Minivan of Dreams

These days, we are stuck at home a lot, watching the clock, waiting for that glorious time of day after the tornado of bedtime when we can pretend for 10 or 15 min that all the kids are in bed and won’t bother us again until morning. Before someone needs water. Or their tag itches them. Or they just need to inform us that they don’t like the pj’s they chose and are therefore changing. But for the other 10 waking hours, there is only so much UNO one can play, only so many Legos to step on, only so many times you can threaten to take away screen time before, heaven forbid, you must follow through. So these days we spend a lot of time in the car, driving around aimlessly, trying to pretend we don’t hear the screaming and yelling coming from the back. Because, you see, thanks to modern science and the AAP recommendations, all of our children are strapped down in a 5-point harness, unable to do too much physical damage to their surroundings. I used to curse these safety laws – wrangling 3 kids under 5 into carseats seemingly designed for trips to the moon instead of Safeway always ended up in sweat and tears. But these days I’m grateful for the extra time it takes to get my 3 little animals in the car. At least it brings us that much closer to binging on cold mac-n-cheese, soggy broccoli and Swedish fish in front of the Great British Bake Off at the end of the day…

I think there are two kinds of moms: those who have their shit together and are too hip to ever drive a minivan, and those who now exclusively wear elastic-waisted pants and are too tired to care about anything besides putting the most amount of space between themselves and their children when braving the car. I think you can guess which type of mother I am. I have friends who drive oh-so-cool Yukons, and those whose children must not shed as many crumbs as mine do because they allow them inside their fancy SUVs. But guys, my Honda Odyssey IS a luxury vehicle. I mean, sliding doors AND seats! A fancy rearview mirror that allows me to see every fight happening, even in the 3rd row. Sadly, my money-conscious husband convinced me we didn’t need the built-in vacuum, because why couldn’t we just bring the dust-buster to the car when it needed to be cleaned. Listening to him about this is one of my biggest regrets. Perhaps if we did have the built-in vacuum, I would be one of the moms with their shit together.