#MINIVANMAVEN

Today:

Friend:  "What on earth is this photo that you just texted me?"

Me: "That's my new whip!"

Friend: "What I saw in that picture was not a whip. Please tell me you didn't."

Me:  "I got a minivan."

Friend:  *yelps* "Wow.You have got to be shitting me."

Me:  "Nope."

Friend:  "No way. Dude. Seriously. You really went and got a minivan?"

Me:  "Yup."

Friend:  "OMG."

Me:  "It's so tricked out, too."

Friend: "Lord Jesus. You know I love you, right? But you lose like 375 million cool points for this move. No. That's 375 trillion."

Me:  "That's quite a cool point deficit."

Friend:  "Uhhhh, yeah."

Me:  "But see . .  here's the thing:  The woman behind the wheel defines what cool is. Not what wheel she's behind. You feel me?"

Friend:  0_0 *silence*

Both of us:  **HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER**

Me: "You're a hater."

Friend: "I'm never meeting you out anywhere again. Especially if they have a valet."

Me:  "Alright now. Don't ask me to pick up your kids. Or you. I mean it."

Friend:  "Uhhhh. . . . Don't worry."

Ha.

I need new friends, man.

****

Yeah, so I got my swagger wagon today. Sure did. Yahoooooo! I told the BHE what I had in mind and he and the kids went to go pick one out.

Have I ever told you how car dealership negotiations give me the willies? Oh. Well, they do. So God love that man for doing that and those sweet boys for being all excited about listening to pitches and spiels and reviewing bells and whistles and all that. I didn't even want to be test driving anything. I just wanted to show up, try it once and roll out.

Which is exactly what happened.

Well. As I dreamed about way back in 2011 with this post (and also this post), it is as awesome as I imagined. Automatic doors, rear entertainment system and even a real, legit AC plug outlet in back--I kid you not. Super, duper rad, man.

Let the record show:  I will never get out of my car to open the door for a child again. Like, ever.

Oh, and man or lady at Publix who asks if I'd like help with my groceries? That's a yes. Because I'm gonna post up in my captain's chair talking to my husband on the bluetooth phone while my non oppressive amount of groceries gets loaded into the surprisingly vast amount of cargo space available with just the push of a button.

And don't even get my started with the keyless entry, y'all. Chile please.

What can I say? I am a marcher to my own trial subscription of Siri XM Radio. Hate if you wish. But don't be jealous when you see me rolling past you in the carpool lane looking all zen. With my grey hair, my minivan and my laptop charging in the back through a bona fide plug.

I'm just saying.

***
Happy HUMP DAY!

Dirty Little Secret.

The original.

"Mmmm, mmmm
Something's coming over me

My baby's got a secret. . ."

~ Madonna

About a month ago, something happened to me. Something that I have said over and over and over again that would never happen. Something that I have always seen myself as too cool to ever, ever even consider.

Let me tell you what happened.

I got into my car to take Isaiah to school one day. We had missed the bus that morning intentionally since I didn't have to go to Grady that day. When I pulled out of the garage, it was raining. And not just any kind of rain--it was one of those cold rains. The kind that you don't want to have any part of.

We get to the school at the most busy point in the morning. I finally find a park and manage to hustle Isaiah into school while balancing my umbrella, my purse, and holding his hand. The rain is cold but soft and billowy enough to roll right under the umbrella, which is the kind of rain that converts my hair into an afro. (Note: I have nothing against afros or natural hair. It just didn't happen to be the look I was going for that day. . .but I digress. . . .)

I finally get Isaiah into school, and scurry out to my car as fast as I can. But not before seeing this woman pull up really close to the front of the school in a minivan.

Okay.

I am freezing and teeth-chattering and repeatedly patting my hair to see if I have become puff-mama while this woman in her cute little North Face fleece is sipping her Starbucks casually. Then--boom!--the automatic doors pop open, and two kids jump out, blow kisses, and wave into the building. She hits some button, they close, and she pulls off.

