The Cliche #2: The Minivan

I've never been much of a believer in 'the car defines the person.' I have driven whatever was most practical, most of my life that meant some Japanese car with good gas mileage. By circumstance, after Atticus was born (my second child) I ended up driving a Ford Expedition, and Hubby took over my black Honda Accord. The Expedition was a good vehicle. I think I may have even used the four-wheel-drive a few times. It was big, but very easy to drive and park. We tend to drive cars into the ground, so I planned on driving it for a few more years, at least until the repairs cost more than just buying a new car. But then I got pregnant with number three.

What I like to call "The Great Minivan Debate" began the minute I saw two lines on the pregnancy test. Hubby's reasoning was that even though the Expedition did have a third row of seats, Charlie was not yet three, could not buckle himself in and out, so I would spend a lot of time crawling in the back to buckle him in. He made me talk to friends with minivans. He humored me, and we looked at a Volvo wagon and Chrystler Pacifica, both of which had the same issue as the Expedition: no easy access into the third row.

Then came the annual vacation to Hilton Head. "Wouldn't it be nice to have the in-car DVD player so we could drive straight through and keep the kids occupied?" Yeah. In addition, seeing as we had an 18-month-old and a 3 1/2-year-old at the time, we were schlepping strollers, booster seats, and the Pack-N-Play as well as luggage. So we took up my sister-in-law's offer to borrow her van for the trip.

Our experience with the van was great. Intellectually I appreciated the fact that it was so easy to get the kids in and out, it drove like a car, there was plenty of room for all our stuff, and of course, the dvd player. When we got back from vacation, however, and the conversation turned again to needing a new vehicle, I balked. I knew plenty of people who drove their kids around in cars or SUVs. Hmmm, but did I know anyone with three kids who did?

Now, my husband works in marketing for a large bank. He understands marketing, how it often appeals to the emotions, not the intellect. I know this too, but sometimes I actually fall for it. Nissan had a TV spot for the Quest that hit the nail on the head. A husband and wife were arguing about getting a minivan, and the ad implied that the compromise would be the COOL-LOOKING minivan, the Nissan Quest. Well, I was hooked. Even though I had owned a Honda since I first became a driver, we tooled right past the best-selling minivan in the world to the Nissan Quest because I wanted the cool-looking minivan. Hubby implored me to at least look at the Honda Oddyssey, but I insisted on the Quest.

Now it is two years later. I indeed have three children, and a minivan. I hate my minivan, but not for the reasons you would expect. It's fine, silver, looks pretty cool, and definately has the practicality I needed to make my life easier. The sliding doors are the best thing. I can open the doors from 30 feet away. I hate my minivan because the Nissan Quest has a TERRIBLE turning radius. If you investigate things like turning radius when you go to buy a car, more power to ya. The thought never crossed my mind. Not only is it difficult to park under normal situations, but it is scratched up both sides from hitting the sides of my garage opening as I try to park. We have exactly 20 feet from the garage to a fence, and the only way for me to park in the garage is to back in, and, well, if you knew me, backing is not my forte.

Last week I pulled into a parking spot at the gym. Then I backed out, straighened up, and pulled in again (this is standard protocol if the parking spots aren't angled). I cut the engine and turned to my left. Parked there was a beautiful, brand-new black Honda Oddyssey. Evidently it only took Honda one season longer than Nissan to adopt the "modern styling" for the minivan. As I got out of the car I noticed the woman driving the Oddysey was just getting in.

"Your van is beautiful." I called out.

"I love it," she called back. "I was so against getting a minivan, but then we looked at this one, and it was so cool-looking I was hooked. It's so convenient for the kids, and it's so easy to park."

Sigh.

A Nightmare for the Easily Overstimulated

Every Friday I pick up my nephew from Kindergarten so we can spend the afternoon with him. My nephew goes to a private school in the city, a very expensive private school with NO PARKING. I don't mean no parking like when my hubby says "there's no food in the fridge," I mean everyone parks on side streets. It's ridiculous on the best day. I park three to four blocks away, put the baby in the stroller, the other two holding on while we navigate a cracked and uneven sidewalk that is about 36 inches away from rushing traffic. The ridiculous turns into a nightmare when the weather is even the slightest inclimate. Today it was pouring down rain.

The trek to the school was trying:

"Mommy, why don't WE have an umbrella?"

"Because I only have two hands, and I have to push the stroller."

And then there's the dawdling. At what age to children actually understand the word "hurry?" And at what age do they understand that the more slowly they walk, the longer they will be in the pouring rain, and the wetter they will get?

Anyway, we get to the school, and, as usual, panic rises in my chest. It is a complete melee of children and adults and backpacks and strollers. I am able to spot my nephew in the crowd of kids in white shirts and navy blue pants, but I've got to get checked to make sure I'm on the list, which I am, and sign him out. Then I ask, "Xander, where is your coat and backpack?"

