Tibbles is allowed to go for a bike ride with a friend for the first time unsupervised. She has been given an hour, an hour of freedom, to just go and peddle for all she's worth. I would love to install a GPS tracking system in one of her earrings, but I think that is a little much. I didn't have the walkie talkies charged, next time I will send one. As she sped off, I took note of what she was wearing, and was, in a loud voice telling her, to look both ways, don't talk to strangers, stay with your friend, don't go into other houses etc. etc., until she disappeared around the corner and couldn't hear me anymore. She is almost nine years old. When I think back to what I was allowed to do at that age, I feel that I have been over protective, but I also know that bad things can happen to any kid. I feel like I am holding my breath until she arrives in the driveway. "But it's a small town", and "everyone knows everyone" spiel has been regurgitated to me, and I inevitably yawn through it. There is a highway that carves it's way through the dot on the map where we happen to live. Everyone may know everyone, but there are still oddballs, and things do happen in small towns, only it's swept under the carpet and covered up, and not talked about. When I remember two incidents that happened to me at age four, in suburbia, a hop, skip and a jump from my parent's home, I have the right to be over protective, and anxious. 5:11 ~Tibbles arrived home (late, and had a lecture). I can resume oxygen intake.