This entry is about something disgusting. The inside of my car. Wow, huh?
I drive a 94 Ford Taurus. Not exactly glamorous, but it gets me where I need to go, and it's got a huge trunk. And the backseat is big. Four doors are an absolute necessity. So it's a fine car. I am ashamed of what's become of the insideof it, however.
I'm the one who checks the mail at home every day. It's this drive up kiosk thing. So every piece of junk mail from the past month is strewn all about the front seat area. Mostly on the floor of the passenger side. But it has spread to the passenger seat, as well. I even spied some of it spilling over into the backseat area. I think I may have thrown some back there one day. But junk mail is just paper. Harmless, really. It's the back seat area that's really scary.
At B's daycare, there's a giant bowl of either little cookies or goldfish sitting out for the kids to help themselves to as they are leaving. They even provide little dixie cups. Now, I've tried to sneak past this bowl when I pick B up, but she knows it's there, and she knows it's for HER. So, there's no getting past it. We stop off every day and she fills her little dixie cup with the day's offering.
She usually eats a few bites of it. But most of it gets poured out in the car as we're driving home. Sometimes she throws it, sometimes she spills it. But she takes great delight in pouring it out -- watching it scatter. Every night I have to scoop it out of her carseat, where it accumulates. The entire floor of the backseat area is covered in animal cookies, vanilla wafers, and goldfish. Some of it is quite old. The seats are covered with the crumbs. I try to brush them off, but then the crumbs just end up on the floor.
In the mornings, I get B out of bed at the very last minute so she can sleep as long as possible. First thing she wants is her morning bottle, which she usually finishes in the car on our way to the daycare. There were 4 mostly finished bottles of milk back there. There was some major curdling. I always forget about her bottles. When she's done with them, they, too, get relegated to the floor of the car, or the seat. I am so hurried every day that I never remember to look for them when we get home. I just get a clean one the next morning. About once a week, after I've run out of clean bottles, I finally realize I've got to retrieve them from the car. I don't know why I work this way.
So all weekend I tried to make myself go out there and clean out my car. It never happened. So now today I've vowed to go to Brown Bear at lunchtime and do it. They've got powerful vaccuums there.
Before B, my car was always very tidy. Now I don't even try to keep it clean. I wonder why. Would it really take that much time and energy? Or do I find the piles of cookies and crackers and spent bottles comforting somehow? Even the junk mail. It's proof of *something* isn't it? I don't know. I don't know.
Ah, well. Look on the bright side. If we ever get caught in a freak snow storm or gridlock traffic, we'll always have something to eat.
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