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| The Minivan Experience |
Once upon a time, I had a beautiful little Toyota Yaris. We called her Penelope. My parents always taught me to buy used vehicles, so of course I bought her brand-spankin'-new. Penelope was the first car I ever test-drove and the first big-girl purchase I made. When I was leaving work or Walmart or the mall and found my car in the parking lot, I would always say, "Awww, look at my cute little Penelope!" She was there when my husband proposed. She drove me to the church when I was still a "Miss" and drove us away when we were officially "Mr. & Mrs." Penelope helped my oldest daughter and me make great memories as we drove to and from Disney World -- about two weeks after we'd gone from being members of Big Brothers Big Sisters (fabulous program by the way) to Mother and Daughter (it's sort of a strange transition to make, in case you were wondering). Penelope made several trips, loaded full of boxes, as our little family of three made the move into our first house. And I can remember looking in the rear-view mirror at a little boy in the back seat, whom I drove to and from school for several weeks and with whom I laughed so hard my side hurt -- I remember looking in that rear-view mirror and praying over and over that one day he would be my son. When we were finally selected as the forever family for him and his siblings, Penelope drove the three of us (Mr. Dad, our oldest daughter, and me) to meet with everyone for the first time.
So, you see, Penelope was kind of a big deal.
And then we traded her in for the minivan. I call her "Boho" for short. Sounds like it stands for something cute like "boho-chic", right? Nope, "Boho" is my cute little name for "behemoth" (noun: a huge or monstrous creature). Boho can't do anything on a small scale. She seats eight people. She makes obnoxiously wide turns. When I cruise into the Starbucks drive-thru and no one else is in the car with me, I feel like I should casually throw in, "Thanks for the coffee. I have a bajillion kids; don't judge me for having a minivan! I know I'm only 28. Of course this minivan thing's not a big deal, okay?! Have a great day!"
Boho already holds some pretty awful memories. Like driving my kids back to their foster homes, which we had to do after every weekend visit for several months until the kids were allowed to stay in our home forever. Boho listened to my youngest daughter cry and cry as we pulled into her foster mom's driveway, not understanding that taking her back each Sunday afternoon was not my decision. Boho witnessed my sons "Liam" and "Ant" become silent and stoic as they too were shuffled around between two homes week after week.
And there's nothing like driving twenty minutes to the last foster home, just you and your oldest son, as he sobs out pleas to let him stay, kicks the dashboard because he's so frustrated to be saying goodbyes AGAIN, says hateful things to you because he knows you love him and we all tend to take out our anger on the people who love us most, and promises "you'll have to drag me into the house when we get there because I'm NOT going back". Boho was there for all that, too.
Not to mention all the long drives to school/work. Driving a bajillion kiddos to school - after preventing two temper tantrums at home, enduring one, helping two kids choose outfits they were supposed to pick out last night (rather than playing football in the living room, which of course they know not to do but "forgot"), packing lunches that should have been packed last night but your exhaustion took over instead, getting ready in five minutes and avoiding the mirror (does it really matter what you look like if there's no time for make-up or a better outfit, anyway?!) - gets a little overwhelming. Boho can't do anything on a small scale, remember? That includes the noise. GOOD GRIEF the noise.
My kids always have a thousand questions. Sometimes, ya almost want to take your time answering questions because you know one answered questions means two more are on the way. And there's constantly singing, never the same song of course. We have a "use your best singing voice" rule, but it's amazing how frequently the definition of "best voice" changes. Boho knows no silence, no calm.
Have you ever ridden home from school with a car full of kiddos? Of course RIGHT NOW is the time to talk about what so-and-so said and how PE was and tonight's homework and - can you sign this please? while you're driving? - and who was near at lunch and how gross the lunch that took valuable time this morning to pack was and teacher said good job! and someone didn't say "bless you" after hearing a sneeze. People, the stories are endless, and every story needs to be told RIGHT NOW. What? There are four other people talking? WHO CARES?!
Ugh. The laughter! It just goes on and on. My kids must be contenders for "World's Giggliest Kids. Ever." All it takes is one little giggle, and it spreads like wildfire. Of course, it seems like the more stressed I am, the more I'm craving quiet, the gigglier my children are.
At this time last year, Penelope would have been silent if I needed quiet. Boho is constantly filled with kids, whispers, giggles, singing, stories... noise, noise, noise. Without all of these kids -- if it were just the three of us again -- life would be so much quieter. So much simpler. I'd have fewer arguments to referee, higher hopes of quiet drives to work, and GOOD GRIEF people would know that if the radio is on, you sing the song that's playing! When I'm down, I wouldn't have a bajillion people trying to cheer me up when all I really want to do is focus on my stress. Without all of these kids, Boho the Behemoth wouldn't be necessary.
Once upon a time, we had a cute little Yaris named Penelope. But then the story got better.
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