Before I had children, my husband, Zeb and I lived only a 45 minute drive away from his sister Tina. Tina was a stay-at-home-mother to three little girls, the oldest of whom she was homeschooling and the youngest of whom she was still breast feeding.

My husband is quite the handy man and we drove to Tina’s house for the day for him to assist her in some home repairs while I played with our three nieces. At some point during the day, we all ended up in the car headed to Home Depot for some miscellaneous material Zeb needed to finish the job. Because Home Depot is what I consider the fifth circle of hell, I chose to stay in the van with my three nieces while Zeb and Tina went inside to get what they needed. I looked around her mini-van in disgust.

There were toys, shoes, socks and dried pieces of food everywhere. I found an empty bag and began filling it with trash as I sat high on my pedestal and judged one of the best mothers I have ever known. It was so gross.

I understood that she was busy, but come on!

Would it be too much to ask for her kids to throw away their snacks when they were finished eating instead of dropping their leftovers onto the floor? Would it be impossible to make the girls take whatever shoes and socks they were wearing inside when they left the car? Wasn’t it bad enough that she was driving a mini-van? Did it have to look like a giant Petri dish?          

When Zeb and I loaded up and headed back to our house I discussed all of my concerns with him.

“I am never, ever going to drive a mini-van! And whatever cool Mommy car I end up driving will at least be clean.”   

“Ah, cut her some slack. She’s got three little kids and she’s busy.”

“Hmph!” I grunted from my perch so high above the ground I should have been suffering from altitude sickness. Six years later I would like to state for the record that my super cool Toyota Highlander currently has in the floorboard: two pairs of Crocs, one pair of hot pink cowboy boots, six pairs of dirty socks, three petrified chicken nuggets of unknown origin, four raincoats, two strollers, so many apple-cinnamon Cheerios I could feed Brangelina’s kids for a week, enough stuffed animals and baby dolls in that I should be allowed to drive in the carpool lane even when I’m alone - and a stench so bad I’m pretty sure something crawled into my car and died.

And I’m not homeschooling or breast feeding.

As I look up from the crater I made when I fell off my high-horse, I sheepishly ask my husband on a weekly basis when we can sell my cool Mommy-mobile and buy a minivan.

(Robin O’Bryant is a Mount Pleasant resident and mother of three. Read her blog online at www.robinschicks.com.)