At home where they should be!

Two evenings ago Denia and I set out on a concerted effort to exhaust Jasper before bedtime. Peter was working late, and we had not yet been out of the house. It was after six when we left but we figured we still had an hour at least of daylight. The sky was overcast and the temperature hovered just above freezing. As we made our way to White Park, picking our way over blackened snow banks and around piles of dog shit that emerge from the mountains of ice like chunks of mammoth from a glacier, we passed not another soul (with the exception of a few car commuters who smirked at our transparent motives). As we finally approached the park at dusk Jasper informed me that he had peed in his pants. I had to carry him over a wide slush puddle, slipping in up to my knee and filling my boot with ice. Then he insisted on removing his underwear. When he finally stopped whining and declared, "This will work," he looked up at the barren snow congested play structures and asked, "Where are all the kids?"