on laundry and smelly things

I have totally forgotten just how much laundry is generated by having a small baby. Seriously, we produce the stuff in biblical proportions. the wandering Israelites didn't have as many dirty clothes.
Of course, the biggest contributor is less than two feet long. For those of you who don't have kids, let me share some wisdom with you.
Do you know why babies eat every three hours or so? Because they eat, then spend a 1/2 hour (if you're very, very lucky) being content. Then, there's a process called 'burping'. Basically, the task of burping is trying to get a refund on the milk that 's been consumed. And brother, it comes.
And comes. And comes, and comes. And it lands on you. You can't avoid it. So, you change your shirt. Your baby looks very cute, all bright-eyed, and sweet, and you pick him up again. Process repeats. You change again. Then, because baby now has an empty tummy, it's time to feed again. Process repeats.
I had a practice throughout my undgrad of wearing a shirt and tie pretty often. That changed when we had Duncan, so my seminary experience has largely been of sweaters and jeans. Now they're covered and stained with baby spit. I once spent an afternoon at the Seminary curious about the foul smell in the air. Then a friend pointed out the source -- a tiny little sploot down my back, courtesy of the Boy when I said goodbye.
I used to wear coveralls in the oilfield that were resisant to about every substance known to humanity -- I'm debating adopting these as my official garb until we're done with babies. I could dress them up a little for preaching. honest.
And the same goes for your vehicle, o yes. I drove a little truck. It was nice. Then I met my wife, and it got a little less nice, because of my wife's fondness for skittles met her casual habit of dropping them on the floor when hitting bumps. But I survived, vigorously cleaning once a month or more.
Then we got a minivan. A nicer minivan than most, methinks. Bright red, deep tint windows. If ever a minivan could be cool, It's ours.
At least, until you sit in it. then the smell of baby spit, toddler pook and dessicated, crumbling goldfish crackers hits you and your eyes begin to water. And there's nothing to be done about the smell, no, nothing at all. Tried all air fresheners. A forest of little trees. Cleaned out and shampooed. Holy water is the next step, but I don't know if I have faith in that.
And so our cool minivan now smells slightly less offensive than a pulp mill. When we pull up to red lights, the gangbanger in the lowslung-tinted windows-stereothumping-uberdork-lacking-testosterone-of-their-own car next to us rolls up his window to get away from the smell.
I may tint the driver and passenger side windows, as well. Then I could be cool in my shame.
Yes, but there are benefits to this experience. Quoth my dad when he was visiting: "son, the best part of grandchildren is that you give them back when the time come for that."
Can't hardly wait.