I'm rollin'....

But not in a 5.0.

Apparently, I'm not as cool as Vanilla Ice.

Isn't that a sad thought...

No, these days, I roll in a mini-van.

Few things stir my emotions like my attachments to my cars. I loved my first car -- a black Mustang. I was IN LOVE with my second car -- a shiny new red Mustang -- college graduation gift from the parents. I still get butterflies when I think back to the smell of that new car -- my first brand new automobile -- and the feel of the leather wheel, the clutch beneath my foot, and the smooth transition as I shifted gears.

I love a good five-speed.

My third car, after a crazy redneck in a massive 1980 truck made from freakin' hand-forged steel crushed my beautiful red Mustang like that ladybug Ethan smushed on the bathroom window sill, was a Camry.

I hated that car... but it got me where I needed to go. After K. and I had Ethan, we decided it was time to get me a new car. We went out looking for a SUV... and K., knowing my heart as well as myself, had already been out a-lookin.

He steered me to a dealership where they had a huge variety of SUVs... and mentioned a trade-in they had on the lot. He knew it wasn't what we were looking for, but he also knew I'd love it.

And, I did. Not quite two years old. Fire-engine red. Saab 9-3 Turbo. FIVE SPEED. I was sold.

K. was not. Well, at least, not initially.... until I threw a five-alarm temper tantrum right there in the middle of the lot.

Not one of my most proud...or attractive... or mature moments, but I wanted that car.

And I got it. :)

I felt about my Saab the same way I felt about my red Mustang. I loved to drive it. I loved to look at it. I loved to turn the radio up and roll the windows down and cruise down the highway. Just the sight of that beautiful piece of machinery thrilled my soul. I volunteered to drive every where; I made up excuses to go places -- anything to get behind the wheel.

Now, if you've ever been in a smaller medium sized- sedan -- think Camry or Accord, you know there isn't a ton of room.

Especially when you're eight months pregnant... or have two carseats to put in the back. Once I hit about nine months, I started driving Keith's truck. I just couldn't get in and out (or get Ethan in and out) of my car without a struggle. I didn't mind driving his big-A truck, but I teared up every time I walked past my sweet little Saab in the garage.

I knew my time had come.

Shortly after Laney was born, my cousin Paige came to visit... in her new van.

Oh, woe is me.

Paige is one of the most stylish people I've known growing up. She went to the cool high school in town, wore the cool clothes, was in the cool sorority in college... and now she's driving a mini-van.

I stared at her van, mouth open, and she must've read my mind.

"I LOVE it!" she said. "I thought I was too cute to drive a mini-van, but I wouldn't trade it for anything."

I just about cried.

Is this what the world had come to?!?!

I held on as long as I could, but finally, when Laney was about a month old, I knew I was going to have to give up fight and trade my Hot Mom car for something more... sensible.

What comes to mind when you think "sensible"?

I think of my grandmother's "sensible" SAS shoes in lovely colors like "fawn"... of mom hair (the short, permed bouffant that requires little more than wash and go)... of mix-and-match knit separates from Hamerick's.

I'm not a "sensible" kind of gal.

Now, let me interject a little information here. K. was working out of town, so I'm hanging out with my newborn, my three year old, and a fun new c-section scar... and I need to figure something out about a car.

Being the empowered, liberated woman that I am, I decided that I was going to take this big ol' bull by the horns... so I called my dad.

We talked about the situation for quite a while, and he threw out the same comment that he has for years -- "You need to get a mini-van."

I threw out the same comments in return that I always do: "Toad, I will never drive a mini-van. I'll walk with the kids strapped to my back before I drive a mini-van."

He laughed his evil little Toad laugh, and said, "We'll see."

Being a good Toad, he embarked with me on a mission to find a new car for the fam. We hopped from dealership to dealership, test drove SUV after SUV.

I researched and researched. Miles per gallon, interior room, exterior size, accessory packages...

Almost immediately, I realized a mid-size SUV wasn't big enough -- not enough cargo room with the third row up, bench seats instead of captain's chairs -- for what I wanted/needed with two kids and our "stuff." I moved on to large SUVs, only to realize I'd be paying more in gas and insurance than I was total on the two cars we had at the time.

Boo for spending my pitiful educator's paycheck on gas and insurance for one big-A car!

My dad, knowing I'd rather buy shoes than gas, knew where this was heading: the mini-van section of the car lot.

Head hung, heart heavy, I picked out a van that seemed least offensive. The salesman dug up the key and presented it to me solemnly. I opened the van, got in, and surprisingly, didn't turn to stone.

Fastforward a few days. I (very proudly, I might add) haggled an excellent deal on a brand spankin' new MV. My dad and Keith were both amazed, as I had dealers calling left and right trying to beat each other's deals and earn our business. I unloaded my wittle wed car, and drove off into the night with my dad smirking by my side.

I hate it when he smirks when he's right.

I've had the MV (my SUV-sounding name for my Hot Mom Odyssey) for about four months, and Paige, girl, you were right! I LOVE it!

Now, it's taken me this long to be able to get in and out of the van at school or at the store without turning crimson with embarrassment. I've even been "checked out" by the random guy with a mom fetish while stopped at the traffic light. I feel it's my mission to change the image of MVs everywhere!

I'm kidding.

I have been checked out, and I'm finally not quite as embarrassed to get out of the MV or to walk up to it. So far, I've transported massive amounts of volleyball equipment, barbecue and fixings for 100,20 poinsettias, and lots of shopping bags. I packed in four adults and five kids for trick-or-treating. My entire family -- mom, dad, brother, sister-in-law-to-be, husband, and two kids -- went shopping and out to eat.

As much as I loved my little red car, it never could've done all of this.

It's much faster than I thought it'd be, and the sunroof, according to my 13-year old cousin, makes it "cool."

Laney, of course, could care less what we drive as long as she can see her beloved big brother in the seat across the way.

K. loves all the gadgets; he calls it The Transformer. (Yeah, child of the 80s...) The first time he rode in it, he did comment, though, that he wasn't sure which was more embarrassing -- driving the mini-van or riding as a passenger while your wife drives the mini-van. Just remember that, Buddy, the next time you question how much I paid for a pair of shoes! If I'm driving the van, then I can buy whatever I want! A girl has to have some dignity...

Ethan, however, is by far the biggest fan. He loves this van like I loved that red Mustang years ago. In fact, he wanted to be The Van for Halloween.

That's right. Superman and his other action figures weren't good enough; he had to be the van. I finally persuaded him to be Diego, but it was a month-long struggle.

He still invites people to "come look at my van," like it's the coolest thing around. In fact, he used it as a pick up line for this little girl in Target not long ago. At some point, he'll realize that "Hey, wanna ride in my van?" isn't what girls want to hear, but this three-year old floozie was all for checking out his ride.

So, yeah -- I learned all kinds of life lessons, like "Never say never" also applies to mini-vans and "It's not what's on the outside that counts."

I do have to check myself sometimes -- nothing makes people laugh like hearing the strains of JT's "I'm Bringing Sexy Back" coming from the sensible MV cruising by -- but I'm really digging the van.

There.

I said it.

I love my van, and I don't care who knows it!

Take that, Vanilla Ice!

You may be rollin' in your 5.0 with the rag-top down so your hair can blow -- but you can't fit two kids with car seats, a stroller, groceries for the week, golf clubs, 15 poinsettias, your mom, and the rest of your Christmas shopping in that measly little 5.0!

Ha!