I call my son Bean; my daughter is Noodle, not that she likes that name anymore. Thursday, I pushed my son in the stroller as my daughter zoomed along on her balance bike on the way to preschool. We were running late with an extended sleep in on her part. Usually I am there before the door opens, but today, we were mingling with the crowd that filters in as the day starts.
On the way home, I decided to let my son walk the last couple blocks at his own pace. He touched leaves, stumbled to his knees once (his sandals are a bit big), and generally investigated the world in a much more interactive way.
He also jumped. He stopped every cement square or so, bent his knees, launched his body up, and erupted in fits of giggling. Once or twice he even caught some air beneath his shoes, maybe half an inch at most. However, he was so happy and determined it made the ten-minute, two-block walk extremely enjoyable. He was a jumping bean.