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.

Death is not Funny.....or is it?

So my stepdad died. It's tough to call him a "stepdad" because I consider him my father as he was more of dad to me than my biological one was. I'll give you a moment to cock your head to one side, squint your eyes a bit, and say "ohhhhh, I am so sorry." Yep, it is hard and it sure does suck. I've done my fair share of crying, but I hold it together most days. Cry time generally happens while driving home from work as I listen to Chicago and Air Supply on the mix tape made for me in eighth grade by Jimmy Jo Billy Bob. I keep my  double cassette boom box in tip top shape and buckled into the backseat of my Stank Wagon. That boom box is still going strong, just like the day I bought it from Bill's Dollar Store in 1986. I'm sure I'm as sad as I am supposed to be. I'm sure most grieving daughters bawl on Interstate 35 during rush hour. I'm sure most mourners cry over lost deer jerky. Even through all the sadness, my family and I have had lots of laughs. We aren't sure how appropriate it all is, but when have we ever been appropriate? That would be never. Laugh number 1: the day after he died, my youngest sister typed a really nice tribute to him on Facebook. My mom was reading it and on the verge of tears when she got to the last sentence. My sister had typed "I love Jim." My stepdad's name was Walter. Autocorrect had changed "him" to "Jim." Damn you, autocorrect. Laugh number 2: Weeks before his death, I had bought my nephew a Skippy Jon Jones toy from Kohl's. Skippy is a character in a children's book. You should totally read it. Funniest kid's book ever. E-ver. So that my 16 year niece would not feel left out, I bought her a toy from another character in the book. It was a giant, fat, stuffed bumblebee. I presented the toys to my niece and nephew when they got to my mom's house the day my stepdad died. I thought the toys might bring them some comfort in the tough times ahead. I thought the toys might help them sleep at night. I felt really great about being thoughtful Aunt Amanda until, days later, my sister called me in tears- from laughter. She and my niece had been reflecting on the previous days and how they just could not believe what had happened. In the middle of the conversation, my niece said, "And then Aunt 'Manda gave me that STUPID stuffed bee." What I did not tell you in the beginning of this was that my stepdad had died from the sting of an insect, most likely at yellow jacket. The whole time my niece was with us, she  and the bee slept in bed with my mom. My niece, who was extremely close to my stepdad, and my mom were forced to sleep with a stuffed stinging, potentially deadly insect! I just imagine my mom waking at 2:42 am into her life which was like a bad dream, and that bee just staring at her. Mocking her. Boy did I feel like an insensitive witch for not recognizing how inappropriate my gift was. Laugh number 3: At the funeral, programs were handed out. It said my last name was Goring, not Boring. I guess that's an improvement? Or is it? Laugh number 4: CNN picked up an interview I did for a local TV station. Because I did not mention my stepdad's last name in the interview, CNN took the liberty of giving him my last name. Yea? No. Laugh number 5: I'm not sure if larger market newspapers do this, but in small towns, when someone dies, you put a thank you note in to show appreciation for all the thoughts and prayers. I put one in our hometown newspaper, where we all grew up. My middle sister put one in her small town newspaper. When her's came out the next week, we were surprised to see that my husband, Ray, had been listed as Ray Ray. I know many Southern folks have a hankerin' for the double first name. I mean, in my hometown we had Billy Bob, a couple of Jim Bobs, a couple of Joe Bobs, Jim Bill, Billy Mac, Anna Beth, Jimmy Tom- it's just way things were and continue to be. But, I will tell you, I would never marry someone with two of the SAME first names. Nope. No way. Now, 99% of my sister's town thinks I married a Ray Ray. Lots of laughs on that one. The mistakes that happened were public and 1000's of people saw them. Granted, only about 20 people will think all of these things are funny. Yet, I'm still publishing it.