It’s happened. We’re buying a minivan.
Even as I write this we have a sliding doors, rearview camera, 8-seater bad boy waiting for us to peek at and sign on the dotted line for…and I couldn’t be more excited.
We fought it for a while (my husband more so that I, truth be told), attempting to convince ourselves that a still vaguely ‘cool’ SUV and some creative shuffling of offspring would cut it for us, but the reality was just too clear to ignore. With our third kiddo on the way and various family members still planning on regular visits, we’re fast outgrowing our life (hello two bedroom starter home that we’re still in, albeit a bit more cozily than when we began), and in particular our vehicle.
The thing is, it’s all about the ‘new normal’ now for us.
We’re a family who thrives on low-key living, enjoying the simple things and the ‘less is more’ lifestyle (let me point you to our little ol’ family home one more time), but there are some things that just can’t be compromised on. For instance, Mom’s sanity when it comes to the ever-increasing frequency of inserting and removing said children from the car.
I get it now; why Mom’s speak with wild abandon and genuine affection for their minivans whenever the subject arises in my mom group. It’s the convenience. It’s the fact that one thing, maybe the only one that day, is finally simple. It provides us, as Moms, with a potentially finely tuned system as we corral our children from destination to destination, challenge to challenge, throughout the days and years. It’s the ability to not have the child behind within legroom reach to kick the driver’s seat (again). It’s the reassurance of nobody slamming the car door into the BMW parked beside you upon entry or exit.
I’m using our newly acquired mode of transpiration as a metaphor of course.
To me it represents the small but significant compromises we make along the journey of parenthood, each one with a view to making life a bit more manageable and in turn, a bit more enjoyable. It’s accepting the eternally shameful area under the couch that never gets cleaned. It’s making peace with using dry shampoo more times in a week than you’d like to admit. It’s adopting yoga pants as your battle-ready uniform of choice. It’s morphing into a Mom that is okay with being just that…Mom.
