Hello, Dear Reader.
I know what you’re thinking. I’ve stood where you once stood: in the parking lot, physically melting into the pavement, as you try to cram all of your kids and their accompaniments into that cool girl car you swear you’d drive into the ground. As they scream like banshees from their car seats, echoes of that one, deeply offensive suggestion creep into your mind:
“don’t you just want a minivan?”
You’ve heard it before. From your MIL, that annoying lady in the PTA, your spouse… but you? NO! You’re a cool mom! You will NEVER drive a minivan! The suggestion is like a dagger to your heart!
For me, it all started with my husband — who, for whatever reason, has had a borderline-unhealthy obsession with minivans from the first time I tinkled on a stick. I say “for whatever reason”, but really, it’s because he drove one in college. Proudly. It allowed him to transport the girls’ crew team to and from practices. He thinks that made him cool and attractive… I think that made him a sucker with a minivan, but whatever. Pa-tay-toh, pa-tah-to.
Despite his constant assurance that they were wonderful and magical and absolutely necessary, I just couldn’t get on board. I mean, me? A minivan? I’m so young! This is madness! I am hip! I am cool! I am stylish!!!!!
Side note: I am none of these things. The only time the word “hip” can be associated with my name is when discussing just how much mine have widened. “Cool” is something I am not, both physically and metaphorically, as postpartum hot flashes are definitely a thing, and unless you call these mom jeans and puke-stained t-shirt “stylish,” we can just call that one a loss, too.
I tried so hard to find an SUV that would fit all of us and not cost 7 million dollars. No dice. I told myself it was fine. I don’t need no stinkin’ SUV! Right? Right!? Wrong.