Oh minivan, how do I begin to thank you for the ways you have changed my life? They are too numerous and wonderful to count. As you remember, before you, I was driving your cooler older sister, our red Jetta. Sure, she holds the allure of memories from our child-free days with all of the trips down the shore and weekends away. We tried to hold onto the dream after one kid, but after the second one came, all Jetta gave me was a pain in the neck, literally, as I had to ratchet the driver's seat completely forward leaving her VW sign imprinted on my chest in order to squeeze two car seats into her minuscule backseat.
When we first met, I was blown away by your cavernous interior and plethora of seating arrangements. Having a playdate? No problem, here's an extra seat for our guest. The dog is coming on our trip? Fold down that seat and he can lay down in comfort. Someone screaming for a snack in my diaper bag that Daddy stupidly put in the trunk? Well, your trunk is accessible over your lovely third row of seats. I need only climb back there while Daddy keeps driving and I do my unbuckled, crouchy, hope-I-don't-get-thrown- through-the-windsheild walk to my starving offsrping to deliver the Goldfish.
When we reached the age of potty training, how you dazzled me. I now had the space to bring the potty with us and with your cleverly tinted rear windows no one need know I'm actually driving a Port-A-John. Even I relied on such convenience. Remember during my last pregnancy, minivan, how you rescued me when my lemon-sized bladder could not make it to the rest stop? I do. And how did I ever survive without an automatic side door that slides open with the touch of my remote as I scream at my children, "Get in! Get in!" since I can no longer hold their hands, lugging the baby in his carrier, as we dodge the onslaught of cars in the supermarket parking lot?
Minivan, despite my proclamations of love, I know I have not treated you well. Your interior, littered with stale, half-eaten bagels and discarded Dunkin' Donuts cups, has never seen the likes of a vacuum. Your rear windows are smeared with fingerprints and your upholstery dappled with crayon melted in the August heat. The once shiny expanse of midnight blue that was your exterior is now marred with the evidence of my bad driving as I scatter garbage cans turning into the driveway and the scratches the kids have left as they bump their bikes into you. I apologize from the bottom of my heart for that permanently dented right rear hubcap. I still have days when your girth is a challenge for my driving skills - not that I'm calling you fat!
Minivan, you rock my world. I will make this up to you. I will continue to laugh at those mothers who still try to hold onto their "cool card" by driving enormous SUVs as they have to manually open doors and toss their progeny to dizzying heights in order to enter their vehicles. They do not know what they are missing. Cool or not, minivan, I could not live without you. I will make it my job to spread the gospel started by your ancestors in the 70's, "Respect the Van."
4 comments:
That was hilarious. But I think everybody knows that you drive 90% of the time we're all in the van (For the uninitiated, leadfoot Mary doesn't like my leisurely pace).
I'm not sure whether that helps or hurts my cause. Riding shotgun in the van is probably even more lame than driving it.
mini vans ARE amazing. and i love yours.
i had one for 6 months. you start using it and all of the sudden you are like "this van can do AMAZING things". For me, think ski trips (you can sit while putting your boots on!) and concert coordinating (i can drive EVERYONE to the arctic monkeys show!).
but the sentiment is the same.....
Oh, Jesu. That was a funny entry.
I am giggling like crazy right now. My sister and I called hers the loser cruiser but now that I have one little boy and my insane husband wants FOUR kids I am actually looking forward to the minivan days.
By the way, I'm Kathleen's old friend from DA-Lauren told me about your site and I have been laughing my way through it. She and I both have sons a few months apart-mine, Jackson, is seven months now. A part of me is terrified by what you write because right now one seems like a lot and I can't even imagine what it will be like when one seems like a purse. You are obviously in the "rockstar mom" league with my sister (two girls 5 and 3, a third as of yet unknown on the way). Thanks for giving me, and Lauren, a heads up on the hilarity that is sure to ensue down the road.
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