I hesitated, the first sign of defeat. We’d settled into a virtuous no-TV-on-school-nights routine, but it wasn’t a school night, and my husband and I had already done everything there was to do with a 6-year-old on a below-freezing Chicago Saturday — made pancakes, drawn pictures, counted and written numbers up to 100, read stories, played hide-and-seek (which became tickle-and-run), practiced piano, gone to Sky Zone, eaten chicken and rice, played computer games at the library, transformed an errant cardboard box into a tube for our dog, pulled out his new kids’ cookbook and cooked up chocolate pudding on the stove. What more was there?