Dad held up my knitting backpack, which was full of my latest project and skeins of yarn. “I’m pretty sure your mom and I aren’t the knitters around here.”

“Oh, come on, that’s the only thing of mine sitting around,” I argued.

Dad raised his eyebrow. “Is that so? Then your piece of the apple pie cooling in the kitchen right now is mine, since you’re not staking claim to it.”

“That’s not what I meant!” I protested.

“Actually, I made the pie, so technically it’s mine,” Mom said as she pulled herself up with a big oomph and rubbed her stomach. “But I’ll be nice and share. Ruby, how about you go get Grammy, your dad can look into taking you camping, and I’ll dream about a house entirely to myself?”

“Be careful what you wish for,” I told Mom. “We might end up moving into the woods and living there.”

“I’m not complaining. With the two of you living in the woods, that means more pie for me! Now go get Grammy. I’m starving,” Mom said, and playfully pushed me toward the door.

I hurried downstairs, excited to tell her about our camping adventure.