pimp my minivan

Yeah, hell just had a major blizzard; pigs have been spotted in the sky; and my 19 year old self is having a hearty laugh at my 33 year old self.  This is the rite of passage of motherhood: surrending to the badge of practicality over “I’m a Mom, but I still got it”.

The King’s ancient Explorer, which he gladly drove into the ground, took its final bow this week.  Not after we replaced the engine and trans on that bad boy last summer, hoping the avoid the almighty car payment.  We knew Moose’s therapy bills would be massive in 2013, so we kept our fingers crossed.

Goodbye, emergency fund.

Well, the slimeballs that guaranteed the work on the King’s aging truck didn’t follow through, so lo and behold: a big decision had to be made at the frat house.  We pinky swore that the next time the Explorer’s problems exceeded a grand, we’d dump it.

The mechanic wanted another $500, and it also needed new tires and the heater broke…

The time had come.

So, yesterday we said our goodbyes.  I was sad to see that truck go.  It was the very truck the King picked me up in when we started dating. We took the kids home from the hospital in that truck.  It must be PMS, because I got a little misty-eyed.

It’s like that decade of our life is gone.  Now we’re parents with a 3 and 5 year old.  With a freakin’ mini-van.

To be quite honest, I’m not a car person. As long as the thing runs I don’t really care what brand it is or what it looks like.  I never wash my cars, because I forget.  Cleaning it is like a massive biannual undertaking.  But, I do get attached to my cars.  My Jeep was of the stripped dow entry-level variety because I had a massive “cheap attack” when we bought it.  I don’t need leather with kids.  That’s excessive- slaps self in head five years later as the stains on the cloth interior become permanent.

But the minivan is the butt of jokes.  The pure definition of mom.  If you have kids and still have a car or SUV, you remain “hip” right? Despite the spit-up crusted yoga pants and the pothole-sized bags under your eyes? You still have “it”.  But the minivan mom, she wears these:

{via}

You are well into your 30s, and still shop at forever 21.  Well, I have news for you sister, it’s time to start wearing mom jeans and frumpy sweatshirts from the 80s.  Even get a short haircut, because well, it’s just easier! Mom hair!

I digress.

I loved that Jeep, it was my last shred of youth. The only reason I didn’t want to give up the Jeep-there’s an electrical outlet! I could make toast in there. Curl my hair.  Plug in a heating pad.  All the things you should do while driving.

That outlet still wowed me five years later.  When the King suggested, Nic, you’ve got to give me the Jeep and take the minivan.  I stalled.  Changed the subject.  Pretended to sleep.

Then, reality set in.  The room! The push-button door!  A DVD player!  Then, I caved.  Fine, let’s do this.  I will still take the Jeep on dates on the rare occasion I’m Nicolette and not mommy, but my social life is non-existent in the winter unless you count preschool dropoff and grocery runs.

But, guess what? The mini van has my beloved electrical outlet.  I could runaway from home, and camp out in there.

While I know some many of my family and friends get their rocks off on designer cars that could essentially pay off my mortgage, the King and I will only buy American-because he’s a union man waving the flag and all.  I agree, I’m all about supporting the ol’ USA when possible.  Which lead us to the two brands left in the minivan world: Dodge and Chrysler.

The dealership stunk of Spaghetti-Os, and I felt awkward and strange because we decided that I would be the “bad cop” and pretend to hate the van.  He’d be all loud and negotiate, and such.

It’s fun to watch Lucifier come out in the King.  He would have made an excellent CEO or drill sergeant. But it got old after the first three hours.

I was bored out of my mind, because being at a car dealership ranks right up there with pap smears and root canals.

Social media came to my rescue, namely Instagram{I’m fun…totally follow me OMG!}  and we discovered that my husband’s friend’s uncle was the finance manager.  Score!

The swagger wagon is the size of my front room.  No joke.  I’m sure it’s great for moms in the burbs, but I live in the city.  Where parallel parking is a necessity each day of my life.  This sucker is like 20 feet longer than my Jeep.

I’m not the greatest driver, because I often scrape my tires.  Okay, a lot.  I’ve gotten a good talking to from a friend of mine whose dad is a mechanic. So, I fear what my parking skills will do this this recent purchase.  This mini-van feels like a school bus, and I feel like a fifteen year old kid with a learner’s permit.

Now, to go pluck more grey hairs and admire my new wrinkles.

Middle age is grand.

Nicolette

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