And so the day has come. The day when I must resign myself to the fact that I have become a member of a club I didn't really care to join.
I now own a minivan.
The minivan became a necessity once we admitted to ourselves that throwing one of the kids in the back of our SUV was grounds for a traffic violation. Oh yeah, and dangerous too. The SUV seated five; there are six of us two weekends a month.
All six of us went to the car dealership “to look.” All six of us. What on earth would possess someone to drag four kids, ages 5 to 16, to a car dealership? Stupidity. It turns out, though, that our doing so actually pushed the General Manager into wanting to please us and get us the hell out of there. While John haggled and test-drove, the older kids kept themselves amused by teasing me about being on my way to becoming a soccer mom. ! Nooooo. Stereotypical soccer moms are my kryptonite. I reminded them, the little turds, that it was BECAUSE OF THEM that I would be driving a shoebox on wheels, and that if they had just quit whining about bumping around in the cargo area of the SUV, I could have kept it, and thereby, maintained my coolness. Or something. Sort of. Ahem.
After making the deal and trading our SUV for a minivan, John toyed with the idea of trading in our Silver Bullet, otherwise known as the Anemic Base Model Economy Car. Six incredibly long hours after we left the dealership, we went home with a minivan, a sedan, and wicked headaches thrown in for free. I refuse to call our new family vehicle a minivan (ATTENTION: DENIAL ON AISLE FOUR) and instead call it The Big Green Bus. Now just how twisted does that make me, that I would prefer a green bus over a van? Very twisted indeed.