More Minivan Woes

There’s something about buying a used minivan that makes your shoulders slump down.  Maybe it’s because minivans are never “lightly used”.  It’s like buying a donkey and expecting it to be sprightly and have a straight back.  These things are made for carrying children who often treat vehicles like roofed playhouses, spraying food and dirt in all directions and scratching and staining every surface in reach.  Even with meticulous cleaning the used, excuse me, pre-owned, minivans we’ve been looking at put me in mind of what the velociraptor transport cage must’ve looked like in the beginning of Jurassic Park.  And maybe it’s the dated styling of the vehicles we’ve been looking at but this whole process feels like buying somebody else’s worn-out car.  It’s the vehicle purchasing equivalent of using a public toilet and finding the seat still warm.  Just…ugh.

My wife, as practical as she is, said she doesn’t feel any emotion about the used minivans we’ve looked at and I agree with her.  If you’re going to make the second largest purchase of your life, behind the house, you should at least be excited about what you’re buying.  Would you rather get a gourmet meal at a French restaurant or a fifty-pound bag of generic Human Kibble?  I know we’re willing to forgo a lot of style and coolness with a minivan but isn’t there anything to get excited about out there?  Some kind of shuttle that can move eight people and also have some character, some angular style, some gravitas?  What I really want is this:

 

Foraging and Bad Haircuts

My boy learns quickly.  On his regular wagon rides around the yard and garden, in which he thrusts his arm forward like a Roman charioteer, we often stop to pick fresh strawberries.  Now when I put him down to roam free he wanders over to the strawberry patch, fans his fingers through the leaves in search of ripe berries, then plucks the best ones off and eats them.  Though I try to wash off the dust and slug trails he usually eats them before I can play Nervous Nellie, so he’s building up his immune system.  More importantly, he’s learning that the garden is a place to find food and nothing, nothing, tastes like a fresh strawberry.

Okay, okay, let’s talk about his haircut.  I trimmed his hair last week with the clippers, just the sides and back.  That was challenging enough, as he constantly twisted and squirmed to get down, and his hair is like gossamer that dodges the clipper gates and shows every single mistake.  It was like shearing a sheep on the run.  Then I figured I’d trim his bangs a little since they were almost at his eyes.  I’ll try to explain that I was cutting his bangs as I held him in front of me and was leaning over upside-down and trying to cut a straight line and not skewer his eyeball with the scissors.  As a result I *may* have taken a bit too much off.  Now he looks like a medieval monk or someone recently returned from lobotomy surgery.  I think the required accessories for this haircut are orthopedic pants and a crash helmet.  My wife was, after a mandatory cooling-down period, displeased with my barbering skills.  I still think I can handle the clipper cuts but may leave his bangs alone for now.  Learn from my mistakes!

Relinquishing Manhood

Ever since the car crash we’ve been driving around a rental car and trying to figure out what kind of car to buy.  Oh, I know, First World Problems, but we hadn’t been planning on buying a car and haven’t come up with a budget for it.  Here’s the point where I admit I still think of myself as a somewhat hip adult with taste and a modicum of concern about appearance.  Even though we have two kids, my wife and I have made a blood pact, Bowie-knife-and-bloody-handshake-style, to never ever own a minivan.  It’s reasonable to have a five-seater car when your family is four people.  It is reasonable to want a vehicle that is capable, stylish, and doesn’t look like a beached manatee.  It is unreasonable to think you can find said vehicle then start adding conflicting and non-negotiable qualifiers:  it must have a third row of seats but be easy to parallel park, those seats must be accessible and split-folding, it must be high up for visibility but easy to get into, it must get good gas mileage but also have plenty of power when loaded with people and cargo and climbing up the side of a mountain, it must have quality build and be inexpensive, and must have a nice exterior color.  Based on our criteria, my wife and I want an aqua blue $1000 electric bus that can change shape like the double-decker in Harry Potter.

In the last week our wish list has rammed up against the wall of reality like a rocket sled fired into a concrete abutment.  We’ve looked at the Volvo XC90, the Kia Sorrento, the Honda Pilot, the Mazda CX-9, the Toyota Highlander, and even what my wife thought was a Toyota Rav4 with third-row seating at a local dealer which turned out to be a Honda CR-V with an aftermarket seat bolted in the back which was actually at a dealership a hundred miles away.  It’s like fishing by standing in a pond and slapping your arms around hoping to stun the exact fish you want.

Add in the delusion that you can go car shopping with a five-year old and a toddler, both of whom want to leave dirty footprints all over the inside of a brand new car with cream-colored calfskin seating before bursting into tears because they are moved from one carseat to the next without ANY snack, and you can see why we’re considering going native and walking everywhere like pilgrims.

Enter the minivan.  It’s like the practical friend that waits in the wings as you go through one horrible girlfriend after another.  Sure, it’s not flashy, it disappears in a crowd, and it confronts you with the reality that you’re not as hip as you thought.  But it carefully knocks down every objection with the patience of a Tibetan monk.  Ease of getting in and out?  It’s like stepping onto a Swiss train.  Third-row seating?  Three husky adults can sit side-by-side without their sweaty arms touching.  Features?  How about electric doors and more storage than a container ship.  Flexibility?  The seats fold up like eager-to-please contortionists.  Every argument against the minivan sounds vain and childish when given voice, then withers under the bright glare of practicality.  Cost, safety, reliability, convenience, these things matter.  Coolness?  How much is that really worth?

[sigh]  So why do I expect to feel like a deferential eunuch when I’m sitting at a stoplight in this thing and some cool guy pulls up and…see, I can’t even finish the sentence.  Coolness just doesn’t matter that much.  Fine, minivan, YOU WIN!  Now the Manhood Alliance can come claim my membership card.

