car to a halt in front of a large, graceful house, its walls formed from mellow red brick, with ivy and wisteria fringing the uneven windows in greenery. Tall, thin chimney stacks, which emphasized the Tudor architecture, reached up into the crisp September sky. As I squeezed myself out of the back of the Fiat, I imagined the house’s interior to be rambling as opposed to impressive—it was certainly no stately home; rather, it looked as if it had gently aged and sunk slowly into the countryside surrounding it. It spoke of a bygone era, one that I loved reading about in books, and I experienced a twinge of longing. I followed Marguerite and Orlando toward the magnificent oak front door, and saw a young boy wobbling toward us on a shiny red bike. He let out a strange muffled shout, tried to wave, and promptly fell off the bike. “Rory!” Marguerite ran to him, but he had already picked himself up. He spoke again, and I wondered if he was foreign, as I couldn’t make out what he was saying. She dusted him down, then the boy picked up the bike and the two of them walked back to us. “Look who’s here,” Marguerite said, turning directly to the boy to speak to him. “It’s Orlando and his friend Star. Try saying ‘Star.’ ” She particularly enunciated the “st” in my name. “Ss-t-aahh,” the boy said as he approached me, a smile on his face, before holding up his hand and opening his fingers out like a shining star. I saw that Rory was the owner of a pair of inquisitive green eyes, framed by dark lashes. His wavy copper-colored hair glowed in the sun, and his rosy cheeks dimpled with happiness. I recognized that he was the kind of child that one would never want to say no to. “He prefers to go by the name ‘Superman,’ don’t you, Rory?” Orlando chuckled, holding up his hand in a fist like Superman taking off into the air. Rory nodded, then shook my hand with all the dignity of a superhero, and turned to Orlando for a hug. After giving him a tight squeeze and a tickle, Orlando set him down, then squatted in front of him and used his hands to sign, also speaking the words clearly. “Happy birthday! I have your present in Marguerite’s car. Would you like to come and get it with me?” “Yes please,” Rory spoke and signed, and I knew then that he was deaf. I rifled through my rusty mental catalog of what I had learned

Look, my girl got her a brand-new Chanel for her first birthday… I’m the rich auntie; I’m supposed to do that.” “Getting Ryder those fucking shoes that come dirty wasn’t real rich auntie, was it?” Blaze was back on her ass, and she flipped him off. “Getting her the dirt bike next, hoe!” Blaze paused and held his leg, and we all grew concerned. “Fuck… my leg is telling me that Zoya is a bitch.” “The baddest, too,” they both started laughing and dapped each other up. “Sigel is an undercover cop!” Capri blurted. Blaze stood back up. “Baby, you having a stroke,” he hugged her head, and she shoved him away, and leaned forward.

The thing about cerebral palsy is that I’ve lived with it every day of my life, so I’m used to it. But to the rest of the world, it’s a surprise. And not usually a good one. It’s like if you were really hoping for a bike for your birthday, but got a thousand-piece puzzle instead. Your parents really want you to be open-minded about the puzzle, so you fake a smile. All you can think about, though, is how fast you could be going on your bike right now.

