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Mom's minivan meltdown

Mom’s Minivan meltdown Like it or not, what car you drive speaks volumes about you. When you’re single or even at the DINKY (dual income no kids yet) stage, what car you drive is as important as the clothes you wear. You’d never be seen dead in a Geo Metro. But put children into the equation and good looks and sex appeal must play second fiddle to practicality. Or do they? Last year, my friends and I started moving into the “two kids and more” era of our lives. Simultaneously, our discussions expanded from gory birthing stories and potty training wisdom to the burning question of what car to drive. How should we transport our new offspring and their plethora of stuff? I love my Saab 900, but by the time I fit in two car seats, the diaper bag, stroller, potty, sand toys etc., just for an outing to the park, things start to get a bit tight. An overnight trip to the mountains or the beach requires the doctoral qualifications of my techy husband and a strong shoe horn to pack the trunk. A couple of my friends moved effortlessly to the obvious choice: the proverbial mom-mobile, the minivan. They enthused about the practicalities of the dual sliding doors, folding seats, spaciousness, the extra luggage provision and the convenience of carrying grandparents or extra friends on outings. Big score for minivans. Still, let’s face it, they may be practical, but they’re not exactly sporty. They have about as much sex appeal as a diaper bag and the elegance of a cooler box. I asked my friend Fiona if she was considering buying one. “What?” she guffawed, “Those closets on wheels? Never!” Hey, you might argue, the days of sporty looking cars are over, you’re a mom now. You’re not meant to be cruising the cool streets anymore. But still, I want to hang onto some dignity and perhaps a touch of sexiness. Yet I do find my convictions slipping. I was invited for a day out with my friend Christa who drives a Toyota minivan, top of the range. I hesitated as she pulled up, yet minutes later, ensconced in the plush leather interior, I felt enormously at ease. The spaciousness seduced me. It felt like an airplane inside. She took me, our four kids and half of Toys R Us to the shore. There was so much distance between us and the kids yelling in the back, we could actually carry on an adult conversation, oh joys. What a pleasure, a whole hour’s drive without interference to our thoughtwaves. At home that night, I recounted our fun outing to my husband. Then realized that I couldn’t reciprocate and it hurt. There’s not enough space in my Saab for four kids, two adults and all the beach stuff. Like Blanche in “A Streetcar Named Desire”, I’ll always rely on the kindness of ...other minivan moms. Another score for minivans. After that, we took a trip to San Francisco with my in-laws and since we flew there, we had to rent a vehicle. I braced myself on the phone to Avis, “Can we rent an umm, err, a minivan?” There was no other choice, either that or two cars. Frankly, the minivan we rented was a treat, smooth, practical and with enough space that we didn’t feel constrained in packing or acquiring gifts. Inside, I could forget how it looked on the outside and hey, like on most vacations, you can be freer with your appearances, we were in the company of strangers, foggy San Francisco strangers. I realize there’s some misplaced vanity involved in my reticence. Although I love my kids and being a mom, I don’t want to drive a moving monument to motherhood which says I’m all done with aesthetics, acceleration and fashion. There’s something within me fighting the mom stereotype. I don’t want to be typical. I do the soccermom thing, the chauffeur thing, and the playdate thing. Most of the time I look like something the kids have trampled all over, with every day a bad hair day. Crumpled tee shirts and sweatpants are the norm, and there is rarely a trace of makeup to help things. For me, the car is the last straw. But, as more and more friends buy them, I feel my reserve falling away. For me, familiarity breeds acceptance. I start to think some models aren’t quite so bad looking. So, I may still give in and get a minivan. But I don’t think I’ll buy the matching license plate holder, namely “World’s greatest mom”. Instead I’ll get one which says, “Radical conformist...for now.” © Siliconmom.com

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