When Amy is sick, she is pitifully sad. Her eyes get round like a Keane painting and they are filled with a sea of tears that quietly roll down her pale, white cheeks. Except for the occasional whimper, she is silent. Amy was in sick mode the entire ride home from Natchez Trace.

On the contrary, Evan was completely annoyed to spend five plus hours in the car for the second day in a row. Apparently, he planned to spend several days wreaking havoc in the hotel with his cousins. He had running, shouting, climbing and general silliness to do. He was in no mood to be harnessed in the car. After we had run out of ways to entertain him and he had run out of excuses and schemes to get out of the car, he took things into his own capable hands. “I’m getting out of this seat.”

Before I could spin my head to respond to his announcement, he was completely out of his seat belts. I scrambled to get myself unbuckled so that I could awkwardly climb in the back and capture the escapee while Doug pulled the car to an abrupt stop. So abrupt that Evan smacked the back of the driver’s seat and flopped to the floor. As Evan sat up with an annoyed scowl, Amy’s tiny voice broke the stunned silence. “Shoulda stayed in your seat like you’re supposed to.”