"Over there," he responds, pointing to a round table with no less than 50 coats and backpacks. I don't even know what his coat and backpack look like, and I have left my kids unsupervised in the hallway for many minutes. Just as I am allowing myself to fully experience physiological effects of overstimulation on my body, which comprise of complete inability to move and speak, I hear Xander call out "Here they are."

So now back out into the rain with four children this time. I have instructed the 3-year-old to hold on to the stroller, and the five-year-old and six-year-old to hold hands and walk in front of me. Again we navigate the treacherous sidewalk, again we have the dawdling (why am I the ownly grownup who has to keep yelling "Walk quickly?"), and by now the baby's legs are drenched (because he is in the seated position in the stroller) and the rain has soaked through my jacket at my shoulders. We are just about to the side street on which we are parked when a bus comes by, running through a puddle in the street, and in perfect Laurel and Hardy fashion, sends a spray of water all over us.

From the Mouths of Babes

Sunday morning, trying to grasp even an extra few minutes of sleep, we let the kids play in the study. When I got up and came downstairs, I noticed they had gotten into the packs of photos in the closet, more specifically, the photos of me in the operating room during my third c-section. If I had a choice, there would not exist photos of me in the operating room during my third c-section, let alone some of the pretty graphic ones my hubby took. But there are, and the kids got into them. I gathered them up, put them away, and we headed down to breakfast.

The fact that my children were not delivered vaginally has been explained to them. When explaining "how babies are born" we were always very straightforward about the preferred method and the method by which my three sons arrived on this earth.

Later that morning, when I was getting my three-year-old dressed he said to me "Mommy, you're so pretty" (for some reason, he says this all the time). Then he said "I love you because......(something unintelligible)." I said, "What?" And he repeated himself, and this time I understood...

"I love you because they had to cut us out of your belly."

What else can I say about that?

Quote of the Day

"Instead of needing lots of children, we need high-quality children."

Margaret Mead

The Cliche #1: Soccer Mom

Hey, I'm pretty hip. I am not stuck in the 80's. I listen to a wide range of music. I wear black almost every day. I know what it means to be "snarky." So... when my five-year-old (then four) started playing soccer, and my husband informed me I was officially a "soccer mom," I was in deep denial. He smirked and said "look at yourself." I was baffled as I stood there on a early Saturday morning, which a few short years prior had been solely dedicated to sleeping off the Friday night libation. I did look at myself. What's the big deal? I sat in my folding chair in my Juicy Couture sweatsuit, next to the double stroller containing my two youngest, chatting with friends and drinking Starbuck's coffee. What's the cliche in that? But that's not really what I'm here to tell you about.

If you have never seen 4 and 5 -year-olds playing soccer, you are missing out. It is a complete melee. Coach Patty, who has been our coach for two years, does not believe in teaching kids how to play, but would rather that they develop an "instinct" for the game. Well, I don't know about that, but I have certainly seen kids kicking the ball the wrong way, picking it up with their hands, and my personal favorite, collapsing onto the ground in a wrestling match as if this were the NHL. Actually, this is not what I am here to tell you about either.

With my husband away on business, I had the great priviledge to accompany my son to soccer practice. I bundled him up in his little shin guards and soccer cleats, and prepared myself for a nice 30-minute chat with the other parents while the kids ran themselves ragged. I could not have been more wrong. What my husband didn't tell me is that's it's parent participation soccer practice. There was goalie practice, Monkey in the Middle, and for me the most painful, Sharks and Minnows. This is me vs. Charlie and basically it's a free-for-all to go after the ball, the "shark" trying to get the ball from the "minnow." Charlie has greatly improved since last season, because he's got a pretty good kick. He hauled off, going for the ball, and jabbed that little soccer shoe right on my ankle bone, almost eliciting a tear.

Just as my own little rage against the cliche we listened to blink-182 all the way home.

The Worst Craft Ever

Just a quickie... my 3-year-old brought home a craft from preschool... I think it was supposed to be an acorn, but it was decorated with dryer lint. Dryer lint. I saw a hair in there and almost threw up in my mouth. LOL.

Noggin

Noggin has these little narratives before their shows begin explaining the benefits of the show. Here's what they have to say about Atticus's new obsession, "Go Diego, Go!":

Cognitive Skills - Science

• introduces facts about real animals and habitats
  
• encourages focus on specific details
  
• models careful observation and accurate naming and description of things observed
  
• encourages exploration of the relationship between animal characteristics and environment
  
• develops awareness of the diversity of living things
  
• models using technology such as computers and cameras for scientific observation and research
  

Language and Early Literacy Skills

• develops listening skills
  
• promotes familiarity with some Spanish words
  

Social and Emotional Development

• models cooperation
  
• models asking for help when needed
  
• models an attitude of helping others
  
• models respect for the environment

Wow! Well, here's what I have to say about the benefits of "Go Diego, Go!":

• Keeps my children occupied for 20 mins so I can get a shower

What the...

This is what my son looked like when my husband took him to run errands Saturday. In case the photo is not clear, that is his soccer shirt, he has his Spiderman boxers underneath, and those are his "brown shoes" with no socks. I am far from a control freak when it comes to what my kids wear, but COME ON!