Just like that.

Later that day, I'm at the grocery store with Things 1 and 2. They are brawling next to the door as I alternate between loading groceries and keeping my kids from getting run over. The rain is still coming. I no longer care about my hair at this point (since now it has become unsalvageable) but I am fully annoyed by the enormous amount of energy it is taking me to get my boys into the Volvo.

That's when I see another mom heading out to her car with two (equally rambunctious) kids. They reach--yep--a minivan. The back opens and Mom throws the bags inside. Then, she walks around to the driver's seat with her kids in tow and--boom!--those automatic doors roll open for her, too. The ninos leap inside, jump into the captain chairs and buckle themselves up. The doors close smooth and easy, and she throws it in reverse.

All while I'm reaching over Capri Sun bags and Batman figures to finish getting mine situated. That's when it happened. The thing that I swore would never happen.

I said, "Damn, I want a minivan."

(thump)

*That's the sound of all of my friends fainting from this confession.

I looked into my backseat and saw the two boosters, the DVD player, the toys, the crumbs, the coloring books. I took in the entire vehicle--a Volvo SUV--and wondered if I knew of any non-mom who had one. I couldn't come up with a single person. I think the Volvo SUV is nothing more than a not-so-thinly veiled attempt to show people that you could live without and are waaaay too cool to drive a minivan.

I called myself getting that Volvo SUV so that I wouldn't be like those women whose vehicles scream KIDS ON BOARD!! Now that I know better, I realize that this particular SUV does not communicate the same thing that say. . .a Range Rover Sport does. It says, I have kids that I wish to keep safe.

But that wasn't my goal when I got it. I wanted to be the (unbelievably awesome looking) woman that steps out of her (clearly not purchased for chauffeuring kids around) late-model ride at the valet, and has the young attendant look incredulously at her car seats and say, "You have children?"

I've never been able to reconcile the thought of driving places by myself and a minivan being my sole means of transportation. I mean what could possibly be lamer? Minivans have always represented the point of no return.

But that day, when I looked at the Cheeze-its and silly bands all over my (cool) non-mom-mobile, I realized that I had already reached that point. The point where you care as much if not more about function than being the fly-girl. The point where automatic doors make your heart go pitter patter.

And so.

I started surfing the net. Coveting--gasp--minivans. Peaking in their windows in parking lots. Comparing them on websites. I even started imagining myself pulling up at a swanky restaurant to meet my friends, and stunning the valet dudes with my ridiculously youthful and non-momtacular appearance. So much that they'd look at me, marvel at my hotness combined with the oxymoron of it all oozing from a --whaaattt???--- minivan, and say, "You have children?"


Yeah.

So there it is. My dirty little secret is out there in the open now. I am seriously digging the minivan these days. And as it turns out, I am not alone. Even the NY Times published a story on minivans being hip--errr, sort of hip, I mean.

I can't believe this. I have changed my previously firm position on the minivan. And unless one of you can suggest an excellent, roomy, vehicle with a third row, a state-of-the-art media package and ---a non-negotiable must--- the ultra-fabulous automatic sliding doors, a minivan is very likely in my future.

Seriously.

And so. To Lesley M., Stacy H., Erica B., Jada R., Tracey H., and Marra S.--I apologize from the bottom of my heart. For the hairy eyeball that I have given each of you (whether you knew it or not) for the last several years that you have been flippin' switches on those (freakin' awesome) automatic doors. For not wanting to ride anywhere with you. And for--okay, I'll admit it---hating on your mom-mobiles. Now, I get it. I so get it.

I have accepted that far more of my time is spent with my kids in my car than alone. And. The more I think of how proud I am to be my kids' mother, I question my original thought of not wanting to seem mom-ish.

I am mom-ish. And now that I think of it? That's as cool as it gets.

***

Where my mother-fathers at?



What do y'all think? Have I lost it completely? Does this mean my player card is revoked for good?