Sports Car Girl, Minivan Life

I became an addict at age five. That was the first time I rode in my daddy's Corvette. I love cars. When I was 15, I could name any car on the road (still can). I owned four cars in high school, my favorite being a black and gold Trans-Am that sounded like a racecar and drove like one, too. Immediately after college, I purchased my coups de grace, a sweet little red two-seater that screamed unattached.

I guess I got the message out loud and clear because I was soon attached. I sold the two-seater for a practical SUV, needed to move wedding gifts to my new home across the country. The mid-size SUV allowed me to keep my dignity three years later when our first child was born. I was a car snob, and a minivan was the greatest of all vehicle faux pas.

Imagine my surprise when I found myself the owner of a 12-year-old Toyota Town Ace minivan. My family had just arrived in Okinawa, Japan, where normal people drive very abnormal cars. But a minivan? I wasn't ready. I didn't want it. Yet, I heard myself agreeing with my husband, "Yes, $1,000 is a great deal." On the inside, I was screaming no, but practicality won, and I was suddenly one of those moms.

The Town Ace turned out to be convenient. My daughter could stand up in the back and there was room for me to change diapers on the floorboard. But it wasn't until my second child was born that I realized the true value of my van. My huge double stroller fit in the back, along with a small potty, a first aid kit and other mommy gear. The single sliding door insured my toddler couldn't escape while I focused on my infant and her car seat.

I began researching minivans to purchase upon our return to the States. Had I completely lost all of my pre-mommy self? Maybe. Truth was, I couldn't resist all of the features designed specifically for moms and kids. An automatic sliding door, twelve cup-holders and enough cargo space for my double stroller and my 100+ pound dog were just too much to refuse. Plus, there were enough airbags and safety features that I thought the vehicle was worthy of the children that would be riding in back.

Motherhood had claimed me.

Now, I gaze out the window of my van, observing in awe as courageous mothers deliver their children to school in luxury sedans and SUVs. I frequently jump into my husband's Jeep to enjoy the wind that whips through my hair when the top is off. For a moment, I am an unattached girl again, driving a vehicle far removed from my minivan life. I turn up the volume on the radio in an attempt to drown out the children fighting in the tiny backseat. I run errands, struggling to get my kids in and out of the awkward two-door vehicle. Eventually I give in and scan the radio stations for a kid's channel that will hopefully restore peace between the two children seated behind me.

My life is too big for a cute little car. My family needs the room and comforts afforded by a vehicle that says, "We are a family." I plan to curb the pain of an empty nest with a refurbished '62 Corvette. Until then, I will enjoy the blessings that fit so perfectly in the back of my minivan.