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I pulled into my kids’ preschool at 3:29 P.M., jumped out of the minivan, and ran inside. I’d squeezed in a two-hour rope-soloing session at the local crag after finishing work early that afternoon, and I was just in time for afternoon pickup. “Mom! Quinn and Adaline invited us to go to the fairy houses!” my five-year-old daughter, Eloise, said. “Can we go?” I looked at the girls’ mothers, who nodded. We were, indeed, invited to the Fluttery Thicket, a fanciful temporary art installation along one of Bozeman, Montana’s in-town trails. “Sure,” I said as we walked out of school. “But I have to figure out how to carry Gus.” Eloise’s little brother weighed around 25 pounds at the time and wasn’t walking yet, and while careful climbing didn’t bother my chronic neck pain, I could hardly get him from the school to the van in my arms, much less the half-mile to the fairy houses. I didn’t have the baby backpack or stroller in the car, but ....