"You kids will have to work it out for yourselves," you mutter to the sibling mafia, echoing what Brett's mother always said when she and her brothers got into squabbles. Somehow they usually did reach a détente. You press the gas pedal.
Brett grins. "Now where have I heard that before?"
You give her a reassuring look, then take a last glance at the hadrosaurs in the rearview mirror.