Minivan

The food blogger and mom of three owns up to her “minivan crush.”
When I told my kids we were planning to get a car with more seats, my three-year-old daughter said, "For our friends?" Yes, for our friends. And for grandparents. And for us. There you have it. We are getting a minivan and I am actually excited about it. I am just as shocked as you are.
I loved my minivan like it was a member of the family. Ride or die, ride or die.
As we got closer and closer, the dark cloud seemed to lower itself closer and closer toward us. I slowed down. My life was flashing before my eyes. A few black birds that looked an awful lot like bats swooped low and close to my windshield and I wondered if this was the same sort of symbol as a black cat crossing your path? Seemed about right.
In the midst of my most chaotic days (which is pretty much every day), I want to recall that I did something other than always wear stained workout Target clearance clothing, breakup sibling arguments, and sweep crumb-laden floors.
I remember always be the last kid to get picked up from school or sports practice. It was so embarrassing. Recently, my son was the last one to be picked up from daycare. Guess what? He survived, and so did I.
Selflessness doesn't effortlessly bloom as soon as that baby comes out of our bodies. I don't know why so many people pretend that it does.
I love my minivan so much that a regular old blog post didn't seem enough to announce its advent into my life. As I searched for inspiration, the same line kept popping into my head: "I like minivans and I cannot lie..."
For many of us, the minivan is the final straw, and unlike all of the other lines we begrudgingly stepped over with a shrug and a sigh, this is the one line in the sand we will not cross.
The metamorphosis is insidious. One day you're behind the wheel of a cute little wagon, and the next you're driving a mobile garbage dump with fossilized Goldfish on the floor and previously undiscovered life forms multiplying under the seat.
My plan when we picked up the van was to take a picture of me lying dramatically on the hood, giving my saddest "I've been dethroned from coolness" face. But after driving it for .08 seconds, I realized my shame was vain and THERE ARE TWELVE CUP HOLDERS.
Did you spy the wicked grille up there, junior? How 'bout them sweet curves on the rear taillights, young whippersnapper? Word. That's how I roll.
Women over 60 have lived through six amazing decades. Throughout our lives, with a curious and adventurous nature, we have challenged the status quo and celebrated our independence and freedom. Many of us have had to build enormous emotional reserves to manage and survive difficult times.
Let's face it: life as a minivan probably sucks. While the minivan's brethren -- sports cars and luxury sedans -- are out
When I see a family struggling to get their kids buckled into the safety seats in an SUV, I just laugh. Anyone who chooses an SUV over a minivan because they're worried about looking unhip will quickly need to figure out the coolest accessory to go with a bad back.
I am slowly learning that the skills required for being a parent of grown children are quite different from those required to parent younger children. The early days seem easy now. These days require more: listen closely, practice restraint... not my strong suit.
Dear Ana, I'm writing to give some insight into a day in your life with Christian and your children in 10 years' time. You're probably more shocked by this snapshot of your future than you were upon first entry into Christian's red room of pain. I know.
My talks with President Asher Minivan were very productive. He assured me that his country's relations with Israel will always be kosher.
Where do your kids ask their tough questions?
Before having kids, my life was economy-sized. There was room for just three passengers: Me, Me and Me.