When I first got my minivan I was conflicted. I mean who drives these things? Certainly not ME, who despite two kids and another one on the way (at the time) still felt twenty-five. Still felt that 10 p.m. was an acceptable time to begin getting ready to go out for the evening. In my head anyway. Clearly delusional as in reality I don’t go out past 10 p.m. Unless it’s a special occasion like someone’s birthday and then dudes, the next day mama is tired!
I thought as I crawled into my minivan “This is it. The end of cool”. But at the same time I love that Goddamn thing so much. I named her Ethel (to my Lucy, naturally) and I don’t know how I ever lived without her. She makes life ever so much easier. She keeps children from flinging open doors into parked cars. She has room for baseball gear and thrifted dressers and multiple strollers. She has a remarkably good sound system for blaring Boys To Men while carting my drunk friends around on one of the aforementioned out past ten p.m. birthday outings. She is the bread to my butter and I love her.
Even if that makes me uncool.
That was the pinnacle I felt. I have fallen as far the fallen can fall. But I was wrong. I was oh, so wrong.
It started earlier this week when I was at Stay at Home Mom Mecca (Starbucks) and Huckleberry laid eyes on a minivan much like ours except in one respect.
It had reindeer antlers and a nose.
To say Huck lost his sugar honey ice tea would be an understatement. “Is a reindeer car, mommy! Is RUDOLPH!” It was awesome! I mean it’s awesome if you’re three. If you’re ME? Not so much!
“We need that for our car!” He gleefully cried.
Next thing I knew I had hit two Party City stores and three Five Belows in an effort to acquire such accoutrements for my minivan.
So there’s cool. Then there’s minivan level not cool but still holding on by your fingernails cool. Then there’s a 100 foot drop to rock bottom of cool and it’s there that they hand you the antlers. And it’s worth it.
See ya “cool”. Catch ya on the flip side. For now, cool is putting antlers on vans happily being willing to be looked at askance by other drivers. The looks they give me doesn’t matter. The light in his -and as it turns out his too-cool-for-school- big brother’s eyes? That matters.
And in their eyes. It’s the coolest ride in town.