 

Calming Down for Bedtime

I think it’s important for children to ease into a nighttime routine with gentle calm and lulling quietude.  A warm bath, books read in a soft voice, and then tender kisses before being tucked in under a cozy blanket, that’s how we do things in our house.  Last night, Child Harbat got to play a role in getting Number Two calmed down for bed.  The children had eaten dinner and the settling of nerves so the digestive process can operate in peace was foremost on my daughter’s mind as she transitioned her young brother into slumber mode.  Take a deep breath, sit back, and be careful you don’t drift off to dreamland as you see this video of our nighttime calm-down ritual.

 

Be a Prince/Princess of Baking

“Oh, I can’t bake, it’s too complicated.  I can hardly make toast.”  NO!  No excuses!  If my five-year old daughter can make these little yogurt cups, you can too.  And everyone will be impressed and you can proclaim yourself prince or princess of baking and march around the kitchen with a rolling pin scepter.  Let’s get started:

• ¾ cup flour
• ¼ cup softened butter
• 3 tablespoons of powdered sugar
• 2-3 teaspoons of cold water
• 1-1/2 cups of Greek yogurt
• ¼ teaspoon of vanilla
• 1 tablespoon of honey
• Fresh berries for garnish

 

Preheat the oven to 375°.  Mix the butter, powdered sugar, and flour until the mixture is crumbly, then slowly work in the water until dough forms.  You may spill some powdered sugar on the floor, no one will notice.  Spread this dough in four equal parts into ungreased muffin tins with your fingers, making mini pie crusts that reach right to the top of the tin.  Extra points for visible fingerprints in the dough.  Bake for 15 minutes or until the crusts are golden.  While they are baking, mix together the yogurt, vanilla, and honey.  When the crusts are done, remove from the tin and let them cool completely, then fill with a dollop of the yogurt and top with a berry.  This is the easiest mini-pie you’ll ever make!  All hail Princess Baker!

A Day for Mothers

After the events of last week, the basic principles of life and family have been on my mind a lot.  I’ve written a lot about parenting over the last six hundred and sixty blog posts, but one of the things that sticks with me is the fundamental changes in the brain of a parent when you have children.  There’s something about being the alpha and omega for your child, the one who feeds, clothes, bathes, loves, and protects them that alters your very core self.  This applies to biological and adoptive parents alike.  With such enormous responsibility and invested love comes a sacrifice of self.  It has been wonderful and amazing to see my wife transform as we’ve had our two kids.  I always knew she would be a great mother.  Early in our relationship we bought a small rabbit as a pet and when we brought her home, she was scared and soiled her feet.  My wife washed her off, speaking gently and reassuring her, practicing her innate mothering skills.  Now ten years later she has put those mothering skills to great use, caring for two children and sharing in their joy, sorrow, and laughter.

How do you repay or value this sacrifice?  I’ve always been frustrated with Mother’s Day because it tries to concentrate all the thanks, hugs, and admiration into one day.  It isn’t enough, and whatever you do isn’t enough.  The mothers in my life, from our friend who shepherded together three children after the accident last week, to my wife, to my own mother, have given up so much of themselves so their children can blossom from healthy and fertile ground, deserve so much more than a card and some gifts.  I try to say “thank you” and “I love you” all year so whatever shortcomings on Mother’s Day can be taken in aggregate with twelve months of heartfelt appreciation.

I’ve learned that the most dangerous and beautiful and fearsome creature on earth is a mother protecting its young—you never hear about the dangers of getting between a father bear and its cubs.  I’ve learned that the most beautiful and vibrant women are often holding the hands of little ones half their size.  I’ve learned that strength is being able to hold a child in one hand and bags of groceries in the other while talking on the phone and unlocking a car.  I’ve learned that patience is a mother whose child wants to do gymnastics while nursing.  And I’ve learned that a mother’s love is one of the fundamental forces of the universe—brilliant and unstoppable.

CH curtsies on Mother’s Day

Miracle of Life

I can’t believe I have to write this again but my daughter has survived another emergency this week.  Just two days after her car accident and ride to the hospital, Child Harbat was again in an ambulance after a horrific accident.  This time she was walking home from school with her best friend and accompanied by her friend’s mother and younger brother.  This happens almost every day, as this family is our best friends and the girls have known each other from birth.  This day was like any other until a young inexperienced driver with no learner’s permit or license spilled a drink in her car.  This caused her to get distracted, swerve the car, hit a fire hydrant, run up on the sidewalk, and plow into this group of three children and mother.  Child Harbat ran like a little bunny and dove out of the way of the car.  The car struck the other two children and then began every parent’s worst nightmare as a blur of emergency services, doctors, and specialists rushed to stabilize the children.  Both children are okay, one with much more serious injuries than the other.  I won’t say more for respect for the family’s privacy, but it is a miracle that all the children are alive.

I don’t think I’ll share more information on this, as it has become a news story in town and everything is too raw to discuss.  Child Harbat is fine apart from some scrapes.  Of the mental injury in being part of such a horrific accident I can’t say.  Having gone twice in three days to the emergency room she now has two identical teddy bears given by EMTs from the same station, as the accidents only occurred within three blocks of each other.  When I went to the accident scene last night I cried to see how close it had been for our daughter, how little space and time there must’ve been for her to escape an oncoming car.  No child should have to run from a car on the sidewalk.  No mother should have to watch as this kind of thing happens.  Here is the scene:

I wouldn’t want to calculate the odds of such a thing happening but it makes me glad this week is almost over.  I am thankful for our friends and for their children’s survival of this, I’m thankful for my daughter and her fast and clever reflexes, I’m thankful the accident was across the street from a fire station and EMTs were on the scene in seconds.  I’m thankful for the bystanders who lifted the car off our friends’ daughter.  And I’m thankful we all get to live to see another day.