Family wagon
We are the not-so-proud owners of a family wagon. I never really thought I'd see the day that I was driving what amounts to a station wagon. Subaru can call it's Forester a "small SUV" but that's just a fancy word for denial. I had still been driving the Miata convertible up to my 8th month of pregnancy which was not unlike an elephant riding a bicycle. Not comfortable for anyone, and damn hard to remove oneself.
We have vowed never, ever, ever, never to buy a minivan. I think that's one of the main reasons we don't want a second child. Those bloated bins of unsavoriness careening down the road spewing cheerios and drink boxes as they go scare the crap out of me. I know you can carry an entire football team and they're luggage in one, but I don't care. They are oogy.
I broke down and took our beast to the car wash. And as I rode through the tunnel of swishing and flapping soapy bits, I attacked the dash board and console with baby wipes. holy crap! I had to cut through three layers of goldfish-latte-raisin smudge before I could make out the faux leather pattern of the dash! Here's a helpful Heloise hint, baby wipes really make the plastic gleam!
Not only do i have less time to clean my vehicle, there is an active participant in fugging it up strapped into the back seat. She likes to chuck anything that is no longer amusing her to the floor and I'm invariably carting around crumpled baggies full of corn chex or sticky raisins for her royalness' snacking needs.
ah well, maybe my next car will be fun...
