I have come to hate The Great White Moose. It’s not for the standard “my car is a reflection/extension of my personality” reasons. It’d be far easier to explain my mounting negative feelings toward my minivan if it were merely that The Great White Moose makes me feel like a middle-aged soccer mom instead of the urban hipster with kids that I am. For the record, it doesn’t and I’m not. Instead, it’s my realization that I am constantly bumping into things with this car.
On any given Monday morning, the streets around school
are filled with Siennas, Odysseys, Suburbans, and various other large SUVs and minivans. When I drive past the Mount Olive parking lot on co-op days, it looks much the same. When The Boy was 2 and I first started parking my tiny Volkswagon Passat wagon in that lot among all those minivans, I was heartened to see so many minivans in a large city. But really: minivans are not made for cities with tight parking lots and parallel parking spaces.
Although I still insist that The Boy sit in a booster seat at age 8 and 60 pounds, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel of carseat vision. Does this mean I can give up this monster? It’s like driving around a giant, unwieldy couch. Maybe that is redundant.