"Walk!"

Zoe must have walked five miles last Saturday. We had a bit of early spring fever, what with the sun shining and the temps in the 60's and all. Zoe has found quite a lot of delight in working the treads off her new "speed racer" tennis shoes. Grandpa H stirred this passion in his granddaughter one day when he took her out for a walk of the non-stroller type. Now Zoe frequently pleades "Papa...walk" and stands squirming about at the door like a puppy who can't wait to go outside and wee.

Friday afternoon I took her to the park and she wandered in circles and squealed "Yellow!" and "Purple!" at the slides (which were, indeed, yellow and purple in color). She was also quite excited over the giant fish-shaped piece of climbing equipment and exclaimed "Fishy!" each time she passed by it.

Saturday, morning was the weekly family outing to the "Stuff-Mart" and upon our return, Zoe pleaded "Walk! Walk!" and so I let her down in the diveway while Dear Hubby went to work unloading all the stuff we bought at the "Stuff-Mart." Zoe took off down the road and trekked all the way around the block. She would have gone further if I'd let her. Following lunch, she refused her nap (something she hasn't done in quite a while) and so we gave up and went to the park to chase the duckies and walk and walk and walk...and walk...and walk. What fun it was to dance on the crunchy grass and watch our feet as we went in circles and zig zags...giggling, toddling, squealing, and meandering. Dear Hubby and I have become aware of the fact that we've grown fat and lazy and left the energy of our 20's too far behind us. Zoe will either keep us young or she will be the death of us!

After quite a long time of this fun at the park, Zoe was more than unhappy to get packed back into the family-mobile to head home. We distracted her with a stop at the local Wendy's to get a frosty. She ate the entire "junior" size cup on her own. And then, upon our return home, with a chocolate mustache still lingering around her precious little lips, Zoe began squealing "Walk! Walk!" as soon as the tires found the driveway. Upon letting her down in the driveway again, she toddled off at break-neck speed, sqealing and giggling and looking over her shoulder as if to plead "C'mon! Let's go!" And so the Old Man and I rustled up the energy to take another walk--this time around TWO blocks. The one with the littlest legs toddled twice as quickly as the adults wished to stroll in spite of the fact that it takes two or three or four of her little steps to meet the distance of a single adult stride. I think she could have gone for hours.

Naturally, having missed her afternoon nap, Miss Zoe zonked out in her daddy's arms while watching her Baby Einstein video at 6 pm. This is the kiss of death (for the wee one to fall asleep at such late hour), as even just a 10 minute power nap means Zoe will be up until midnight. Way past the Old Folks' bedtime, even on a weekend. Sure enough, there was no waking her. During the donning of the clean diaper and fuzzy jammies, the wee one awakened. And wide awake she was. Try as I might, she would not go to sleep. Sitting in the dark, rocking and cuddling were not helping. The wee one kept mentioning such things as "Fishies" (her term for her goldfish crackers), "Cheese" "Noonles" and "Eat." I tried to ignore it, as she was being so nonchalant. But wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, and squirm...she wasn't even trying to go to sleep. I finally said "Zoe!" to which she stopped, motionless, and then peered up at me with that pitiful little "Am I in trouble?" expression. Of course, I melted. What began as scolding finished coming out as the weary question, "...are you hungry?" She practically leaped out of the chair squealing "Fishies!"

And so we found ourselves at 8 pm with Zoe back in her highchair and the adults stationed around her, bringing her the foods of her requests. ...we started with noodles, moved on to fishies, and topped it all off with some cheese. Next, the wee one with the bulging belly decided she was revved up from a brief power nap and food in her tummy, and she began pulling all her toys back out of the toy box. Dear Hubby and I eyed the couch longingly, fantasizing about (yeah, right, get yer heads out of the gutter) watching tv like a couple of couch potatoes.

I don't recall what time the wee one with the most energy finally retired for the night. By the time we finally got her there, the Old Folks were yawning and rubbing their eyes and thinking that crawling into bed and going to sleep sounded like a better plan than vegging on the couch.

I'm mildly concerned at this stage. The wee one is only 18 months old, and the Old Folks are already exhausted. I wonder if we could teach the wee one to push the Old Folks in the stroller?