My car is disgusting.
And it’s not just from food.
I’m not good about making sure the kids take all their stuff out of it.
I’m not good about taking my stuff out either.
So in addition to the goldfish and crackers and pretzels and sippy cups, there are all the other things.
Towels and books and crayons and papers and clothes and water bottles and you name it.
A few weeks ago, I went for a run with some friends.
One of the girls stuck the key to her car in her sports bra.
She got it so sweaty that she kind of shorted it out, and she needed a ride home to get her spare.
She asked me if I could drive her. I gave her a heads up.
“Sure, but my car is disgusting. Consider yourself warned.”
She opened the passenger door.
I expected her to be polite, and say something along the lines of,
“Oh, it’s not that bad.”
But I should have known better. She’s not one to mince words.
“You’re right. It is disgusting,” she said.
She climbed into the passenger seat.
The entire time she was in the car, she leaned forward without making any contact whatsoever with the back of the seat.
That was probably the only clean part of the car, and she wouldn’t touch it.
I managed to get her home and back to her car without giving her any communicable diseases.
I was a little embarrassed by my car.
I’m going to clean this out as soon as I get home, I said to myself.
That was a fleeting thought.
It was gone before I even made it to my driveway.
A couple days later, I took the kids to the Y.
I still put Number 6 in a pull-up when I bring him there.
I don’t want to deal with him having and accident and getting pulled out of my workout to go change him.
So we pulled into the parking lot, and I was taking Numbers 5, 6, and 7 out of the car.
Of course Number 6 had taken a crap.
I used to be one of those moms who always had the well-stocked diaper bag in tow.
Everything you could ever possibly need was in that thing.
Diapers, wipes, snacks, juice boxes, extra clothes, toys, band aids, ponytail holders, bibs, tylenol…
That diaper bag is now hanging on a hook in the mudroom.
I think it has a dirty Q-tip, some sand, and a hairball in it.
These days, getting to the car is usually a free-for-all.
It’s an exercise in survival.
There’s no time for a diaper bag.
So Number 6 had a pull-up full of poo, and I had no diaper bag.
There had to be a diaper buried somewhere in the rubble of my car.
And searched some more.
I didn’t have time to drive home and come back.
Improvise, adapt, and overcome.
I did another sweep of the car.
In addition to Number 4’s lost library book, I found a half a bottle of seltzer and a dirty towel.
I threw Number 6 in the back of the car, poured the seltzer onto the towel, took off the pull-up, and cleaned him up.
So he’d go commando to the babysitting room.
No big deal.
As for my car,
I may get around to cleaning it.
But I think I’ll wait until all the kids are out of diapers.
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