The Rise and Fall of the Abominable Mummy Wagon

For a second there I thought my life was outgrowing my blog, and actually becoming grossly ‘pinterest perfect’, then I realized it was simply that I hadn’t had the time to document the crazy goings on of late.

As I have… ‘matured’ shall we say, and I may have mentioned this before, I’m really not so very fussed about material things so much. Yes I like getting nice things and making things look nice, but I am so aware they will not make anyone happy, they might cheer us up and help us along temporarily but thankfully I gave up relying on material things to make me happy a long time ago now. Trying to ‘live in the moment’ and ‘being present’ are a huge part of mindfulness, and I have inadvertently found myself more mindful in the past few years, an amazing way to preserve ones sanity, or what’s left of it, as in my case! Just for the relevance of this short paragraph… have a good think on this; “Realise deeply that the present moment is all you will ever have”- Eckhart Tolle.

And so, designer bags, clothes, shoes, jewelry, while all lovely, are just not so important. A consoling epiphany, as I could not afford them if they were. That all said, I have myself here a slight paradox of sorts, because unfortunately, I do  quite like cars. Not that you would know with my current mobile. But perhaps this is ok? It’s not like I can go off on a whim and buy a car just because I need cheering up? It’s really big, and not something you’d be able to hide at the back of the wardrobe from your hubby and lastly, they are pretty darn expensive. Swap me for the wife with the handbag and shoe obsession any day? I hope not. Besides which, at least I can be mindful in my car.

In my defense, my car ‘thing’ is not about status, badge, number plate, engine size etc. If I’m completely honest, it’s probably a little more… ahem, cosmetic, dare I say. When I say cosmetic, I mean in a kind of only hanging out all laundry in the same colour on the clothes line so they match kind of way, if I had a clothes line that is, and if technically that wasn’t OCD. Ok it’s cosmetic, vain, whatever. It just has to be a car I like or I can connect with. Same as a house? At the risk of already sounding like I’ve lost my marbles, you wouldn’t buy a house you don’t like, so why buy a car you don’t like? That’s a good defense me thinks.

My cars have always been like an extension of myself, who I am, my personality.  The way some people see the owners in a pet, I sometimes see a car and think yeh, that so suits that person. I choose what to wear to reflect who I am and make me feel good each day, I tend not to follow trends too rigidly or not at all. Most people know what I mean, when you look good, you feel good, or when you feel you look good, you look good. It’s a win win when you take time to present yourself well and feel you’ve taken pride in what you have.

My car right now on the other-hand… urgh, my car, is like a bad outfit everyday. It’s the wrong shape, the wrong colour and it just does not fit me, my personality. It makes me feel… meh. Yes, I know that sounds totally ridiculous, but someone out there might, just might know what I mean. I pull up at a petrol station and practically run away from it, in case people associate me with ‘IT’, the dreaded mummy wagon sitting in the forecourt. Don’t judge me, a girl can’t help how she feels sometimes.

So getting back to it, why on earth would anyone buy a car they don’t like???

In my world I was ‘demoted’ and unwillingly rendered to ‘mammy wagon’ status when we were expecting our third beautiful bundle. We had researched any and all vehicles around, that would fit three car seats comfortably in the back. I furiously searched because I knew I did not want a mummy wagon A.K.A people carrier. I believe there were one or two normal cars that accommodated this car seat configuration but somehow we allowed ourselves to be duped into the mummy wagon thing, and it arrived home before little miss number 3 was born. I was excited about getting a new car for all of about 5 minutes, but no matter what way we dressed it up, to console me, it was and still is a mammy wagon. I know that makes me sound a tad spoiled. I’d simply prefer to still have my old car, a brilliant car that had to go because three car seats wouldn’t fit in the back and the reason why I ended up with a car I don’t like.  

I wouldn’t mind so much if the new car accommodated the car seats properly but it’s still a very tight squeeze and a complete knuckle grazing, head wrecking disaster. Especially on a wet day. I reluctantly said goodbye to my lovely little Golf and took my place in the driver’s seat of what would be and has been my car for the past 3 years.

This car goes everywhere with everything in it. It is a typically disgusting family car because I constantly throw bread rolls and food to the cubbies in the back, figuring if they are at least chewing on food, they will not chew at each other. It doesn’t work, and all I am left with is a bread-crumb explosion and dough finger prints all over the windows and a half fried head on my shoulders.

On rare occasions my husband may need to fetch something from my car and he will shudder on his return and mutter something like “the state of that car”. I KNOW!!!!!!!!!! And that’s my car everyday.

How envious I am when he glides in from work into the back yard, and hops out maybe holding a pen or something small and unimportant. No having to clean out rubbish, hoof 7 bags out of the boot or carry three shoeless kids to the back door. I relish the occasions I get to take hubbys car anywhere. I heard one friend refer to her hubby’s car as their ‘getaway car’! Very apt, and while I may be only ‘getting away’ to the nearest town for some milk, the experience is bliss; the smell of newness and the shiny glass on the windscreen and immaculate floors and seats, its hard not to be a tad jealous. I return with the milk 10 minutes later  and park my day dream beside the big dirty lump I have to drive, tutting at the X’s and O’s and hand prints and writing written into the dirt on the panels.

I do clean my car regularly, inside and out, but I think it’s hard to comprehend how it can get so disgusting over one day unless you witness the traffic and abuse it gets on a daily basis. I live in the country, not in a town or a city, the roads are dirtier… and yeh, the kids and their shoes are a little dirtier too probably. I don’t just drive from A to B every day, I drive from A-Z and not just in a straight line. There are child proof locks on the rear doors so if you’re kids are like mine, they don’t wait for you to get out and open the doors for them, in-spite of your pleas. No, when we arrive at point Z, they tumble out on to the front seats with mucky shoes and cover everything up to the buttons on the radio with muck or whatever they have stood in or ate.

My mummy wagon is very special, not in a good way either. We have a rare relationship. What a pair we have made since I brought it home and there is quite literally a whole other blog about the series of misfortunate events I have encountered in this car! This car tests me. I know it’s not a person but sometimes I do have to wonder. Aren’t mummy wagons supposed to make a mum’s life easier?