In winter it fits two cars, no more. But in summer, somehow, it parks about 90 vehicles. Must be the heat that makes it expand.

Our garage was designed to hold two cars, barely. In the winter, when both my wife and I are parked in there, every time I get into my car I am reminded I could stand to lose a few pounds. I feel like one of those street performers who can contort his body to fit into a tiny box. I have to twist one way, then dislocate my shoulders and hips in such a way that I can spill coffee all over myself as I slump into the driver's seat. Then, I have to decide if I want to take my other leg with me or leave it in the garage.

In winter, the garage fits two cars, but in summer, somehow, it parks about 90 vehicles. Must be the heat that makes it expand. It's a mystery on par with our spot at the end of the driveway, where you can put old furniture you don't want and it magically will disappear.

There's a Big Wheel next to the wagon and the stroller. A couple of bikes are parked next to those. The basket on one is filled with all sorts of treasures: A pony, a piece of chalk, a pine cone and a hair band. There are enough streamers hanging from bike handles that the side of the garage could double as a very lazy surprise party.

I opened the garage door one day when I got home, and there was every color of big, fat sidewalk chalk on the ground.

"Why is all the chalk spilled out on the garage floor?" I asked my 5-year-old.

She thought for a moment, as all opportunists do, and replied with big, blue eyes twice the size of her head. "It's so you can create a driving course for us," she said.

"Oh, really?" I responded.

"Yeah, you could pick any color you want," she replied. "Just take a look and pick anyone that is your favorite color, even if it's not your favorite color."

"Blue," my 2-year-old chimed in, handing me the blue chalk. So, I drew a squiggly path from the garage to the end of the driveway.

"Outside the path is lava," my older daughter said.

It's surprising how much lava we encounter around our house. Must be on a fault line. She headed out and immediately went off track.

"The lava!" I exclaimed.

"It's OK," she assured me. "These tires can ride on lava."

Her little sister followed on her tricycle, which she discovered about a month ago is much easier to ride when your feet can reach the pedals.

When we play outside, eventually everything ends up sprawled across the front yard. I imagine it looks a lot like Sturgis, S.D., the day after the motorcycle rally ends. And when it's time for bed, I grab a Cozy Coupe in one hand and a basketball in the other. My wife picks up a tricycle and a little girl who doesn't want to go to bed.

And we close the garage door.

And then, usually, it goes back up because something is blocking the sensor.

David Manley is a husband, father and an editor at The Canton Repository. Share your stories with him at david.manley@cantonrep.com. Find him on Twitter: @DaveManley.