Attacking the Van

Neither Eustace nor I were blessed with innate organizational skills. I was so hoping the neatness gene would be recessive. So far, it seems that, at least with our oldest child, the slob factor has been passed on with full force.

I just cleaned out the van in preparation for a weekend trip to Cincinnati for the Midwest Homeschool Convention (I'm really looking forward to this as well as visiting 3 of our brothers, one sister-in-law, and a nephew). Things weren't looking too bad in there until I reached the back seat. That's where Lucy sits. And draws. And reads. And eats. And, I guess, tosses her discards about as the mood strikes. Oh my goodness, what a disaster.

I can't tell you how many times I say, "please bring your garbage in from the van," and she hops out with one gum wrapper in hand. I naively assumed that was sufficient.

Next time I go back there, I'm wearing protective gear. I know I accidentally sucked up one sock and a couple of toys in the process of sweeping, but I felt I was under attack. So, I went at the crumbs, garbage, random clothing items, books and paper like a soldier at the front lines. The missing items may now be considered casualties of war.

I guess that's why they call it 'the battle against clutter.'

I'm enlisting help. More accurately, I'm instituting the draft. Everyone age 4 and older is eligible.