Remember what it felt like getting ready to go down the street to daycare, or kindergarten or school? Remember how the mornings were dark and cold and slow? Remember how you had to eat even if you didn't feel like it yet? Remember how it was hard to get your coat on without the sleeve coming up? Remember how your rubber boots felt clammy and wet, and too big or too small? Remember how it felt to have to walk a whole block holding onto your mum or dad's hand: they had long legs and long steps and you had small legs and small steps. It always felt to you like they were rushing, hurrying. It always felt to them like you were dawdling, too slow. About half-way there, you would pull downward and look at ants or sit on the ground. They would pull harder and cajole and sound desperate to get you moving again. Sometimes yelling. Sometimes tears. A détente, digging in of the opposite positions: momentum and inertia. Watching out your front window, or watching from the porch, or watching down from your balcony or up from your basement apartment window, we promise that, wherever you are in a neighborhood living side-by-side among many people, people you know more or less, you will see these small beings pass by. You will see these daily dramas happen. They will happen with the neighborhood children and their caregivers. Twice a day: on the way to and on the way home.