Cruddy Minivan Crumble With Unidentifiable Cream

My minivan is a bib on wheels. No, make that a dumpster on bald wheels.

Why should you care about my steadily fermenting minivan? (I'll clarify the fermenting bit shortly.) Well, I can't answer why you should care. 'Doubtful I could answer any question on three hours of fussy kid-interrupted sleep.

Perhaps you'll read on because everyone loves to hate minivans.

None of us ever think we'll grow up to drive one. I personally never scribbled "bad ass bitchin' minivan" next to Ferrari, Porsche and Jaguar when playing MASH on the schoolyard with my Catholic school alpha girl clique. What did they know about minivans when their moms hired drivers?

I think it's safe to assume that no one in their right mind ever announced, "I'm just dying to buy my first minivan!" Actually, my husband said just that during my second pregnancy. And, trust me; his mind is definitely "righter" than mine by far.

Then again, he also has a penchant for fuddy duddy cable knit cardigan sweaters, plaid anything and old-fashioned shaving kits with big 'ol bristle brushes and shaving cream you whip up your darn self. He'll tell you he was born beyond his years but you'll already know, in a good way.

In response to that last par agraph, he just now cracked, "I may be an old man but I 'got the libido of an 18-year-old!" That nobody can deny, jolly good fellow.

My husband once predicted, "Watch us get a minivan and fill it to capacity with kids." I blame him and his impressive libido for fulfilling his minivan prophecy.

So, I'm writing tonight to ask the multitudes of dorky "Baby on Board" minivan mamas out there about the hygienic state of their family's ride? Fess up to your mess and leave me some comments, minivan mafia. You know who you are. Now come clean, dirty girls.

Are your minivans as stale cheese puff and curdled milk sippy cup littered as mine? Could I be the worst minivan momstrocity slob of them all? Let's start a contest and call it "Cruddiest Minivan Mama of the Year."

First prize could be a gas-guzzling but way more stylin' than any minivan SUV. 'Say maybe a pimpin' pearlescent white Cadillac Escalade?

Thanks but no thanks. I'll settle for the smaller, more gas efficient and Earth friendly Honda Element, my favorite car at the moment. I'll take a lime green and gray one.

Runner ups could receive free, sorely needed steam clean and interior detail jobs and maybe even fully reupholstered seats and a pair of fuzzy pimp dice to match.

I can't be the only minivan mama mortified that I drive the most uncool form of transportation outside of a school bus? (I can just hear my husband grumbling to himself, "You're lucky I bought you wheels at all. Ungrateful woman, as usual.")

Like all of my life's many messes, my grubby minivan has a silver funk lining. Thanks to the lovely pastiche of Wheat Thin, Ritz Bits and Goldfish cracker crumbs scattered across the grape juice stained carpet, my family's nourishment needs are covered in the event of an earthquake or some other natural disaster. Rations for weeks, easy.

What's lurking in your minivan? You might be surprised.