When Arrine was a baby, still in her infant carseat, I took her to a drive-through touchless carwash. And she hated it. Cried the entire time. And I was trapped in the car, in a carwash, with a hysterical baby, and there was no way out.

The other day, Arrine touched the outside of my little car and said, “Mommy’s car dirty. Daddy’s car clean. We went to the carwash.”

So tonight Arrine squealed with delight when I asked her if she wanted to go get a carwash after supper. She did. So we loaded up, went and got gas at the Esso near our house and I purchased a carwash. “Our turn, Momma?” Arrine asked. “Yes, it sure is,” I replied as we drove up to the keypad to enter our carwash code.

As we entered the carwash, Arrine’s eyes got big and then she said, “Dark!” as the soap covered the window and blocked out the light. And then she pointed and said, “Soap!” And she giggled and laughed and loved the carwash.

And in one of the moments I turned back to watch her, I was instantly in the back seat. amm was in the front. Driving the classic maroon Oldsmobile my parents had when we lived in Saskatoon. And the blue brushes twirled and whipped the outside of the car. And I was small, and happy, and thought I had the best mommy ever, who took me to the carwash. The carwash creates an eerie feeling as you feel alone inside, tucked in by the brushes, or now, the touchless sprinklers. A loud quiet.

I am going to take Arrine to the carwash on a regular basis. So she can have the same memories of her mommy as I do for amm.

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