The Blue Dumpster

Mrs. Nurse Boy here.

So, I have a confession to make. Boy, I sure do air a lot of my dirty laundry on here! My Dad always says that if we don't, our children will. (I think he may speak from experience.) He is so right. I like to think that with me, what you see is what you get. No, I won't tell you that your butt looks big in those pants. That is a danger zone I am not willing to enter. Besides, I am more worried about my own big butt. But, I try to be an honest and genuine person. I always want to remain approachable. I want to be trustworthy. I want to be a person of good character and true to my word.

OK, I need to stay focused here. Back to my confession.

Are you ready?

I drive a dumpster on wheels. Yes, you read that right. It may look like a regular old mini van on the outside with three car seats on the inside, but it is a glorified dumpster on wheels. I think the whole neighborhood must be using it as such, because we couldn't possibly be the ONLY family adding to that hot mess. Surely not!

I try to clean out the loose papers and trash about every week or so, only to find the van filled with more trash the very next morning. THE. VERY. NEXT. MORNING. There also seems to be an odor that just can't be covered up with a yellow cardboard tree hanging from the rear view mirror. The tree seems to wave at me and mock me as I drive around town, as if to say, "Nice try, lady. You thought a three dollar purchase was going to cover up that nine year old stench?"

Every where we go, people give my children suckers, cookies, candy, papers, stickers, memory verses, crayons, and more PAPER. These items swim around my van. I am so tired of it, not to mention embarrassed when someone peers into the van to talk to the kids. I want to yell out, "No, look away! Look away! We really aren't slobs! Really, we aren't! "

And, we aren't. I take pride in my home. No, it is not ALWAYS clean. Or picked up. But, it USUALLY is. On a bad night, it may take the boys 10 minutes to give their room a thorough cleaning. And, that is with a little wrestling on the side. Our home is not our dumpster.

Our van is.

I have even made cleaning out the van one of the weekly chores for the boys, but the papers still find a way to multiply. The worst part is when my parents borrow the van to take all three of the kids somewhere. (Yes, Dad, I know you taught me better. In all fairness, you never had three kids. I know you had two, but the third one put us over the edge.) My Dad and I used to spend our Saturdays cleaning out the cars. With Q-tips. And, that is no lie. We took pride in our clean cars.

Now, I spend my Saturdays carting kids and Gatorade bottles to soccer games. Honestly, I wouldn't change a thing. Bring on the Gatorade bottles and orange peels! The van couldn't possibly look any worse...or, could it?!