Two weeks ago during Mikey’s spring break we pulled into the Stater Bros. parking lot to buy…I can’t remember. I can’t remember because as I gathered up my purse and phone Mikey called out, “Mom, look! There’s Father Paul!” And my head shot up, surprised, because seeing your priest in a supermarket parking lot is something that doesn’t compute. I know priests do things like eat and sleep and use the bathroom. They even have cars, which they use to drive. All of this I know logically, but somehow seeing Father Paul dart in between cars in an old Letterman jacket and sneakers was on par with bumping into a centaur in the produce department.
So Mikey called Father Paul over, and it pleased me to see how happy he was to see Mikey. I watched him for a second squeeze between two cars when it hit me. My car was a disaster. A total Mom Car.
“Okay, Mikey! Out of the car! Let’s go! Hurry up. Hurryuphurryuphurryup.” I tried to sound sing-songy and chirpy, casual even, but the overall effect was shrill. The mountain of toys, clothing, and baseball gear did nothing to speed up Mikey’s exit, so to my great dismay Father Paul approached our car and–in slow motion, surely it was in slow motion–opened Mikey’s door to help him out.
Out came Mikey, stumbling over a Hot Wheels, followed by a trail of detritus rivaled only by the trash vortex of the North Pacific.
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My car is as dirty as my soul.
It’s a slippery slope, these mom cars. You toss snacks into the back seat for them to eat between school and baseball practice. I let them bring a toy (I said just one!) when I rush them out of the house to run errands. They bring home paperwork and leave it on the seat next to their jacket on top of their glasses. They get thirsty and hungry and cold and hot and bored. And I, I just get apathetic. Sometimes forgetful. Who knows. All I know is that the back seat and trunk of my car had three jackets, four hats, three sweaters, two blankets, four baseball bats, two baseball bags, five baseball gloves, two books, twenty hot wheels, some Star Wars heads and action figures, two chairs, a watch, a missile, and a sword.
Oh, and some coloring pages and potting soil. A first aid kit. I used to have jumper cables, but who knows where those went. They’re probably in the same spot I left my dignity.
In the front seat, which I admit doesn’t always look like this, were 12 or so books to return to the library, receipts, and a magic 8 ball. That magic 8 ball saw a lot of use the last couple of weeks.
The next day I went to WalMart for car organizing supply “things,” because if there is ever a place one should go to for a boost in self esteem, it’s WalMart. You can’t walk out of there without feeling at least a little smug. A little dirty, too, but everyone knows sanctimony becomes before squalor in the dictionary.
I bought a version of these back seat pockets and this trunk box. Then I spent an hour cleaning out the truck. After that, I took the truck to the car wash for an express detail. I didn’t have that special polish to clean the plastic panels that are fading from the sun, nor did I have the high powered vacuum to suck up all the dust and dirt from baseball season. (I tried using my household vacuum with little success.) Also, most important of all, I completely lacked the motivation or desire to clamber around my truck like a tree monkey with a soapy sponge.
After paying someone to do all the hard work, I set about organizing the truck.
I have been meaning to buy backseat organizers for 8 years now. Finally did it. Yay me? Given the 2,920-day delay, I really wanted to love them, but I don’t. They’re okay, I guess. I would have liked something a little less janky, but these are the only pockets my WalMart carried, and I’m still mad at Target. I’m not much of an online shopper.
The trunk organizer is a different story. That one is well constructed and quite handy.
Two weeks later, and the car is still as clean as the day I had it detailed. I’m shocked! Not bad for an 8 year old truck with 84,000 miles. I thought for sure the boys would bring back in the vortex, but so far they seem as eager as I am to keep the truck clean. Of course, Mom Stink Eye might be motivating them a wee bit more than the glory of an uncluttered floor, but I can’t be bothered by such trivial details.
- Please link to a specific post, not a general blog address.
- Your post must relate to your efforts to create an intentional home. I have a delete button, and I’m not afraid to use it.
- No links to giveaways, please.
- Let’s use this weekly link up as an opportunity to gather inspiration and motivation. Click links. Discover new people. Say hi and good job. I know I will.