That’s Hubby and me.
Pre-blog, that’s the reaction we always had when I’d say “I really think we should keep it this way!” after cleaning out the master bedroom, the garage, the living room, the closet . . . whatever.
We rarely react that way anymore. This deslobification process is working, and even though my kitchen sink is currently full of Easter dishes, it’s no longer a total joke to think we can maintain a livable space for more than three days at a time.
But when I said it about our Suburban . . . we laughed.
I know how it gets so bad. I know how other people keep their vehicles from getting to this point. Many times, I’ve nodded knowingly when sitting around with other mothers who were discussing how annoying it is to ALWAYS have to remind kids to take their trash out of the car when they get home.
But I guess that’s the problem.
I don’t remember.
And I’m the mama.
I can’t tell you how many times, while sitting in a drive thru, I’ve had to roll down my window and empty melted-three-days-ago-ice from one fast-food cup, so I can have a place to put my new drink.
A trash bag hung from something-or-other is a nice thought. But when I try that, it soon blends in with all of the other plastic bags strewn throughout the vehicle.
Yeah. I know these are all excuses.
It’s incredibly frustrating that even though I’ve made quite a bit of progress in my home, the car is still such an embarrassing wreck. And it’s harder to hide than my home! We live in a small town, so the whole let-me-stop-here-along-the-road-and-gab-with-so-and-so-who’s-out-on-a-walk thing isn’t an uncommon occurrence. I see their eyes wander and I hear their brains whirling as they take in the incredible mess.
I choose to pretend that no one we know is behind us when the boys have to throw falling items back into the Suburban when I drop them off at school. If I don’t see you in my rear-view mirror, you don’t exist.
And my kids are at that wonderful age where their friends suffer from adorable-when-its-about-someone-else/irritating-when-it’s-about-me honesty. I can’t tell you how many of them have asked why our vehicle is so messy.
Actually, I can tell you.
All of them.
But, right this very minute . . . it’s cleaned out. And as long as my slob-brain can remember, I’m going to ban all toys and games and food and such.
And I plan to thoroughly enjoy the ability to open two doors at once on a windy day.
What did we clean out? Six Wal-mart bags full of trash, one paper-sack full of toys to be donated, and lots of random items to be distributed throughout the house.
Oh, and thankfully, what appeared to be a jumbo-sized brown crayon . . .
. . . was, in fact, a jumbo-sized brown crayon.