Clean with Envy

My husband is a clean car snob. He is a stickler for cleaning the truck every time he gets out. If its natural habitat is not a vehicular ecosystem, then it's removed. When we travel in his truck, I always have plenty of room to spread out my magazines, books, pillows, and phone around me in my seat.  Now my car.....completely different story. My husband calls it the "Stank Wagon." Does it stank? Well, sometimes. It depends on how many banana peels the kids have composting in the back. I don't know how he would really even know what it smells like. There is so much crap in the passenger seat, piled up to the dash and into the floorboard, he rarely gets to ride. I guess it might smell like trail mix. Not because we left a bag of trail mix in there, but because of all the raisins, nuts, and Cheerios dropped at different times over the past year. A wisk broom could gather a nice lil' pile of trail mix that would fill one of the many Ziploc bags that have been shoved under the seats. While my husband's truck is always spotless, my car needs a complete interior overhaul. For years we've been talking about getting it detailed, but I have never gotten it cleaned out enough that the seats and carpets are accessible. I am not proud of the condition in which my car constantly resides, but cleaning it out is apparently not a priority. At this point in my life, I can blame the kids and how busy we are with them. Nine years ago, before kids, I guess my excuse for the messy car was laziness. As I drive here and there every day, I see the same year model SUV that I have- same color and everything. However, as I look closer, I notice a few things. Their back seats are raised and there are people sitting in them. You can see the back of the seats because they are not obscured by piled up objects, giant clothes baskets, or reusable shopping bags. A human is actually sitting in the front seat and they seem comfortable. They don't seem to be leaning to one side to sit on one butt cheek. Their legs appear to be fully outstretched, not drawn up to their chests because the floor is filled with junk. My shame grows as I glance around my car and pray that those Cleanies driving next to me don't look into my Crap Wagon. I hate those people because they remind me of my shortcomings. They cruise around with their gleaming consoles. Their carpets are the color that God intended, not dyed with some spilled drink or caked mud from last year's rainstorm. Their side windows are clear, not splattered with milkshake that was spread when a kid slammed the door when the shake was in the door's cup holder. I have, what I have deemed, Clean Car Envy. If only the Envy would spur some action. But it has not. And probably will not. So, at the last minute, don't ever ask me to drive you anywhere. Because it will take me at least 30 minutes to clean it out just enough let you in.

Patience. wisdom, and screwdrivers.

So remember yesterday’s “you suckers” blog where I had nothing to talk about because my brain was empty? And how the soul suckers were pulling all the funny out of me? Well, the blog information bucket started getting filled back up today. It’s almost like praying to God for patience. You NEVER want to do that, because He will give you something that forces you to learn patience. He may not let you win the lottery, but you can bet that He’s got a butt load of things waiting in the wings to help build your patience. Ask for wisdom instead. Look how well wisdom worked for Solomon.

Six A.M. today, my eyes pop open and I ask my husband, who is taking his sweet time getting dressed for work, “Was today the day I needed to take the kids to school?” “Oh crap,” he says, “yes,” and he kicks it into high gear and leaves for a seven o’clock staff meeting. I switch from, “La, la, la, I’m going to work” to “gotta get dem babies ready fer skewl.” And for those of you who don’t know my daughter, she is in a completely different universe, with a totally different time continuum. She has no sense of urgency for anything. Ever. “Tanner Tot, if you hurry I will give you $1000.” Nothing. “Tanner Squanner, if you hurry, you can have 7 books at bedtime.” Nothing. I was fully prepared for her to drag it on as usual, but my son, the smart boy he is, pulled out the donut card. “Mom, if we hurry can we get donuts?” Well, that worked for her today. She got dressed quickly and brushed her teeth on her own in record speed. We were out the door at 20 till seven. As we pulled up to Shipleys, I remembered that part of my duty as dropping-the-kids-off-at-school-parent was to pack lunches and snacks. Dang, in the rush, Momma done forgot dat. My wonderful husband of 15 and half years usually has morning duty while I get to work and bring home half the bacon. The man cannot put double pony tails in my daughter’s hair to save his life, but he can pack a mean lunch for our son, Picky McPickiealot.

My plan was to drop the kids off, run to HEB, come back to school, drop off the goods and be on my way to work. I would be only about 20 minutes behind. In the drop off line at school, Tanner had to take extra long to go through her air hugs and kisses routine, which I then had to reciprocate. Heaven forbid, I did not do it exactly right the first time and had to redo the love ritual. Does it count if there was some angry inside my heart as I redid it? I finally made it to HEB and got the individual servings of applesauce that cost twice as much as the giant jar. Oh, it pained me to buy it. The Lunchable pained me even more. Lunchables make me feel like a bad parent. I did get the turkey and crackers, so did that make it better? Just pretend there is not 300% of the RDA for sodium in it. And since Austin does not have plastic bags anymore, my son got a twenty cent reusable shopping for his lunch box. Bam.

I got back to school and dropped everything off. As I was leaving, the Pledge of Allegiance started, so I felt as a good American I should stop to do it. I was lost during the Texas Pledge and the school pledge. I did know the school song, which ends with a nice coyote howl and coyote hand gesture. As I was leaving, my son’s teacher said, “I’m really glad that you signed up for the field trip next week. You are the only parent that did.” Hmm, I’m starting to second guess that decision. As I left the school, I realized I had to pee. Now that it was already 7:25 A.M., I knew that Austin traffic would be terrible on my way to work. I did not want to pee in my pants in the car, again. I decided to run home and take care of business as I was not in the mood for dirty gas station toilet. As I drove across the bridge next to my house, I felt that familiar thump thump when your tire is going flat. I parked on the street next to my house, knowing that it would be easier to change a tire there rather than on my hilled driveway. I emerged from the car, could hear the air hissing out of the tire, and I could see a screwdriver sticking straight out of the tire. Awesomely awesome. I called my boss to let her know I would be late, but she had not left for work yet and would “be there in 25 minutes.” During the 40 minutes that I waited, I rearranged the 100 pounds of newly placed mulch that had been shifted by the torrential rainfall yesterday. I was able to cover some of the bare spots and I wondered if the other 50 pounds of washed away mulch would be easily accessible if I lifted up the manhole cover next to the drainage slit thingy on the side of the street.  The boss finally showed, and forty minutes later, we made it to work.

Hey, but at least I have my health. Did I just say that? Really? How about I just ask for patience while I am at it. That’ll teach me not to just go ahead and pee in my pants. Serves me right.

You suckers.

I really felt compelled to write today, but as I contemplated the topic, my brain was void of the usual funny. My writings usually consist of something that has happened to my husband and I build upon the scaffolding of his expereince. But, our lives have been pretty Boring lately. I think the problem stems from the soul suckers that we encounter. They are the people drift through life like poisonous clouds, seeping into your space, and melting their drama all over you. Like the Death Eaters in Harry Potter, their influence is hard to resist. As they slink up next to me, I can just feeeeeeeel my insides being sucked out. That's where the funny has gone. Thanks soul suckers.