I open the van doors and a soccer ball, an empty Burger King cup, and a purple tennis shoe fall on the asphalt parking lot. I scramble after the rolling ball and when I bend over to pick it up, my swollen belly heavy with child gets in the way. Once I’ve secured the athletic equipment, I turn back to the van and to the children steaming out of our large and noticeable 15-passenger ride.
“Who left the soccer ball in here?” I ask to no one in particular.
A chorus of “I don’t know” and “It wasn’t me” echoes back.
I sigh and shove the stray goods under the seats of the van. My van is cleaner than my house, which isn’t saying much considering random items dart at me when the doors are opened.
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