Van-tastic!

Now that I am a mother of two, I have been feeling some pressure here and there.  Some of the pressure is expected and some is a bit unexpected.  I expected to feel like a bad mother all the time (what's new?) and I expected to want to look like Heidi Klum, she pops out a kid then puts on her size 2 jeans ten minutes later.  What I didn't expect was to feel pressured to own a mini-van. 

I drive a Honda Civic.  I bought it after college and I love it.  I have no desire to own any other car.  It may be small and have limited features but it gets great gas mileage and is the car equivalent of me - a little dented here and there, not too many frills, but reliable with nice legs (wait a minute...).  I will admit that there are some limitations to driving a compact car with two children in it.  It is tough to transport additional people in the car, particularly when one has to squish between the two car seats in the back (sorry, Ariana).  To the rest of the world, it logically follows that after the second child is born, a mini-van soon appears.  But here is where the problem arises for me.  I am highly resistant to the idea of a van. 

Let's pretend for a moment that we magically had the funds to purchase one.  Since I love my Civic, I don't want to replace it.  Mark's car is still getting paid for so it would be foolish to get rid of that one.  These are the logical arguments against it, but here is the biggest (and illogical) reason - my pride can't handle it.  There are so many implications that come with driving a van; implications that I am not ready to embrace.  It means you are old.  It means that you are responsible.  It means that you are frumpy.  The following image flashes through my mind when I think of myself in a mini-van.

There is definitely something different about running errands wearing junky sweats while driving a Civic versus driving a mini-van.  It all seems more pathetic when I'm driving a "responsible" vehicle.  When you drive a van, you just can't wear pants that say, "JUICY" across the butt (or in my case "JUY" because the "IC" got eaten up by my wedgie), so I will have to throw out half of my wardrobe or people will think I am an unfit mother.   

If I own a van, the following will absolutely come true:  

I'll have to start cooking every day

I'll have to get a short, ugly haircut

I'll have to join the P.T.A.

I'll have to get fat

I'll have to stop flipping people off at stoplights

I'll have to start traveling around with orange slices and Capri-Suns

I'll have to carry all my belongings in a fanny-pack

I will age 10 years

I will say yes to a mini-van when I turn 36 and win one for free somehow.  Until then, you best not start nagging me about it again!