About six months ago I decided that one of the areas I could cut household costs is by washing the minivan myself. When the weather is warm enough the boys love to help. It turns a chore into a party. There is fun, frolic and bubbles…lots and lots of bubbles. My plan was working brilliantly until the minivan door slides open.
Yep. The interior of the car has been neglected for exactly six months.
Sticky cupholders have overflown into rivers of soda, juice and unidentified liquid of questionable smellage. Door compartments errupt with wrappers, tissues and trash-pies baked fully in the hot Texas sun. The seats are embedded with crumbs of unknown origins.
The floor is the recipient of all things affected by gravity.
The dirty little secret is that I never expected to clean the interior myself. I figured that when the inside got intolerable I would drive it to the car wash, shell out some of my six month savings and have it detailed. Good plan.
Poor execution since my second dirty little secret is that I suffer from procrastination tendencies in work-related areas.
When we decided to take a road trip I planned to take the car in…planned.
Planned turned into next week.
Planned turned into tomorrow.
Planned turned into holy crap I have to do it today and it is raining so the car wash is CLOSED.
And that is why when I should have been packing suitcases for 3 little boys and myself, I was in the garage with the garage door up drowning out the pitter-pat of rainfall with the relentless hum of the vacuum.
The relentless hum of the vacuum which still rings through my head several days later in coordination with the scrubbing muscle soreness and the mental exhaustion caused by working car washes back into the household budget.