Minivan depression

Be warned: This is more along the lines of a quick, self-loathing rant. Plus, my kids were *fairly* well-behaved today and didn't give me much material to work with. Which means tomorrow they will probably test my sanity in every way possible. So hang out for a day or so for what are certain to be many more funny (in my case, crazy-makin') entries, but for tonight, make do with a cry from the depths of my tortured mommy psyche. Pleased to enjoy.

I was young once.

Well, younger anyway. Jeff, my husband, is always quick to point out how much older he is than me when I start complaining about my body falling apart. That makes me feel good for about two minutes at which point I realize, 'Hey, his body hasn't been trashed by three rough pregnancies AND deliveries.' Wait, Rox. That's enough for a whole 'nother post. This one is about minivans and depression. Simmer down, girl.

Minivans. Those giant, unmaneuverable bastions of soccer moms everywhere. The vehicle that people go kicking and screaming to buy, only after having been completely beaten down by the lack of space in their current vehicles. I looked at one once. Many, many moons ago, when this was a two-income family with good jobs. It was a brand new white Nissan, and I believe this was 2004. Although I'd just had my first baby, I looked at the van and could not bring myself to give it a shot. I was twenty-four! Far too young! The thought of owning a minivan was completely depressing. Why in the world would I buy a friggin' minivan?

Well, the thought of owning a minivan is still completely depressing now, almost eight years later, but for totally different reasons.

You see, we are no longer a two-income family and money is very tight. Granted, this is by choice, and I'm not complaining. I get to be at home to watch my babies grow. It makes me appreciate the sacrifices my husband makes all the more. But we drive cars that are PAID FOR. Thank goodness, because our budget doesn't leave a lot of wiggle room for another car payment. So where does the depression come in?

Right. Here. I kick myself all the time for not having purchased that beautiful machine when we could've afforded it. The interior, which seemed as empty and hollow as the Grand Canyon so long ago, taunts me now in my dreams with all that space. What I wouldn't give to be driving that behemoth these days. Because it would be soooo paid off right now. And I'll tell you another thing. Those people that went kicking and screaming into those dealerships, forced to purchase the dreaded minivan, would not trade it for anything now. You could put a brand new BMW in front of them, and they'd probably only take it to sell to buy more minivans. They love all that space. I lust all that space. I get hung up on copious amounts of room, with good reason.

Space is at a premium in my current car. I drive what must be one of the Smallest. Cars. Ever. A Saturn SLE is mighty fine and sporty for a family of four, but adding just one more (and his carseat, bags, strollers, etc, etc) has turned my little golden car into a clown car. You know, the tiny car fifteen people get out of? (Go ahead, enjoy the mental picture. I'll wait.)

Sure, it gets us where we need to go, and I guess that's the most important thing. But I make new discoveries every day. For instance, today, I was forcibly reminded that the stroller part of the travel system I got a few days ago (for $20!) effectively takes up every bit of space in the trunk. Not a good thing to figure out when standing in the grocery store parking lot with a cart full of just-bought groceries and two fussy boys. Thank God Emmy was at school-into her seat they went!

Why, oh why, did I let youthful pride keep me from getting that Nissan?

Doctor, I'm fairly certain I have minivan depression.

Boo.



I'm a tweetin' fool and you can be, too! @mrsjeffgray2002