Far be it for me to ever disparage my three children or gassy dog, but riding the dozen hours home from them in the car from Maine is little bit akin to–well, it’s here that metaphors fail me.  The kids and dog take me just short of the point of madness but, in the end, I’m left happy they stayed on the straight and narrow long enough to allow us to get home without driving out of distraction (or purposefully, for that matter) into a roadside ditch.  Is there a metaphor out there for such complex feelings over an annual auto-family-canine gas experience?  Do tell.

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