Good Bye Mini Van, Hello Little Car

Well, it happened as if by magic. Our new car finally arrived.

We talked for months about trading in the van. Every time the conversation began, Birk cried with fits of tears. She loved the van, couldn't we save it for when she learned how to drive?

I didn't have the heart to tell her that there was no way that she would want to be driving this van around in 8 years. That is one of the things that parents just know and kids have to learn.

Her main reason to keep the van? You could eat In and Out in the van and fold down the seats for a private restaurant. For some reason, after all of the cool experiences I've provided for my children, they remember eating in the mini van as a highlight.

We are now squishing into the little car. It is zippy and cute, but it can't hold a candle to a Costco run with the mini van.

Ahhhhh, a chapter has ended. I, as a mom, provide hope to younger moms that they, too, "will someday get rid of the van." At least, this is what they tell me.

Now, every morning, I inhale the yummy new car scent and every morning, my kids complain that their car smells like a rental car.

Who doesn't love the smell of off-gassing? The younger generation, go figure!

The Seat of Death

There are weird terms and phrases I use with my children.  We have our inside jokes that even Daddy can't quite figure out.  One of these is the phrase: seat of death.

I knew this phrase had joined our hall of fame when I asked Ruth to sit in the middle seat of the mini van and she howled, "Why do I always have to sit in the seat of death?"  

When Birk brought home the kindergarten class teddy bear, named Humphrey,  we had to take him everywhere we went.  Photographs were required to document his weekend.  On the way home from school, Birk said, "Mom, could you take a picture of Humphrey in the seat of 

death?"

John was running to the car and yelled, "Last one in gets the seat of death!"

The seat of death was named because we have an old Jeep Cherokee and the middle seat has no shoulder belt.  I asked at the CHPD's car seat inspection clinic, whether it was safer to have my son in the front seat or the middle back seat with just a lap belt.  The officer advised me to put him in the front seat.

From there on, we called it the 'seat of death.'

Unfortunately, with a family of 5, sometimes somebody must sit in the seat of death.  The term has even carried over to the middle of the third row seat in our mini van.  Even if you're a guest, you may have to sit in the seat of death. Sorry, Humphrey, that's how we roll.