Well, it's official, I can never ever be cool again. Ever. Again.
Of course, that presupposes I ever actually was cool. I'm pretty certain I must have been though because do you know what I was voted my senior year of high school? Well, I'll tell you. "Best Personality," AND "Best Sense of Humor." What is that if not C-O-O-L? Oh, alright, who am I kidding. Those awards were quite the honor, but they are only a step under "Most Likely to Succeed" in their coolness ranking, which means, quite frankly, not cool at all. Nice? Yes. Better in the long run? Why certainly, but cool? Nooooo. If you want to prove coolness by the senior bests votes, you know darn well that you would have had to be voted:
a) Best Looking or
b) Best Pockets (Which of course is complete Greek to me . . . I have no idea what that means . . . oh alright, I do. I know because my older brother was voted, "Best Pockets" and I, in my youthful innocence, was shocked to hear what that meant -- and that there was an award for it in high school! He was cool though, so, you see my point).
Even if the other categories had been enough to classify one as "cool," I have no real proof I ever received the awards at all. No proof but my word and two tiny paper weight plaques lost somewhere in my parents' attic. There was a big scandal with the year book staff trying to choose finalists with no preliminary voting. Then there was an uproar from the enraged student body. In the end, the votes were done how they should be with the outcome being that the yearbook staff angrily sent the yearbooks off to be made with the Senior Bests excluded.
So, maybe I have never been cool, but any allusions of coolness I may have retained have now been squashed. I know it's fruitless now. And you'll know too . . . just as soon as you see these pictures:
Yes. That is a full size van. Full. Size. I just lost all of my young cool readers permanently with those last three sparse sentences. (And these pics are the best we could do with cars parked on either side and Goldie as the photographer).
Even Mike's brother said (when Mike mentioned getting a roof rack or "cool" rims) that it was just like "putting lipstick on a pig."
It seats 12. That means our family plus a whole other family of 5! 7 + 5. 6 and 6. 10 and 2 more.
Mike has always wanted one. ALWAYS. He does think it's cool. He thinks it is the coolest thing he's ever owned. Maybe because he's cool enough to handle it. (In fact, this minute he just said something about his van and I think I heard the words "hot" and "best purchase we ever made").
Anywho, despite my pride making me want to hide when I drive it (which, let's face it -- is impossible), I actually did love being in it tonight with the kids. They have been squashed up close to me in that truck for the past 2 1/2 years. I can never even hear myself think as I drive. But tonight . . . oh tonight . . . they mostly wanted to sit on the back row. I couldn't even hear them! It was dreamy. For all I know they were screaming and crying their heads off for the whole drive. AND, oh how Daisy and Goldie usually whine about who is touching who when we drive. Now, not one kid even has to sit directly by another kid! What? Plus, we've never had even one extra seat to cart a friend or cousin along with us. Now, as I mentioned, we have FIVE extra seats.
So, there are some perks to having just gone from a girl who could pass for 20-something (maybe -- if the viewer were generous and didn't quite do their math in accounting for all my kids) to a motherly 48 year old. And don't get me wrong about being a mother. I love being a mother, but mother is a very different word from mother-ly.
But, before you mock, consider that you might not want to burn any bridges. One day you and your band might need a ride to your latest gig and who will you call? Me and my van. Actually, let's call it Mike's van. You might need to call me and my husband's van.