Yesterday, I dropped Nora off at preschool and drove up to a dealership.
To test-drive a minivan.
Along the way, I gave myself a little pep talk: the backseat of a Passat is no place for three children, smallish as they may be. Wouldn’t it be nice to have room to bring the children and their things and one or two things for myself? Sure, you used to scoff at in-car DVD players, but a repeat 6 hour drive to Cincy quickly cancels out all thoughts of moral superiority, now doesn’t it Keely?
Stuff like that.
Can this upgrade to leather?
But part of me was a little sad- you can’t undo the minivan. Even down the metaphorical road, you’ll forever be the gal who used to have the minivan. And that’s a hard thing to take, what with my mental self-image being roughly 24 and rather unfettered. (What, you’ve never mentally thought of yourself as fettered or otherwise?)
And guess what doesn’t soften the kick in the teeth o’ reality of Minivandom? That’s right, taking a 2 year-old along for the [not at all metaphorical] ride. I was worried that she’d be a miniature crazy person. I was worried that I’d feel like I was driving a tank while worrying about my miniature crazy person. I was worried that I’d weep in the showroom.
But guess what? I didn’t cry. (And Susannah didn’t go all Nitro Toddler on me, either.) What I saw in their parking lot was a vehicle. A largeish vehicle, sure, but one that didn’t necessarily scream Soccer Mom at me. (‘Cause my kids don’t play soccer.) It looked like a rather convenient way to get from point A to point B- and bring all the stuff that point B does not currently possess. And it seemed like an awfully wonderful chance to not have to crawl over multiple convertible car seats to secure the LATCH system in the middle. So I drove it. And admitted that it was a pretty swell ride. And the interior was nicer than most other places I’ve sat and thought about weeping. Those bougie add-ons (DVD player, satellite radio, backup cam) were starting to look like bonuses, too, as opposed to the trappings of the middle aged and extremely fettered.
Besides, the last time someone in traffic whistled at me, I was a) at first extremely offended and then b) worried that I was being signaled because I ran someone over or something.
Perhaps the Young n’ Awesome self image left long before the sedan.
I’m pretty sure I’ll be just fine. And besides, if that Minivan Emotional Baggage ever comes back…
I’ll just stow it in the roomy trunk.
Speak Your Mind