Full morning at the Ball Pit. Ryan is a little tired, but not sleepy. We park in our garage and start walking toward the stairs.
"Stroller!" he screams. "Stroller! Stroller!" He's begging, crying.
Stu says, "Remember last time he was like this, he cried and screamed all the way up in the elevator." He takes the stroller out of the trunk and unfolds it.
Ryan sits, then points to the stairwell door.
"No, you can't ride the stroller up the stairs," I try to explain. He runs to the stairs, still crying "Stroller!"
Turns out, he was happy to walk home, but wanted us to carry the stroller into the building, rather than leaving it in the trunk. Because that's how we came down to the car that morning: carrying the stroller through the building (instead of going out in the rain) so we'd have it in the car in case Ryan fell asleep on the way home.
And of course, once we got up the first flight of stairs and were at a point where he could have ridden in the stroller to the elevator, he had zero interest in the stroller. May not have even noticed it was there.
I had forgotten the first rule of camping: you pack out what you pack in.