The busier my life gets, the messier the floor of my car. In fact, I found that combing through the piles left in our two cars pretty much illustrates the places I’ve been, the food I’ve eaten, and the things I’ve purchased in the last two weeks. If you’re my husband, this all applies but more like everything from the last three years.
It used to be worse, though. Before the car seat entered our lives, the backseat was my second closet. But then we got yelled at by the car seat inspectors for having a bucket of softballs in the backseat which would potentially pelt our soon-to-be-born son to death with a sudden stop. So no softballs now, but plenty of (soft) junk.
Disposable diapersI cloth diaper Henry so why these need to be strewn about my backseat, I am not sure. But when life gets busy, it’s nice to know that if we don’t make it home from work until 10 p.m. because we have friends that just had a baby we need to visit, a football-watching party and grad class to attend but only one cloth diaper left, my backseat stash saves me.
Lots of random child-rearing booksLast weekend, my mom loaded me up with the books that helped her survive my childhood. Clearly, we are not so great at unpacking the car after road trips, which also explains the three car chargers for two cell phones, the empty Subway wrappers and gas station receipts.
The trunk: GRE test prep flashcards, cat food dish, paintbrushI wish I had a reasonable explanation. I took the GRE in 2007. I have never used that cat food dish. The paint brush … well … I have no idea. Most of this probably spilled out of a miscellaneous moving box. It’s so easy just to pile the grocery bags, suitcases or whatever else on top of the first layer of my trunk collection and never clean it out.
The husband trail
I always joke with Shea that he could never lie about his comings and goings because all the evidence is stored on the floor of his car. So recently it appears Shea has drank coffee at Starbucks, filled up the gas at QuikTrip, eaten boxes upon boxes of Junior Mints, deposited money at the bank, eaten a green sucker, used his backseat as a filing cabinet for his tax documents (pre-marriage), played racquetball and failed to drop off glass bottles at the recycling bin as requested. (He’s really appreciating my research for this post.)
The back seat of my car says I’m a busy mom who can only half unpack after a trip or moving day. And I have a preoccupation with diaper preparedness. But at least it’s not a deadly bucket of softballs.
What does the stuff (or lack thereof) in your car say about you?
LWTK’s mommy blogger, Sarah, is attempting to be a good mama to little Henry, wife to Shea, full-time employee and part-time grad student all while avoiding making dinner from a box every night. In her non-existent free time, she’s running, eating popcorn and blogging about it all at The Gatsby Diaries.
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