Tikkabik

Something died in the van.

At least that's what I first thought. This odor appeared late last week that was the smell of death and decay. It wasn't rotten garbage -- we'll keep a bag of trash in the car because it seems like the kids are always eating something or blowing their noses, but it's usually not wet trash like what you find in a garbage can -- usually not something that would rot.

I checked under the seats. Nothing obvious -- no discarded, used diapers from James or bundles of half-eaten lunch or snacks from the other two children. No rancid packages of moldy cheese or lunchmeat that would have rolled out from an errant shopping bag on the way back from an excursion to the grocery story.

The smell got worse on Saturday. Every time I swung open the creaky sliding door, I was assaulted with a waft of pungent stench like a small animal had gotten trapped in the floorboards and died there. The strawberry air freshener did little to mask the odor, except to apply a chemical sweetness to it that made the smell almost worse. That's when I decided to get to the bottom of this.

I pulled all the crap out of the back that Bonnie and my mother had amassed over the summer -- beach chairs we never used. Toys and clothes and other detritus. A milk carton crate filled with emergency auto supplies, like motor oil and antifreeze and windshield washer fluid. The huge Emmaljunga carriage we use when James is napping and we're out someplace.

Still nothing.

Of course, there are mounds of toys hidden under the seats -- handheld video games, plastic tchotchkes from Happy Meals. Scribblings from school. Crafts projects. Out.

A rusty but functional tire iron. An umbrella that doesn't open all the way. A box of huggies baby wipes, half full.

Still nothing.

Bob's baseball cap from little league, which has probably been sitting there since spring. I lift it up and immediately I'm assaulted with a foul odor. Inside is growing at least six different kinds of mold -- I've sent them to the CDC for analysis. There are telltale stains inside that look like something got poured in the hat -- maybe the leavings of one of James' milk-filled sippy cups -- and whatever bacteria has been growing in there has taken over and is growing a miniature network of cities and interconnected highways.

Maybe that'll take care of it once and for all. It smelled better Sunday. Still a little funky, but it's an old van.