Skip to main content

I Might Want a Mini-Van


“All the world is a stage and the men and women merely players”

            Several of my high-school students sat around as we brainstormed ways to move large pieces of lumber and I decided who to take with me on a venue visit.
            “I used to think people who wanted mini-vans were old,” I told my students. “Now I want one.”
One girl, curly-haired and lively looked at me with a, “If you want a mini-van, then you are old expression.”
 I paused. Thinking about arguments as to why I was still a cool, young teacher: a bigger car would allow me to take them all venue viewing; I might want to pick people up from the airport; and a road trip to California must happen. But regardless of the litany of thoughts processing through my mind, it was true. I’d arrived into my thirties, about twice the age and life experience of my students. 

It’s no wonder they think I’m old.
           
**
My little girl is two—and every day more opinions, thoughts, and desires pour in a semi-articulate stream from her tiny mouth. She jumps over cracks in the sidewalk, tucks her dolls or stuffed animals into bed, and daily tries to enforce her will on her big people—mama not papa should buckle her into the car, she’s “got it” when it comes to getting a fresh diaper to change into. And oh! The look of pride, when she points out a letter of the alphabet (mostly incorrect), dances around the living room, or tries to do push-ups. We are the audience of her little stage.

Her and I stand in two very different life places.

Not as often now, my husband and I will look at each other and ask, “Are we really grown-up? Do we really have a kid?”

Yes, somewhere, we crossed some indefinite line that placed us in the next act. But it is not a lesser scene, because it is a later scene. The sparkle of a clean kitchen and the flowers arranged on the table can be as wonderful as Felicity discovering she can lay on her tummy in the bathtub and “go on ehvutures” with mama or papa.

I wouldn’t trade it. The scene I play in now is precious.

So yes, I do want a mini-van. After all, it’s a truth universally acknowledged that two car-seats in my sweet Nissan Sentra, along with groceries or diaper bags is a squeeze of the non-romantic variety.


*She carried this basket on her own and was happy to pose on her stage.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventure Begins Very Early on the Morning of July 15th

Note: In-N-Out is the first place I go when I arrive back in California. The California chain tastes like coming home. My day had been planned. I was going to walk with friends. Have coffee with my mom and a phone date in the evening. Followed by my husband asking, “what should we have for dinner.” And me responding “In-n-Out.” I’ll admit it I did exercise in hopes of expediting the labor process, but as I had been told, “babies will come when they will.” So I laid my plans: Plan A the aforementioned walk etc. and Plan B— Have a baby. When my mom arrived, full of more energy than I’m used to her having (a contrast with my labored lack of energy), it was apparent that Plan B was in effect. We were most definitely not going to coffee. I was going to have a baby. Labor… it’s not fun. Epidurals… they are a wonderful invention. It was late evening. I’d hoped they’d let me push on the 14 th . The history nerd in me was caught by the idea of having a baby on Bastille D...
1 comment
Read more

The Bicycle Onsie is too Small!!

The fabric stretched around Felicity’s little feet and nestled her in a perfect fit. It was the first time I’d put Felicity in a onesie with feet. Up until then, she wore t-shirt onesies that snapped around her diaper. They were light and perfect for the hot summer days. But when nighttime came, Felicity liked to be cuddled and the footsie onsie was the perfect solution. Up until now, all Felicity’s clothes flopped and folded around Felicity’s tiny, baby body. She swam in the extra fabric. This onsie was snug and it fit like it was made for her. She’d wave her little legs and arms and the white fabric with little bicycles printed across its surface stretched with her. I loved putting her into it. Then something happened. It didn’t take long…maybe a couple of weeks. The bicycle onesie was washed following a diaper explosion and the cotton cloth shrunk. But just a little. Felicity’s cheeks and limbs became rounder and her eyes wider. She watched the ceiling fan and figured o...
Post a Comment
Read more

Slaying Giants

Days like this begin when the night before I choose not to sleep, because I must read a few more lines from some news site or scroll one last time through the glowing screen of my iPhone instead of making good on my resolve to read quality literature and journal prior to bed. They continue when I wake up earlier than usual to teach, but finish teaching to realize that my children also went to bed later then they should. So now, everyone’s patience operates like feet hitting a wet spot on a wood floor. Bam. You loose traction. And first one then another is upset and done. That tantrum sparked another melt-down from someone else, and as I try to not join the melt-downs, and instead attempt to be the adult I hazard some words of explanation.  “Your choices impact us all.” I tell one of them.  My children’s choice do change the tenor of the room for good or for ill, but so do my choices. On days of this sort, where nothing is really wrong, other than a strong case of the grumpies...
Post a Comment
Read more