Many of us have been there. As we grow our families, we realize we can no longer hide . . . the fact that we drive a minivan. Betsy of Turkey Baster and a Bottle of Wine wrote recently of overcoming her own internalized vanophobia in “Imposter . . . or not.”
She explains that she and her partner have a three-year-old and are expecting twins, necessitating a roomy ride, but “Something about driving a minivan has always indicated the jump to suburban parenthood to me. This leap, in my head, has always equaled death of the hip self one once was.”
My spouse and I have only one kid, so we never went the full minivan route. We have a compact hatchback and a station wagon, the latter because we both camp and like to haul our own shelving home from IKEA. But even the station wagon feels a little stodgy, though it’s diesel-powered and fuel efficient. I understand Betsy’s angst.
Been there yourself? Have any words of wisdom or comfort? Go leave her a comment.
