My Clean Car

My minivan is clean today. It's actually been clean since yesterday, which is a record. OK, I haven't driven it yet today, which makes it easier to prolong my streak, but it's still a landmark accomplishment.

My car is generally a disaster. I can't have the doors open on both sides because I'm worried about what will go flying away when the wind blows. My kids assume that getting to their seats involves stepping through a precarious obstacle course of clutter. In a clean car they would probably still march gingerly with knees high to their seats, because that's how they've always done it.

It's not that I don't clean my car. I do that all the time. My hands are full -- with children, art projects, cell phone, etc. -- every time I leave the car. But the verb here is easier than the elusive adjective; the fact that I clean doesn't make my car clean.

My cleaning efforts are nothing in the face of the dark forces of anti-clean that constantly invade my vehicle. Those kids are small, but they're remarkably adept at transporting clutter. Toys, books, and snacks are brought along "just in case." Daycare trips mean extra clothes, art projects, and letters that end up in the "almost there" limbo land of my minivan.

My car was so filled with the debris of everyday life that it actually broke my new vacuum. Twice.

As I used the brush attachment, the rotating wheel began to sputter and then fail entirely.

I couldn't figure out the problem, nor could my usually handy friend who was staying with us. I called vacuum customer service, where the representative told me at least five times that he "would surely help me." After a twenty minutes on hold, he told me that to be surely helped I would need to order a new brush head for $12.95 plus shipping.

I decided to try to fix it on my own, and while cleaning the bristles I spied several pieces of popcorn wedged in the bowels of the brush hose. Once the popcorn was gone, the brush spun like a top again.

Popcorn wasn't the only food I discovered while cleaning my car. The food in my vaccum canister would feed a family of four for a week. There were pretzels, granola bars, lollipops, goldfish, and a petrified fruit snack which required all my strength in a tug-of-war posture to remove.

It was a combination of large food crumbs and my daughter's fledgling pebble collection that broke the vaccum the second time, though this time I knew how to fix it quickly.

I eventually got the car vaccumed, but the final scoreboard still read Car Crap: 2, Vacuum: 1.

The clean isn't going to last long. The numbers are against me: it's three of them against one of me.

For the time being though (the next two days, maybe?), my late model minvan feels like the ultimate luxury driving machine.