I consider myself to be a fairly normal middle class woman in my early 30’s; I have a husband of almost 10 years, 2 kids, 1 dog, 1 cat and a mortgage in rural St. Charles County. My high school and college glory days are a mere memory of a different place; a wrinkle in time that promised a lot of life lessons in exchange for a whole lot of fun. Back then, the most important decision I made revolved around my class schedule; did I really want to sign up for that 10am class? THREE WHOLE DAYS per week for a WHOLE SEMESTER of being up by 9:50am? (Just for the record, I’d currently give my right kidney to have this luxury. Heck, I’d give that same kidney for 10-15 minutes of quiet alone time. But I digress). Of all the fond memories I have of this carefree chapter in my life, there is one piece that I would not want to re-live – that feeling of being constantly under the microscope and being judged by all of my friends for each and every small decision I made. Wait! Was that shirt I wore to last night’s party a complete fashion disaster? Did I purchase this season’s formal gown in the correct color? Why did Sarah look at me like that in class? She hates me for sure. My life is over.
Certainly nearly all of us have experienced similar circumstances at some point in our life. And as I continue down this overrated amazing road of adulthood, I know I don’t miss that stuff. And after I finished school, I didn’t deal with it for a long time; I reveled in my independence and the ability to wear my pajamas all weekend long without being judged by anyone other than my two small children. Until one day a few years ago – a day that will go down in infamy for being the day that I committed complete and utter mom social suicide.
I (gasp) purchased a minivan.
Grown women that I’ve known for years and whom hold down successful households, jobs, even small companies mocked me. “Ew! I can’t believe you became one of those moms! Why didn’t you just get an SUV?” or “Hey, where are your mom jeans to go with that minivan?!” or even worse “Are you going to put a stick family in the back window?” Gross. Just gross.
I couldn’t believe it. I was being harassed, criticized even, for my choice of vehicle. Why such harsh opinions? It’s not like driving a minivan is illegal; I wasn’t hurting anyone, and I never suggested that anyone else be forced to drive it. (Except for my husband – he has to drive the minivan. But don’t feel too sorry for him – he secretly loves it!). I learned quickly that women in their late 20s and early 30s have varying degrees of acceptance of this society-labeled “Loser Cruiser.” I’m not a loser. I’m cool. Right? Right?? Oh Lord, help me – I’m turning into my mother.
Well, cool or not, I’m a grown woman, and I’m comfortable enough in my own skin to admit that my minivan offers several levels of convenience, safety, and just plain sweet options. It rivals any other car I’ve previously owned or even ridden in. My minivan is one of my current obsessions; I take comfort in the fact that if necessary, I could survive for days inside of it; if I get tired while I’m driving, no problem – I’ll simply pull over and nap in the back seat while I catch a movie on the built-in DVD Player and 9” screen. Lost my key inside my purse? No worries. I can just push start the engine and off I go. Went shopping and need to hide the evidence from my husband? Stow ‘N Go storage ROCKS!
By now I’m sure you’ve gathered that I am a loyal member of “Team Minivan”; I’m sure several of you readers will provide compelling arguments on behalf of “Team SUV.”
So before I give you my official “7 Reasons My Minivan is Cooler Than Your SUV”, I want you to weigh in – which team do you cheer for and why?
Then stay tuned for next week’s Part 2…
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