The blessed rosary given to me after an audience with Pope John Paul II. The red hat pin given to me by my Auntie Alice. A pocket pack of tissues, miraculously unused. These were the last things I pulled out of my trusty minivan before saying good bye. Today I will trade it in for a wonder I haven’t experienced in over 15 years — a sedan. That’s right, four hinged doors and a trunk. “Trunk” being another word for “Pantry” since I’ll still be hauling around dependent offspring.
Their car seats and strollers have been replaced with golf clubs and saddles. Their Barney videos handed down to a younger generation to make way for mp3 players and hardback books. Now, they shove cereal bar wrappers under the seat instead of Happy Meal trash. And the Happy Meal Toys? Replaced long ago with lip gloss, combs, and magazines.
Logically, I know it’s just a vehicle — a big fat over insured money pit that lost 25% of its value the minute we drove off the lot. It’s the ball-and-chain that never let me escape Mommyhood and yet it wasn’t even “mine.” We had “Dad’s Car” and “The Van.” Not “Mom’s Van” — “THE” van. Dad’s car was never “The Malibu” — it was “Dad’s.” End of story.
The Pit served us well over the years — taking us to weddings, funerals, vacations and wine stores. It’s hauled babies, groceries, pine straw and pets. I can’t help but think of the next family the Pit will serve. Will they appreciate its rich history? Will they figure out the reason all the black finish wore off the radio buttons is because its previous owner was too uptight to listen to a fraction of a second of a commercial?
I wonder if the new owners will have brilliant dogs who create brilliant works of doggie art on the windows. I’d like them to know our dogs were well behaved and held back their doggie functions. Well, there was the time we were getting ready to leave for Grandma’s house when Hank got his tail caught in the power sliding door and released his anal glands… but we got the smell out after a few hours.
And the time Nugget peed a few gallons on the front seat on the way home from Grandpa’s funeral in Florida… but she was on my lap so I bore most of the brunt. The seat wasn’t permanently damaged. Nor was it the time we were on our way home after Morgan was diagnosed with strep throat and a car accident happened right in front of us. I was kind of busy helping the victim when Morgan yelled out the van, “Hey Mom! Nugget just puked on the driver’s seat. Whataya want me to do?” Again, the leather cleaned up nicely.
As my husband and I crunched numbers and tried not to feel too violated, my daughter looked over our shoulders and announced, “Mom, you should give this new car of yours a name.”
“I already did.”
“Really? What?”
“Mine. All mine.”
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at BusStopMommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.)
