Z is for Zoom

He's a kick-up-his-heels kind of runner. Give him an open space, and he's off, burning every bit of energy in that little 2 1/2 year-old body with yellow hair blowing off his forehead to show his smiley crescent moon eyes.

Most days, we take advantage of the soccer field in back of our house. Sometimes we take a soccer or football, something to chase, although it's never a necessity. Yesterday, he sped down the sledding hill on his own calling out, "Woohoo!" all the way (a cheer I taught him early on).

Today, the snow was almost gone, so we crossed the bridge to Roosevelt Island. When I felt the chill in the air, I decided it would be a short walk, but our little man on the go had his own agenda. I watched him zoom up the path, keeping up with his patient eleven-year-old brother, and knew there was no turning back. We were three-quarters of the way around before he finally needed a lift. And because I've already seen just how fast my older boys have grown, how they no longer need me (nor is it appropriate) to scoop them up, I was pleased for the chance to hug my tuckered out toddler all the way to the car.

Life lesson: Not so fast.