Tales of a Van Cleaning Expedition: The Guts, the Glory, and the Goldfish

There comes a time in every family’s life when the family van must be cleaned. And by “cleaned,” I mean exorcised. For us, that moment arrived just before Christmas, when we foolishly decided we couldn’t endure another family road trip with an unidentified smell and the lurking threat of tetanus.

We approached the van like archaeologists stumbling upon an ancient burial site—armed with gloves, trash bags, and a healthy fear of what we might uncover. The van did not disappoint.

The first discovery was a gooey yellow thing. We still don’t know what it was. My best guess was it was bubble gum (which my kids don’t even chew) or it is quite possible one of my children has developed a nasty lung infection. Whatever it was had the tenacity of super glue, and it required a crowbar and a heartfelt prayer to remove.

Next, we unearthed enough lollipop sticks to construct a small log cabin. Now, lest you think Honey Doodle and I are just feeding these children lollipops every time we get in the car, they only get one lollipop a couple times each month when we visit Trader Joe’s.

Then, I had to climb all the way into the third row—where no one ever sits—and immediately regretted it. Someone had mashed something unidentifiable into the console and drink holder. My oldest child simply said it was probably his apple from who knows when. It was not an apple. It was a shriveled, horrifying object that had guts. Actual guts. 

As we pushed deeper into the van’s cavernous depths, we hit pay dirt—or perhaps pay crumbs. There were leaves, rocks, sticks, pine cones, and sand. Was it from a beach, a sandbox, or the inside of a shoe? No one will ever know.

Stickers adorned every possible surface—windows, seats, the floor—like some chaotic scrapbook project gone horribly wrong. Broken color pencils rattled in door pockets, accompanied by half-completed masterpieces (of art, not food, mind you.)

Once we removed The Littlest Wild Thing’s Booster seat, we found enough goldfish crackers to fill the Atlantic, along with a half-eaten hamburger and four chicken nuggets, each missing precisely one bite. Clearly, we are raising a family of highly discerning food critics.

Among the archaeological treasures, we also found:

• Mario characters engaged in what appeared to be a turf war with candy canes.
• A DVD that somehow ended up underneath the center console.
• Enough peanuts and cashews to make trail mix, provided one was comfortable with the “may contain floor dirt” label.

When the dust (and the chicken nugget crumbs) finally settled, we had filled three trash bags, one donation box, and a therapy appointment request form for the sheer emotional toll. But the van was clean—or at least, cleaner—and we were ready for our Christmas road trip.

As we drove off into the holiday sunset — with a stick we somehow missed stuck in the door and dragging on the road — we vowed to keep the van spotless this time. However, about two minutes into the trip, I heard a box of crayons bust onto the floor. At the five minute-mark, we stopped for some Jesus chicken at Chick-fil-A, and within seconds the youngest Wild Thing proclaimed he only wanted the chicken and promptly stuffed the biscuit in the door pocket.

Bless our darling hearts, we tried.