My Minivan, My Self

I’ve never been one of those people who sees their car as a sartorial extension of their identity. Because then I would be a silver minivan — great for long road trips and hauling a team of soccer players, not so great for the ego.

But a few weeks ago,  as I was driving up to San Francisco to visit a prospective grad school, I noticed something. The odometer in my van had flipped over 100,000. Just a few miles south of Junipero Serra’s pointing finger, I looked down and noticed it had flipped some 37 miles ago. Maybe even the day before.

While I am not one to link my ride with my identity (sorry, Swagger Wagon admakers. No amount of funny commercials will make a minivan swagger-worthy!) the symbolism of began to feel very significant to me.

Let’s start at the beginning of my minivan’s life. This van was several years old when we bought it to replace my previous car, a Honda Accord. Which was sad, because that  was my first “real” car — one that had no owner before me, which I picked out, right down to the color (Emerald Pearl) on the dealer lot.  But by the time the Accord reached the ripe old age of five, we came to the realization that two toddlers in Britax Marathons didn’t fit so well into the backseat.

My van rolled off the assemblyline the same year my first child was born. So if we had taken the plunge right away, as some couples do, that would have been the make of van we would have bought.

With my second — and youngest — child starting kindergarten this fall, I feel a seismic shift in my life. I am no longer the “Young” or “New” mom. I have no use for baby product reviews, Mommy and Me groups, or stroller-exercise classes. Welcome to the life of School Age Moms: soccer practice, PTA, and yes, maybe even aspirations that don’t have anything to do with my children.