Speedy has never stopped speeding through life since the day I first met him.
The only time Speedy has been slow was on his original birthday. He shooooorre took his sweet time then.
And when I sent a photo of newborn Speedy to my once-upon-a-time sister-in-law all she could muster was, "How old is this child? Are you sure your due dates were right?" He looked, quite frankly, really ticked off that he was a newborn and didn't come with a set of wheels or auxilary power.
When Speedy was just a tot, like any Mom, I taught him his alphabet. However, I wasn't fast enough. At about the letter D, he gave a huge sigh and moaned, "WHEN ARE WE EVER GOING TO GET TO ZED?"
He speeds through Birdie Ball...that's Decadent for Badminton. He speeds through calculus...just.
He speeds through hard drives and really ratchets it up a few notches when untangling Decadent Housewife's computer woes. DO YOU WANT TO LEARN HOW TO DO THIS FOR YOURSELF MOM? MOM? Never mind Speedy. Just speed along. I'll feed you at the finish line.
And he speeds through triathalons. And then says, "LOOK, MOM...if she can do it...SO CAN YOU." And he then points to someone a tad sweatier than I, while I grimace at the thought of more sweat than I already produce in this, my mid-life crisis.
On the once or twice occasion he sped around in Violinist's smarty pants car, he was pulled over four times in less than ninety minutes and twice at that by one nice policeman. "GET RID OF THAT CAR, VIOLINIST. IT's A HEAT MAGNET."
There is one thing Speedy isn't too swift in. Hockey? And I claim to be Canadian?... and the mother of four men? Another time.