Lately I’ve been hearing myself say things I never thought I would: Get your finger out of your butt. Stop dancing on the table. Seriously, get your finger out of your butt. I. Love. My. Minivan.
That’s right. I said it. “Love”, “my” and “minvan” all in the same-ish sentence.
For years I fought the idea that one day I’d be driving a bunch of kids around town in a bubble. Why? I forget.
Ok, I don’t forget entirely, but for some reason I no longer care that 90% of the population finds me completely uncool. (My apologies to my former Saatchi colleagues, but even the brilliant Swagger Wagon campaign didn’t change non-minivan drivers’ minds. It just gave minivan drivers a much-needed ego boost—and the rest of us a good laugh.)
Anyway, Lenny casually mentioned I should test drive one before we took the plunge on the outrageously hip SUV we were about to get. (You know, the one that wouldn’t fit in the preschool parking lot?) Not because he wanted the
social stigma practical answer—oh no, he didn’t. He just said it on a whim. And I do what my man says.
That’ll teach him. Because instantly, I knew. I knew “The Odyssey” was “The One”.
A minivan is the embodiment of old-fashioned values meet new-fashioned technology. It opens (and closes) doors for me. It chills my drinks and warms my seat. It’s gentle with the things most dear to me (i.e. eggs and milk cartons). It helps me get wherever I want to go and doesn’t let anything get in my way. It’s flexible and willing to change to meet my every need. Heck, it even memorizes all my favorite songs and sweetly (or hair bandedly) serenades my every mood.
But, as a mom, one of my favorite things about my new love is how sweet it is to my little loves. It gives them plenty of space, but a coveted sense of security. It sets them up for success—allowing them to do things on their own—while ensuring I have fewer reasons to yell (i.e. door dings, excessive touching). Plus, it’s so vast and surround soundish, the only thing I can’t hear is a good amount of the whining from the back. Let me be clear… Can. Not. Hear. Whining. And those impossibly long rides are suddenly possible—and even full of belly laughs—thanks to the show-stopping entertainment (system).
Friends? Why yes, they’re welcome. Lots and lots of them. And the under-8 variety even enjoy being seen with us.
While I didn’t think it was possible, it’s true. My empty coffee cup collection runeth over. (And my minivan is totally ok with that thanks to its 43 cup holders and trash-bag holder.)
Ride on, fellow minivan drivers, ride on!