Unpacking

We were only in the car for four days, but the minivan looked wild and ransacked.  My husband escaped to work after bringing in the bags, the clothes on hangers, and the pac-n-play (thank God for him), the kids were enjoying our home; looking at their toys like they were brand new.

And then there was me.  Standing in the burning D.C. sun, peering into the car.

 

Stuffed animals with tinsel tied around their necks

Lollipops, half-eaten and dropped, covered in Goldfish dust

Broken crayons and lid-less markers

Random parts to fast-food restaurant toys and Elmo stickers

DVD covers, minus the DVD inside

Water bottle lids and candy wrappers

Apple cores stuffed into cup holders and Highlights magazines, torn apart

Hair bands, barrettes, underwear, one shirt, one sock, four pairs of shoes, and one bathing suit bottom

Half-eaten cheese crackers and bingo pieces

Lip-gloss and a toothbrush

And the wipes, my heavens! The wipes!  Dozens of wipes used to clean hands, then balled up and tossed on the floor.

 

And that was only the back of the minivan.

 

I sighed the long sigh of the beleaguered parent.  Everyone talks about the planning, the packing, the fun fun fun games for the long long long trips!  How to stay in a hotel room!  The apps!  The healthy snacks!  The good bathrooms along I-95!  Family-friendly parks!

But no one talks about the UNpacking.  Everything that is left behind.

BUT, I know there is happiness in this car; I know that this detritus is sign of a good adventure.  Signs of mom loosening the rules, and of Dad singing his Sinatra.  Of saying, “yes, let’s get ice cream again,” and staring up at the Georgia stars late at night (through the sunroof, of course.)  Of putting in another DVD, listening to Ramona Quimby, Age 8 on CD, and singing along to Adele.  The lollipops and the Skittles, the Cheezits and the Goldfish.  The faint smell of the barbeque we ate, the wedding programs, and burnt-down sparklers we held as they bride and groom waved from the convertible…riding off to their new life in the sticky Georgia night.  All of this stuff, it has to be there.  Otherwise, it is a just car and a trip of no consequence.

 

If you want to make the memories, into your life a little trash must fall.  And yes, I will implore, almost beg, start to threaten and eventually appeal to their good natures, and the girls will clean the crap out of the car.  They will do it, grumbling and eye rolling, whining and shrugging.  But like a family pet, the work falls to the mother.  It always falls to the mother.

So, with my trash bag, I go in…smiling and knowing (trying) to remember:

This trash is our first family road trip.

This trash is a sign of good parenting.

This trash is happiness.