The
Mommymobile died Friday morning in Olney, Maryland, following a long battle
with transmission problems and complications of emissions system failures. It
was twelve and a half years old. It had the grace to die peacefully in front of
our own house so we didn’t cause an accident or get stuck in the cold or miss
the school talent show on Thursday.
We got
the Mommymobile, a 2001 Honda Odyssey in gray that looked like every other gray
Honda Odyssey in the carpool line, on the day before 9/11. I remember driving
it around in stunned silence the following day, thinking how messed up the
world was. The whole planet was in tears, yet I was cruising around in a lovely
new vehicle.
We
brought our third child, Matthew, home from the hospital in the
Mommymobile. And when he was just a baby,
during the days of the D.C. snipers, I remember the morning that a landscaper
down the block kicked up a stone with his string trimmer, and it shattered the
Mommymobile’s window next to the baby. I remember screaming. We were certain we’d
been shot at. I remember shaking the broken glass off him and crying. Not a
scratch on him, although his little sleeper was full of pellets of safety
glass.
You could
fit a lot of kids in the Mommymobile. Over the years, we drove around parts of
more than twenty soccer, lacrosse and basketball teams. I estimate, and it is a
conservative estimate, that together, the Mommymobile and I made the trip to
Sandy Spring Friends School more than 5,060 times. Together, we survived years
of Memorial Day camping trips. It was a great place to sit and drink wine while
the lightning flashed and the tent leaked.
We
taught my son, Sean, to drive in the Mommymobile. It ferried around my grandma and my mom, who
are both gone. I wish every day my mom was there with me, riding shotgun. Mom
and Grandma were amazed at my van’s size and comfort. They declared it was like
an airplane. Perhaps they are cruising around in it in Heaven. Grandma’s riding
shotgun. They are probably in the drive-thru of a celestial Arby’s right now.
I have
heard friends say they would never drive a minivan. That was a line they would
not cross; it was one step too unsexy for them. (Yet these were people who
would willingly drive station wagons! Who can understand the thoughts of man?)
I loved my minivan. I embraced its boring reliability. I tried to bring out its
best self with aromatic braids of sweetgrass and sachets of sage and pine. I
tried to keep the smelly soccer cleats in the wayback. If you removed the seats
you could fit a huge amount of stuff in there: many bikes, skanky fishing
tackle, large IKEA boxes, guitars and amps, crates and crates of horse-related
paraphernalia.
We put
the best bumper stickers on it we could find, and as many as we could find. Those
bumper stickers got us dirty looks from New Jersey to Kentucky. They got our side
panels keyed. They got the tail light smashed, right here in Olney. They got me
verbally abused in traffic and once, followed into the grocery store and
hassled in the dairy aisle. I stand by my bumper stickers! Yes, I DO have more
foreign policy experience than Sarah Palin, actually! And more: “You can no
more win a war than you can win an earthquake—Jeannette Rankin.” “Blessed are the peacemakers—Jesus of
Nazareth.” “Montana Girl—Don’t be fooled by the pink.”
I drove
the Mommymobile to the radiologist’s office the morning I found out I have
cancer. I sat in that van in the parking lot and sobbed until I stopped shaking
enough to drive home. I drove it to each chemotherapy session, although of
course John always had to drive us home, because I’d be hallucinating by then.
It was a comfortable van to pass out in. And it practically learned to drive
itself to Sibley Hospital in DC, where we went daily for six weeks for
radiation treatments.
I have
to decide what I will drive now. That is hard, because when I bought the minivan
I knew exactly who and what I was, and I am not that person anymore. Is it time
for my midlife-crisis vehicle now? A
sexy convertible? I could more easily see myself in a big old Ford pickup, but
that would only lead to a gun rack and a big dog. My kid says I should get a
Volt; that would be best for the environment. But,you know, I want something
that is going to be fun to drive and not a pain in the ass. I am kind of tired
of driving what I “should” drive and leaning more toward what I “want” to
drive. Hell if I know what that is. But I am collecting bumper stickers for it
already.
