Last night another chapter of life sped away, brake lights lit barely long enough for me to say goodbye. My beloved, sporty, 2-door Accord drove off into the sunset with a new (happy) owner, leaving a more practical, sophisticated cousin, a minivan of the same Honda family, to take up residence in the garage.
As KLR would say… that’s another nail in the coffin.
My dad got me the Accord as a college graduation present. At the time so much of my future was unknown to me (would I find a job? Move across the country? Ever get married?), so I had no reason to go for the practical-yet-hip Jeep that my sister selected the following year. Nope, give me a speedy little silver number with 2 doors. I’d said after my first car – also a 2 door – that I’d always go for 4. But in 2003 the Accord 4 door just wasn’t hip to the flip. So, for about the 3rd time in my life I didn’t go for the practical solution.
In my time with the Accord I found my first job, bought my first house and my life began to take direction. I found a best friend and the man I would marry. I finished grad school (those wheels went to Ashland 2-3 days a week for 3 years and she was still always happy). I took a new job and we bought a new house. It brought home my first baby. Actually, I think it brought home my second as well, and drove us through KFC for a bucket of chicken on the way.
But the 2-door, can’t-fit-a-car-seat sportiness just isn’t practical for a continually growing family. Kids bump their head getting in and out. Husbands curse the seat that won’t move forward enough to get the latch snapped. And come third child, it will be necessary to Divide and Conquer, so our current strategy of “the pilot goes with whoever has the kids” is out – we’ll both almost always have at least one. Because they all 3 won’t fit in the cart at Kroger (well, not if we actually want to add groceries as well).
So we made the purchase (we’re very happy with our find), made the sell (the new owners seemed very happy as well) and our life will continue to progress as one that owns more cup holders than family members. Sleek looks traded in for slick remote-opening doors (oh, are they are slick!).
Part of me wants to shed a tear of self-pity as I continue to fall deeper into the black hole of familyhood that is clearly Uncool. We all know that I’ve never been one to be overtly cool. The top 5 adjectives to describe me don’t include trendy, hip or cultured. In fact, my approach has always been one to stay just above the mark of average, enough to keep my nose dry, but far enough behind to buy last year’s trend on the sale rack. Case in point: my clothes selection strategy has always centered around shoe choice, namely, what can I put on that will match running shoes or flip flops?
So my tragic fall from coolness isn’t such a steep slope; rather, it’s more like missing that bottom stair. Enough to hurt your pride if you know someone’s looking. However, I know I’m a klutz, so my attitude moving forward is now to simply Own It.
I am who I am, and that includes wife and mother. Those roles require a sense of practicality if one wants to also remain sane. I also can’t wear skinny jeans or those teeny-tiny headbands to keep my flyaways out of my eyes. Low-support flat shoes pose a problem for extended wear. I don’t have an overt musical talent and my stride is more of a gallop or a lope rather than real running. I interrupt people when they’re talking and breath through my mouth.
All of these aren’t social graces that others vie for; I’m sure someone at Glamour magazine just puked in their mouth reading my flaws. But I’ll own them. It’s just part of the package deal of Me. And now, all of those uncool traits will show up in a minivan.
A kick-ass minivan, I might add.