Monday, January 28, 2013


Or so I keep telling myself

So close to the ground with doors that slide,
Tears of laughter over you I've cried.
Not quite a bus, but much more than a car,
Your bumper laced with stickers claiming, "My kid's a star!"

From the perch of my Jeep, I hauled my kids to school,
Only 14 MPG…but still ever so cool.
While you in your van, looking Old Mother Hubbard,
No doubt going to Wal-Mart to restock your cupboard.

From the ball field to dance class,
The grocery and work,
"It's just transportation,"
Oh please…don't be a jerk.
Your car is your identity, it defines your style.
At least so I thought for a good long while.

My road to acceptance was long and grueling,
And almost as painful as the constant refueling.
"I can't get a van! I can't, no I won't!"
Until that day when my back I near broke.

My dilemma, the fifty-eight pounder I call Becca Boo,
She can't climb into her booster the way other kids do.
With limited leg room and out-swinging doors,
I was heaving, and hefting--it's no easy chore.

So after much research and some tears over beers,
I made the decision I've been fighting for years.

Practicality over appearance,
Function over fun.
I've got myself a minivan,
My SUV days are done.

So goodbye Jeep Commander, hello Honda Odyssey.
I look forward to smooth sailing road trips,
and ample room for the ENTIRE freaking family.

Actual photo taken on our trip to Yosemite two years ago. My sister still has her Commander. I am now forced to get my cool from her. (Please don't tell her I said that)