The only explanation he offers is, "backward day is backward day."
I think about that every evening as I show up at daycare to pick up the kids.
Pickup time is pickup time.
Most nights the girls are excited to see me and pack up amiably while I collect their brother. But some nights, like tonight, when new toys were unveiled in the classroom, they are anything but amiable. L ran away and hid under the new parachute. E burst into tears because she had been about to read a brand-new book with one of her favorite teachers. I reminded them what I always remind them: we need to get their brother home before he falls asleep. The books and toys will be there tomorrow. Their friends and teachers will be there tomorrow. And tonight, their daddy was in Chicago. We needed to start the evening because every bit of it would take a little longer than usual. We needed to leave, just until tomorrow.
Pickup time is pickup time. Backward day is backward day.