Last Friday night, after a disastrous trip to the park that ended in me carrying two babies and one 12” bike a mile… that was a mile in my shoes no one would care to walk, let me assure you… I got home, exhausted. Knowing I still had a coat of paint to put on the bathroom vanity and wondering how I was going to muster up the energy, I didn’t even make it in the house. I sat on the front steps and watched the kids play.
And then. Staring at the dirt coating my new van, I decided I’d just hose it off. But when the water pressure proved to be less stellar than the existing dirt, I got out a bucket and a rag. Half an hour later, all that was left was the top.
My van is really tall. Not too tall for drive-thrus, thankfully, but tall nonetheless.
How to wash the top?
I hiked up my skirt to borderline indecent, glad for our little place in the country, and plotted my course up the windshield.
You know your vehicle is tall when it invokes a certain fear of heights where there has never been one before. Something about high and wet and soapy and concrete below doesn’t exactly speak of safety.
Right about then is when Blaine came around the corner. Just from the look on his face, I could tell he was really, really impressed with my creativity and ability to scale large objects in a skirt.
Or not. After a minor argument (which I won, since I was the one on the van) about which path to take to get off of the van, I made a supremely graceful (insert sarcasm here) though slightly fast descent and considered it successful, since it did not include any broken bones.
Once again, I was exhausted. The vanity still needed another coat of paint, it was 7pm and I hadn’t started supper yet, and there were still goats to milk and kids to put to bed. I’m not certain that that was the best use of my time and energy, but my van looks great.
How was your day?