I’m a minivan mom. I’m a mom. I drive a minivan. Sure, it’s not the nicest car in the school drop-off line, heck it’s not even the nicest minivan in the drop-off line. But, as my mother would say, it gets me from here to there. And with 3 kids. And their friends. And the dog. And all the schtuff 3 kids, their friends and a dog come with. Plus, I can press a button and the door closes! I’ll never be “that mom” whose kid dings the soccer coach’s Mercedes every time he flings open the car door. That’s a plus, right? I mean, who cares if my 7th grader consistently refers to it as “The Loser Cruiser?” And my husband won’t drive it on his drop-off days (claiming that putting it in park to press the “door open” button uses up too much drop-off line time.) Or that the trunk is the size of a laundry basket and to successfully get all of the schtuff in there I have to pack it like an Ikea box without a square inch to spare.
Did I already say it gets me from here to there? With all of them? For now, I think I’ll just consider it “the company car.” The one I have to drive while doing this job. This job I love.