We arrived at the park expecting a pleasant stroll, maybe a chance for Mimi to sip lukewarm coffee and enjoy the sunshine in peace.

Jack had other plans.

From the moment we unbuckled the seatbelt, he looked at Mimi with purpose. With determination. With the gaze of a child who had mentally drafted a 17-point itinerary and required adult supervision for all of it.

“Mimi,” he said solemnly, “you come with me.”
Not a suggestion. A summons.

She smiled sweetly. She did not yet know what she had signed up for.

Jack led her across the playground, hand gripped tight, narrating as he walked:
“This is the slide I almost flipped off last time.”
“This tree looks like it wants to be hugged.”
“This bench smells like peanut butter from last year.”

Mimi nodded. Took notes, emotionally. Tried to sit down.
Jack pulled her up. “We don’t rest here. We hunt.”

Next: the rock pit.

Jack searched for fossils, held up sticks like sacred artifacts, and insisted Mimi assist in his ongoing excavation of “squishy dinosaur eggs” (which were actually landscaping mulch). When she dared to stand upright, he dragged her back with the urgency of an unpaid field assistant.

At one point, she tried to take a sip of coffee.
He snatched the cup, sniffed it suspiciously, and whispered, “This does not help with discovering dinosaurs.”

They ran laps. They climbed. Mimi crouched. Jack sprinted ahead and yelled back with ancient explorer wisdom:
“Don’t touch the yellow flowers—they’re cursed!”

Other parents watched. One whispered, “Is he making her jog?”
Answer: yes. Emotionally and physically.

They stopped by the swings where Mimi finally tried to rest. Jack looked at her with dramatic betrayal. “I thought you believed in me.”
So she pushed him. For 11 straight minutes.
He narrated each swing like a historic monologue:
“I’m flying. The dinosaurs are jealous.”

Eventually, Mimi slowed.
Jack paused.
And in an act of mercy disguised as exhaustion, he allowed her to sit… beside the slide.
She was granted one cracker and three minutes of peace before the next adventure began: “The cave under the picnic table.”

They returned home, Mimi slightly wilted, Jack beaming with scientific triumph.
He hugged her and said, “You’re my best field human.”
She replied, “My knees agree.”

Jack nodded. “Tomorrow we do volcanoes.”

And that is how Mimi was lovingly kidnapped by a three-year-old paleontologist and became the MVP of mulch-based discoveries.