My sister, her husband and two kids came to visit me in Nashville earlier this summer. Given what it costs these days to put four people on a plane it made better sense for them to pile in their minivan and make the twelve-hour trek for whatever a few fill-ups of gas would require. And a few stops for apple juice and fries. We had an amusing week of eating at local burger joints and ice cream shops, working in my garden, swimming at a friend’s pool, barbecuing in the backyard. When it was time to leave Brad and Katie strapped both Maryn, who’s five, and Emmett, who’s three, into their respective car seats, and up the road they charged towards Virginia.
Later that day Katie called me to tell me that they’d made it safely, and that Emmett had had a colossal meltdown when they pulled into their driveway. “I don’t wanna go home! I wanna go back to Aunt Kelly’s house,” he moaned falling apart.