If I’m honest, I spend far too much time worrying about what people will think when someone other than one of my children gets a close look at the interior of my vehicle. Yes, it’s that gross. I always hear those stories about people getting stuck in snowdrifts for weeks at a time. If that happened to me, I could dine like a king upon the discarded French fries and crumbs. I would probably even put on a few pounds. I could clothe myself royally from the bags of clothes meant for the goodwill bin I’ve had in my trunk for close onto four months. I wouldn’t be bored, because I basically have the entire grade school library in my car. And I’m pretty sure I could get a decent sized glass of wine (or four if I’m truly sincere) from the dregs of all the recyclables I’ve intended to bring to the neighbourhood bottle exchange but never seem to actually make it.

My car and the insides of closets. And cupboards. Annnnndddd maybe the pantry, too. That’s where I’ve drawn the line and completely given up.

If I’m going to be up and up genuine, I spend much of my life fearful that someone will come to the door unannounced and see how NOT put together I actually am. I look around my kitchen each morning after the kids have dervished their way though it and in my head I hear the twang of banjos.

It’s a little daunting sometimes, all the thing we have to do as parents. Feed and shelter the offspring. Parent them so they don’t turn into jerks. Drive them hither and yon to activities, sports, birthday parties. Fill out the endless school paperwork. Make sure they hang out with good kids. Try and make a living so all the above are possible. Sometimes it’s just not possible to do it all and have a clean car, too. Choices. Balance. Priorities. If have to live with a car that is the land version of Relic’s boat on the Beachcombers, well I guess that’s ok. Even if it embarrasses the hell out of me. And if my main claim to fame as a parent is that I’ve never (YET OMG KNOCK ON WOOD) forgotten a kid anywhere, that’s not a bad bar to aspire to, considering all the plates we need to keep spinning as a modern parent.

I write this with my raggedy old heart on my sleeve, hoping that I’m not the only one out there who is (not so secretly) living life as a hot mess. I know that I don’t care if your car is clean. Your broom closet is a disaster of epic proportions? No problem. I won’t judge if your kid hasn’t worn matching socks in the last two years. All that’s important is that you are fighting the good fight and loving your kids. Even when they’re being schmucks.  Maybe especially then. This new millennium parenting gig is a tough one. I raise a (probably smudged) glass to all of you out there. Cheers to you. Keep on keeping on. Just don’t look in my car.