The official car of motherhood is the minivan. It's obvious to see why- they get great fuel economy, fit tons of people, aren't very big, have lots of storage, and the back doors slide open, preventing kids from making door dings, and they have great safety records. It totally makes sense to drive one. All (ok, most) of my friends drive minivans.
But I don't. I can't help it. I see a minivan, and I think matronly and old. Ironically, I don't see my minivan driving moms as anything but hip. I still can't bring myself to bite the bullet and get the minivan. J thinks I'm out of my mind.
So, I drive this huge behemoth, getting 33% or more less fuel efficiency than I would if I would just be sensible. I just can't. I can't do it. I'm generally really sensible, but I refuse to grow up in this part of my life. When my kids move out, I'll probably get a zippy little sports car, but for now, I really like my huge urban assault vehicle.
It can be handy- I've been able to fit five kids AND two enormous bass violins. The owner of one of the basses was in awe about my car, and actually told her parents, "You have to go see K's mom's car. It fit FIVE kids, two basses AND her mom. It is so cool!!"
And, it has a dvd player. I love it.
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