The Demise of the Mom Car

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I’ll be the first to admit, my car is never clean. That’s actually an understatement. We are about three french fries and an apple core away from requiring hazmat suits for travel. Why is it that every other facet of my life can pass as acceptable expect for my vehicle? It truly is the cesspool of motherhood. Here are some key components of the disgusting mom car.


Your car is decaying. So many food items have been crushed into the car crevices they are starting to sprout. Old cheese sticks and donut crumbs lurk under the depths of the way back seats. There is no telling how old they are. All we know is they are hard as rock, but still kind of tantalizing since we are always so hungry.


Cleaning out the glove box is a real archaeological dig. Layers upon layers of forgotten treasures settle in for the long haul. Toward the bottom of the box you might find a pacifier or an old baby wipe even though your youngest child is six.


The floor looks similar to that of a crime scene. Dark splotches cover the floor mats. So THIS is where all the rogue socks are! And what is so hard about throwing cups away?


The far back is a scene straight from Hoarders.  I try not to go back there too often so when I do it is filled with about six months of trinkets and scraps that my six and nine year old have brought on board and then left there, to haunt my dreams. Broken crayons, marbles, gum wrappers, Shopkins, Uno cards and leaves. That is what I pulled out of the cup holder the other day.



Kristin is a blogging SAHM of 4 unruly princesses.  When she is not busy raising humans and vacuuming up toys she can be found at the local Target or hiding in her laundry room where she writes for Red Tricycle, Suburban Misfit Mom and Sammiches and Psych Meds.