It's like a page out of Thomas' Snowsuit - you know, the Robert Munsch book about the kid who gets wrapped in layers, goes outside, throws one snowball, then yells that he has to go pee.

Only in my case, it's not pee with my bundled-up three-year-old. It's poop. Every day I ask him if he has to go. He says no. I wrap him up in his snowsuit, he exits the door for about 5 milliseconds, then races in crying because he's desperate to make it to the potty in time. It's a flurry of mittens and neck warmers and hats - and most days, he makes it.

But on this particular one, he doesn't.