Over the summer, we took a family road trip to Pennsylvania, breaking in our new minivan by putting 4,000 miles on it in just under a month. As we drove across the United States, stopping for quick bathroom breaks at the cleanest gas stations we could find, my 4-year-old developed a favorite pastime.

Within 24 hours of the opening ceremony of the Tokyo Olympics, my almost 4-year-old daughter asked me if she could take a gymnastics class. Then she wanted to begin swimming lessons (finally). Then she asked if we could buy a horse. And just the other morning, she wanted to put on her sneakers so she could go “run like the fast girls” in the driveway.

She broke the rules. Snuck a cookie. Hid it behind her back, ran into the other room, chewed it up in two bites and then walked back into the living room, unaware that crumbs stuck on her mouth betrayed her secret snack.

We fled.

We woke up early, checked the weather reports, turned on the news and hastily packed the car, cramming in essentials: wedding photos, clothes, toddler toys, infant car seat in case the baby in my belly decided to come early.

And we left our home behind, a Category 4 hurricane barreling toward our beloved town.

We were newlyweds, and as a late wedding gift, a priest friend invited us to attend our bishop’s annual fundraising gala. A black-tie affair, my husband needed a tuxedo and I a gown. Off to the department store we went, a bit reluctant to spend money on fancy clothes we thought we’d never wear again.