For so long, those two words were evil to me. Pure evilness. Fight the man! I WILL NEVER DRIVE A MINIVAN. Never, ever, ever. A minivan = old frumpy mom with high waisted jeans and nothing cool about her. Nothing. And there’s so much cool about me. (Given, I get it. Some things need left unsaid, but I said it.)
My mommy ride for a long while was a Volvo station wagon. It served it’s purpose with one kid. Kind of a pain in the ass to get the kid outta the middle of the small backseat, but it was way cooler than driving a minivan! Cool people don’t drive those.
Then Mike and I rubbed elbows and along came baby #2. I was craving space. I needed doors that opened on their own. I was hormonally imbalanced. Other moms were driving them, so I thought I’d test drive one.
HOLY HOLY! This is a nice ride. I could drive 42 people around in this thing. It’s got some get up & go. Leather, sunroof, doors I never have to open with my hand, plenty of trunk space for all my workout clothes and groceries for my home cooked meals?? S-O-L-D!
I suddenly became one of the cool moms that drives a minivan. And I love it.! If you’re not driving one, you should be. All the cool moms are doing it!!
Then there was the idea of moving to a cul-de-sac. EEEEEK. Stepford. Manicured lawns. Keeping up with the Jones. Having to drive everywhere. I. WILL. NOT. DO. IT.
Then Mike got a promotion. Then we had to move. Since I was driving a minivan, we decided to look at suburbia. (That’s what people do, right? Those two things, minivans & suburbia, go together like peanut butter and jelly, right?)
We were moving from an inner ring suburb and each of our previous homes had been 80-100 years old. Full of character. We were quickly learning that *character* meant a crap load of repairs, old windows, radiators and drafts.
I was happy to be looking at houses that were only 12 years old. A big repair seemed to be nail pops. We can handle that. But could I handle having to keep up with my lawn, the pressure of being a size 2 in yoga pants and my son always wearing a polo shirt?? (ps – he’s anti buttons! That could be a problem.).
But we did find an amazing house in an amazing neighborhood. And there’s no keeping up with the Jones. I don’t have to keep my lawn meticulously manicured. My kids go to a great school. Sans polo shirts. They can walk to friends houses. Even in the dark. People gather in our driveway when we play basketball. We don’t have enough chairs for our bonfire parties. We walk to the pool in the summer.
And we all drive minivans. Every single one of us. Suburbia and minivans are no longer evil things to me. They are home and part of my creature comforts.
