Mini-vanity: For someone resisting total suburban domestication, a van is definitely not wilder
by Lindsay FerrierArticle Tools
It is an argument between husband and wife that has played out thousands of times in suburban homes across the country — mine included.
"Come on Lindsay," my husband said sternly. "It's time to face facts. We have kids. Four kids. We need to put them first, even if that means that you have to" — he held up his fingers and made quote symbols — " 'die a little inside.' "
"Don't mock me!" I shrieked. "I have done a lot of things for you, Hubs. I learned to cook all of your mom's recipes! I had your babies! I clean your toilet ... sometimes! But as God as my witness, I will not drive a minivan!"
Having children forces you to change in ways you never expected, whether you're a diehard feminist throwing your daughter the pink princess party of her dreams or an aging hipster removing your Ramones CD in favor of Kidz Bop on the way to school. My own major concession to marrying a man with kids was to move from a cozy rented duplex in the heart of Green Hills to a Bellevue subdivision.
Eight years and two more children later, I'm about halfway down that slippery slope toward becoming the woman I swore I'd never be — my mother. I volunteer in my daughter's kindergarten class. I've clipped enough coupons to have permanent calluses on my fingers. And just between you and me, I've ... I've ... worn Capri pants.
But I will never, ever drive a minivan.
It's not that I have anything against the hundreds of women and men I know who do. I've seen them find ways to make it work, whether they're gunning their Honda Odysseys on the interstate like they're on track to win a NASCAR trophy, or tricking out their Dodge Caravans with multiple DVD screens to keep the kids in a zoned-out stupor, or decorating the rear windows of their Ford Freestars with Ensworth and Seaside Beach stickers, as if to say, "My other minivan is a Chrysler Town & Country."
For me, though, the minivan has become darkly symbolic. It is the last piece of my own personal suburban puzzle, and putting it in place means finally resigning myself to becoming a Grown-Up. Turning the key in the ignition of a Toyota Sienna would signal an irrevocable end to French martinis and loud concerts in dive bars. And miniskirts. I am quite sure that minivan drivers do not wear miniskirts.
"Well, I'm quite sure some of them do," Hubs grumbled after listening to my well-thought-out reasoning as to why a minivan would be an impossibility. "Our only other option is to get another SUV, and the kids can't even climb into the one we have without help. Is that what you want?"
"Kids these days have it too easy," I said.
"A car is a car," he said. "It's a way to get from point A to point B. It doesn't define who you are." I looked at Hubs like he was crazy. Clearly, he hadn't been watching enough TV commercials.
But the man meant what he said. I began seeing classifieds lying around the house, with circles drawn around the minivan ads. In response, I circled ads for the cars I preferred: a 2006 Aston Martin, a 2008 Porsche 911 Turbo Cabriolet, and in a fit of responsibility, an obviously family-friendly 2009 Hummer. In the end, Hubs couldn't stand in the face of my opposition. At least, that's how I like to tell it. The truth is far less satisfying.
"We just can't afford a minivan right now," Hubs announced after a few weeks. "A decent used one is about $5,000 over our budget."
"Oh... shoot," I said. "How will we ever survive?"
"Well, I've got an idea," Hubs said. "There is a car out there with six seats. It won't be very comfortable, but we can all fit in it if we have to, and for longer trips, we'll keep the Expedition a few more years until we can save up some more money."
"Okay!" I said, a bit too eagerly. "Sure! No problem!"
Two weeks later, we were the proud owners of a used Buick LeSabre. But as Hubs took me for an inaugural ride, it didn't take long for us to realize that something very, very wrong.
"Have you noticed that everyone's passing us?" I asked him as a car zoomed by on our left. My eyes widened in horror as the realization hit me. "Hubs! I think the other drivers just assume we're ... old." Suddenly, owning a minivan didn't seem so bad — not when the alternative was driving a car that said, "Watch out, world ... I may have cataracts!"
Even Hubs couldn't escape the irony. "I can't believe we now own a car our parents should be driving."
"Oh, Hubs," I said, "Your parents wouldn't be caught dead in this car and neither would mine."
We both laughed. "Take me to the grocery," I said. If this was how it was going to be, I figured we might as well take advantage of Senior Discount Day.
Read more Suburban Turmoil at www.suburbanturmoil.com.
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I gave into the mini van a few months ago after years of swearing I would never! It's not so bad and in all honesty it is perfect for my girls week in Destin this week!
I'm guessing you have your own symbol of what constitutes giving into growing up, though. For me, it's the minivan. For you, it might be.. MOM JEANS. ;)
I will GLADLY pick my children up and place them inside of my SUV, however, I will NOT be caught dead driving a minivan! So far I only have 1 kid, so this isn't a big issue for us. But I want a few more so if I ever do get a minivan, oh, who am I kidding? I will NOT drive a minivan!
LOL - I drive a 2003 Buick LeSabre - runs GREAT for long car trips, comfortable, not a gas guzzler, and will pass anything on the road when I push it . . . ;) I've never felt part of the cataract generation, and I've hauled TONS of kids in it!
LOL! I had the exactsame issue with the minivan but we don't like SUV's. (It's a bedwetting liberal thing, I'm sure NO SUV's! I can make fun of myself!) So now I have a very environmentally friendly crossover...one in which it seems I should be worried the accelerator could stick. I am drooling over the new Honda crossover. Have you seen it/ It is SEXXXXY...I'm not lying. It would hold your fam just fine.
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