While Cleaning the Car, My 5-Year-Old Asked, Mom, Why Dont We Use Daddys Secret Car?
I’ll be honest: our car was a disaster zone. Sharing it with my husband, Silas, a carpenter, meant sawdust in every crevice, dirt from his work boots ground into the mats, and a faint smell of lumber and sweat lingering no matter how often I cracked the windows. The backseat wasn’t any better—it was our…