Farewell Mommy-mobile

            The lovely Jessica over at Four Plus an Angel recently posted about a luxurious trip to the grocery store—luxurious because she took it without her children.  Yet, despite her momentary child-lessness she felt as if she had the word “Mommy” tattooed on her forehead. The theme of her post was running through my head this week as I prepared to retire my stereotypical mommy-mobile—a beige 2002 Ford Windstar.

            The van has been less and less reliable lately. It even broke down while we were on vacation in Virginia. I had to put $800 dollars into it this summer and I swore I wouldn’t put one more dime into it. I’ve even been stingy about gas and haven’t put more than $25 worth at a time—which isn’t much in a car that big. I’ve been on the lookout for a replacement. We really don’t need a car that big and after last winter I’m anxious to get something that handles better in the snow than the Windstar. Of course a skateboard would handle better in the snow, but that’s another discussion altogether.

            So this week I went car shopping and brought home a small SUV. Thursday morning I started clearing out all the stuff that has accumulated in my mommy-mobile:

• Six empty juice pouches
• Two rolls of paper towels
• Broken crayons—some melted
• One smashed box of tissues
• A bottle of Resolve Carpet Cleaner (we have carsickness issues)
• Approximately 800 plastic grocery bags (see above)
• Six reusable grocery bags (which are mysteriously not in the car when I’m actually grocery shopping)
• A collection of CD’s that includes the soundtracks to Curious George and Cars
• At least one pound of dropped Goldfish, pretzels, Cheerios, cartoon-themed gummies, and Teddy Grahams
• Various cords to hook up a DVD player or computer to the van’s semi-functional entertainment system
• Bits of forgotten Happy Meal toys
• The “coolest sticker ever” from the dentist office

            I realized that even if I weren’t driving something so typically “mommy-ish”, the contents of the vehicle would give away its mommy-mobile status.  I wonder how long it will take before my snappy new vehicle will take on the state of the mommy-mobile. At the moment only things on the floor of my SUV are floor mats. The only things in the back seat are booster seats.  I wonder how long it be before I arrive at a destination with Jack Johnson’s “Three is a Magic Number” blasting from the speakers and an avalanche of discarded candy wrappers and forgotten matchbox cars pour out when we open the door.  

Goodbye Mommy-mobile. We had some great times together.