On a shelf in my house, there it sits—the quintessential, pink piggy bank. I remember the first day it was dropped, injured, and promptly glued back together. Over the years it has been shaken violently in search of a stubborn copper penny.

My mother-in-law is obsessed with snow cone stands, to a disturbingly manic degree. Prior to my summer road trips with her, I had not so much as even glanced twice at any of the obnoxiously colorful, dilapidated little shacks that line most small country roads in the summer. At first, I will even admit I was quite perturbed by her insistence on these frequent pit stops that so inconveniently delayed our arrival times.