Minivan Mama

Yes, I'm a mama with a minivan.

Did you hear that? Should I say it louder?

I'M A MAMA WITH A MINIVAN.

Mine is periwinkle.

I've never quite understood the aversion to the mama minivan. The minivan has become some kind of symbol of the iconic self-absorbed, competitive, shallow suburban "soccer mom" that left-of-center mamas love to hate.

Except that minivan aversion seems to me to be as superficial as a sports car obsession. It's really the same thing, isn't it? An impulse to treat objects as a meaningful part of our self-definition (when it's our own car). And when it's someone else's car, to treat it as a reflection of their inner selves -- particularly their shortcomings.

But really -- it's just a car. And it's a damn convenient car, too.

Maybe it's because I can't help but to put the practical over the principle (especially when the principle of minivan aversion seems so irrational), but I love my minivan. It's comfortable -- you sit up, instead of reclining at an uncomfortable angle. I can get my kids in and out of it without banging their heads on the car ceiling. I can pack it with groceries and toys and even newly purchased furniture. It's easy to drive and great for long trips.

And no, I don't drive my kids to soccer games. I don't live in the suburbs. I'm pretty left-of-center myself.

I think there is some kind of feeling that mamas who drive minivans have subjugated themselves to their kids, that their primary identity is "mom," that they've forgotten how to be cool and ended up in the kind of fuddy-duddy car that grown ups drive. (Query: is the minivan aversion related to that resistance so many people of my generation have to being considered one of the Grown Ups?) But I have to confess that I think the real fuddy-duddies are the ones who think that objects are a meaningful form of self-expression, or that they ought to be a distillation of one's life philosophy.

It's just a car. Really.

Squeaker in Motion

Because the squeaker is always in motion, most of our pictures of him look like this:



Believe it or not, he was centered in the frame when I pushed the button to take the picture.
















Here are my boys:

Sybil Squeaker

I don't know if it's because we made good choices for the squeaker (no TV) or if it's just part of his nature, but I'm proud to say that he has an excellent imagination. He can immerse himself in a creative activity for hours at a time.

It does make me think a bit of that Calvin and Hobbes strip in which Calvin's mom observes him playing and fondly comments to his dad that he has quite the imagination -- and then the strip focuses on Calvin's game, which is really about giant dinosaurs stomping all over some metropolis, or something equally grim. And indeed, sometimes when I look closely at the squeaker's games, I'll see a plastic antelope on its side surrounded by lions and tigers, or a baby koala in the mouth of a huge rubber crocodile. Yikes. (And if I tell him I feel sorry for the baby koala, he says, "That's just life, mama. That's how nature is. Crocodiles need to eat, too.")

His vivid imagination also means that when we go to the playground, he bounds up to other boys and introduces himself as "Daisy the Dragon" or Celeste or some other book character, nearly always female. The other parents' brows furrow a bit as they watch him leaping around and asking everyone to call him Daisy.

Today, his imagination created one of our more surreal moments. He was "Miss Suzy," a little squirrel who likes to cook and clean (and the main character in one of his books). Miss Suzy was making me lunch and cake in her special little kitchen. And apparently, Miss Suzy had also invited the squeaker himself.

This meant that "she" ran off into the other room shouting the squeaker's name -- keep in mind that this means the squeaker was calling his own name to get himself (I'm getting all confused about the grammar here) to join us for lunch. After he called his name, he answered himself affirmatively, and then he -- er, she? -- appeared in the room again and sat down in Miss Suzy's seat. When I expressed some confusion about whether the squeaker was actually going to join us, he fetched a container of toys and set them on the squeaker's seat. Then he told me that HE was Miss Suzy, and the container was the squeaker (to whom he referred in the third person).

Whew. It can be tough to keep up with such a large household and its many species...

Dinner Conversation

The Squeaker, who has a heap of broccoli and zucchini on his plate: "My poopies have been really green lately."

Before Mama and Papa can recover from that announcement, he continues: "I believe it's because of what I've been eating."

Pause.

"Too much green stuff."

By now, Papa has recovered. "Like broccoli and zucchini?"

"Yes," says the Squeaker. "Maybe I shouldn't eat them."

Yikes. Maybe not, if it means dinner conversation like that...