Each year our Kid and Student Ministry Teams from Mount Ararat Church in Stafford take our annual pilgrimage to Atlanta for a Family Ministry Conference.
This year our voyage, with 16 fellow colleagues, was scheduled to depart at the end of April. I did what all wise girls do when they are about to take on three days of exceptional learning.
I had my toes done (sandal weather in the ATL) and my eyebrows waxed (because every girl needs good eyebrows to take on a conference).
The day before we left I discovered I would be one of the drivers to help transport 16 adults to the airport.
I immediately became flushed, my heart began to beat wildly and panic nestled into my nerves. MY MAMA-MOBILE IS DISGUSTING.
I immediately drove to the nearest car-wash spot. I only had an hour in my time-belt before I needed to pick up my kids from school. Isn’t that always the way it goes?
This was not looking good.
As I entered the car-wash line, a young-twenty-something-bearded-boy motioned me towards the starting point. His eyes peering over his sunglasses told me he had seen my type before.
I didn’t care. I had a mission to accomplish.
Before I came to a complete stop and while my window was still lowering, I began (all in one breath): "Hey there. Listen, I have somewhat of a personal emergency. I am a mom. This is a mini-van. It houses five plus people every day (plus my kids' friends). It is gross. The cup holders look like a science experiment is happening inside, the carpet on the floor clearly is summoning Hansel and Gretel, the dashboard has the remnants of sneezes, pollen and dust and under the littlest Wanderer's car seat I think I heard the rustling of a small animal that has now become our unofficial pet."
I looked deep into the sunglass eyes of the young-twenty-something-bearded-boy and begged for complete mercy: "I need your great assistance to transform this thing into a houseable-mobile for adults to travel to an airport tomorrow morning. And, if possible, I need it done in an hour so I can go pick my kids up from school. I’m not too proud to grovel and beg."
The young-twenty-something-bearded-boy stared at me, blinking and speechless: "Ummmm, ma’am, lemme go talk to my manager."
"Would it help for me to plead my own case? I can. I will. Just give me the nod."
"No, I got it, ma'am." (he says it slowly as if to convince himself this is real life)
Five minutes later, I found myself next door at Stabucks, beverage in hand, answering emails and waiting on the AMAZING CAR WASH PEOPLE to work some serious magic and whip that mom-mobile into shape.
I arrived back to the car wash one hour later, fully refreshed from my St. Bux Chai.
When I stepped one foot into my newly renovated Mom-Mobile, I thought I’d arrived into pure luxury.
It was so beautiful! I wanted to make that lovely Sienna my permanent dwelling. The clean car aroma was sensational. No more sour small, no more crunched up pretzels on the floor, no more sneezes on the dashboard. Pure. Luxury.
I decided I immediately would contact the post office for a residence change card. I am moving from my home to the blissfulness of wherever that little Black Sienna is parked.
Disgusting-Mom-Mobile-Owners, there is hope for us!