dear mini van

In order to be a good mother, according to my husband, you must do the following:


1. Wear black spandex capri pants. Wear them often, pairing them with every color of the rainbow. They're even better with flip flops and a tight shirt so your muffin top is in full view. CHECK.

2. Talk about minivans, and how great they are. If there are any amongst you who do not own a minivan, berate the car they do own and tell them they are missing out. Tell them that once they go to a minivan, they won't go back. Think about minivans, and then go and buy one, even though you SWORE you never would. CHECK.

One day I decided, on a whim, to list Scott's car on craig's list. I posted pictures of it, dirty, thinking that no one would ever want to come and look at it. I had overpriced it by about 1000 and the pictures weren't good.

3 hours later I had 7 responses. You should have seen me, sweating like a stuck pig; vacuuming, febreezing, and windexing like my very soul was hanging in the balance. My neighbor even came running out with some Lysol after I ran out of Febreeze. Hey, it smells good!

The first guy who came to look at it bought it, paying me 700 more than what I thought it was worth. Of course, before he bought it he had to take it for a test drive that was three hours long, so I started to get a little nervous. I wondered how I would explain to Scott that I had gotten his car stolen for him, all in the course of a work day.

What would that phone call be like? "Uh, honey? It's me! I let someone steal your car!!!!!! Pick up some condo*ms on your way home from the store, wouldya?"

I digress. Anyway, I wanted to cry when he drove it away. That car has been with me for 13 years. Through acne, bad breakups, moves across the city and the country, 7 accidents, 5 speeding tickets (two in one day), two baby-home-from-the-hospital car rides, and 3 family trips.

It's a hard thing to say goodbye to a memory-keeper such as that.

But the van.

Oh, the van.

You were worth the wait, sweet van. I love you already, and I know our love will only grow. Give me time to learn your angles and how you like to be treated. I promise not to let the children eat ketchup and fries in you, or throw up on your upholstery. I wonder what you will bring us. Will you carry even more children in the back back seat? Will you take us to a court house to finalize an adoption?

Thank you for providing me with my very first car cd player, ever. To others you may be just a van, but to me, you are luxury.

I could sit in you and smell your new car smell (even though you are 6 years old) for hours.
Tell me your stories. Sing to me your sweet, sweet serendipitous songs of extra cargo space and mom jeans. I am yours for the taking.

World, meet my new van. Van, meet the world.

I'm Rachel, and I am a mini van owner.