The Drive of Shame

 

My minivan is a disaster.  I'm not talking about a few Cheerios and a candy wrapper. I mean, a real state-of-emergency disaster.  Two days ago, I cleaned it out.  I removed two full bags of garbage.  Out of one average-sized minivan.   I actually picked up all the car seats to clean under them.  Never again.  I had nightmares after that.  Ignorance is bliss for a reason, people!   Plus another bag of junk to bring back in the house. Books. Baby dolls. Lost (and now found) shoes. A leftover lunch (like really leftover.  Think Easter and then go back a week), The purse I couldn't find and then the purse I was using because I couldn't find the first one.  12,642 plastic Easter eggs from two egg hunts and four kids. My dignity.  My self-respect.  

Look, I know I need to clean it.  It's just that . . . laundry . . . a pregnant, hormonal cat . . . television . . . reading . . . sleep . . . Facebook . . . flossing . . . anything . . . . Perhaps the minivan is my secret rebellion.  "Ha! World, take that.  I don't have much but I can laugh in the face of all of you by leaving my minivan a pit of filth."  

Nope.  Really, it's just the four kids.

The worst part of having a messy minivan is what I like to call "The Drive of Shame."  Every morning and every afternoon I make the trek to drop off or pick up our boys up at school and every morning and afternoon, I say this prayer silently in my head:

"Please Lord, do not let anything fall out of the van.  Please keep the eyes of the staff be directed anywhere but the floor of my minivan.  Please, please, please don't allow any adult to make direct eye contact; I can't take that look of horror.  I promise to clean the van.  I promise.  Amen."

Teachers and staff, I know what you're thinking when you see me coming.  I'm really sorry.  I really am.  Please know it's not a reflection of me as a person (mostly).  I apologize in advance if any flying or falling debris lands on your foot or in your eye.  It was completely unintentional.  You might want to remain a healthy six feet back from the vehicle as a precaution. 

Several months ago, not only was the van growing fungus inside, but the entire door just fell off one day.  I'm not kidding. 

It came right off the track and dangled there.  After laughing and then crying and then laughing again, we got out the duct tape. I drove the van around for close to three weeks (while we waited to get it fixed) with a door that was duct taped closed.  I lived in fear the duct tape would fail while I drove down the freeway and one of the kids would fall out. It also happened to be the door the kids used to get in and out of the van at school.  So, I had to rig up more tape and a sign to keep the staff from trying to open it.  (This is a dramatic recreation below).

Not quite accurate.  There was more tape involved in real life.

Oh Minivan, my Minivan . . . why art thou so disgusting?  Oh, yay, that's right.  The four kids. We haven't even talked about the smell.  Spilling milk in your van is bad.  Bad. Bad. Bad. 

I sincerely hope that our minivans aren't a reflection on our lives.  If so, Houston, we have a problem here.

But that's definitely not true.

Right?

Crap.