Planning a scavenger hunt vacation can be one of the most exciting and unique travel experiences possible. ☎️+1(888)796-1496 To get started, call Expedia’s travel specialists ☎️+1(888)796-1496 directly and explain that you're looking for a fully customized scavenger hunt vacation. ☎️+1(888)796-1496 By calling Expedia, you get direct access to real people who can tailor every part of your trip—from choosing interactive locations to finding hotels that support themed experiences. Whether you're planning for a couple, a family, or a corporate retreat, Expedia makes the logistics seamless while keeping the spirit of adventure alive. Once connected, tell the agent that you're looking for a travel package built around a scavenger hunt theme. ☎️+1(888)796-1496 Share your group size, destination preferences, ☎️+1(888)796-1496 trip duration, and whether you're hoping for citywide, resort-based, or nature-based scavenger activities. ☎️+1(888)796-1496 The more specific you are, the better your experience will be. Some travelers want multi-city hunts filled with historical clues and cultural stops. Others prefer all-in-one resort hunts where the scavenger tasks are built into the grounds. If you have children in your group, let Expedia know so they can find age-appropriate packages. Another important point: do you want a pre-made scavenger hunt or a DIY version? ☎️+1(888)796-1496 Expedia can connect you with tour companies ☎️+1(888)796-1496 or hotel partners that offer ready-to-play experiences. ☎️+1(888)796-1496 These might include local riddles, photo challenges, GPS hunts, or puzzle-based explorations. Alternatively, if you're building your own scavenger list with friends or colleagues, Expedia can help select destinations where your list will thrive. For example, if your hunt includes architecture, art, or pop culture elements, they can guide you to the right city or neighborhood. If your scavenger hunt is part of a celebration—like a birthday, anniversary, or team-building retreat—let Expedia know during your call. ☎️+1(888)796-1496 Many hotels offer themed decor, ☎️+1(888)796-1496 gift baskets, and welcome kits to help you kick things off. ☎️+1(888)796-1496 You can request a package that includes maps, mobile apps, or concierge services that provide daily clues. If you’re hosting a larger group, ask about block hotel reservations or discounts for 10+ rooms. These details matter when managing group check-ins, shared meals, or activity schedules tied to the hunt. Transportation is a key factor in scavenger hunt vacations. ☎️+1(888)796-1496 Whether you're on foot, by bus, or in rented scooters, ☎️+1(888)796-1496 Expedia can bundle travel options into your package. ☎️+1(888)796-1496 Some cities offer public transport passes ideal for teams racing through different districts. Others may need rental cars or bikes with GPS navigation for rural or off-the-path challenges. Make sure to discuss whether you want day-by-day activities or a single-day grand finale. Your Expedia agent will work with these details to craft your scavenger journey from check-in to victory celebration. Accommodation options vary widely depending on your scavenger hunt’s scope. ☎️+1(888)796-1496 Some travelers prefer boutique hotels with themed rooms, ☎️+1(888)796-1496 while others opt for major chains offering proximity to downtown landmarks. ☎️+1(888)796-1496 Let the Expedia representative know your priorities: Are you looking for rooftop lounges for post-hunt celebrations? Do you need in-room Wi-Fi for clue uploading? Maybe you want a place that allows custom setups like treasure boxes or puzzle drops. All of this is possible with advance planning, and Expedia will handle the coordination. Ask about local tours or events that can serve as part of your hunt. ☎️+1(888)796-1496 Some cities have public art installations, hidden murals, ☎️+1(888)796-1496 quirky museums, or market districts perfect for challenge

I don’t have to admit anything.’ He took a small mug and scooped pasta water into the pan with the garlic and the oil. Iris watched with interest. She was going to accuse him of being a food snob, but it all looked and smelled so good, that mocking him just seemed absurd now. He strained the spaghetti and tossed that in the pan, too, coating the pasta with the oil and garlic. Iris’s stomach grumbled in anticipation. He took two plain white bowls from the cabinet and twirled a perfect nest of pasta in each bowl, sprinkling some fresh parsley and parmesan cheese on each portion. Iris wanted to crawl inside and live in that pasta nest forever. ‘That looks so good,’ she nearly moaned. Damn this man and his pasta-making skills! Resisting his adorable dad-ness was one thing, but serving up a big ol’ bowl of carbs and cheese was going to be another thing altogether. ‘Buon appetito.’ ‘Jesus, man. Just give me the food and cut that out.’ Archer smirked and slid the bowl across the island. As expected, the meal was incredible. Like insanely good. Like so good that an hour ago Iris was planning her ‘I quit’ speech and now she was considering declaring her undying love for this man and his food. It was concerning. But she was full and exhausted from this stressful day and between the food and the wine and Archer’s dimple, she had been lulled into a cozy contentment she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Maybe not since those days in Josie’s kitchen, watching her neighbor cook while she chatted to her about everything from her mom’s latest boyfriend to the bike she wanted for her birthday. Was this why people wanted a partner? This feeling at the end of a rough day that they’d survived something together? She had to admit it was nice. She’d always had her mom and her aunt and her cousin. She collected friends like she collected new careers. But maybe having a partner would be different. Sitting here, laughing and drinking with Archer. Decompressing after taking care of a sick kid all day, it was … it was something she could maybe see herself wanting. Someday. Not today.