When I was 16, my parents purchased one of the first minivans to roll off Detroit's finest lines. Imagine my giddiness at getting to drive a minivan to cruise through McGaggles as a teenager. Luckily for you - my treasured readers - I've been able to retain that sarcasm that I perfected as a 16-year old driving a minivan.
Ten years later, I married The Dad and we commenced to starting a family - all the time swearing we would never own a minivan.
In 2001, I became a Momma and The Dad became a Dad. We purchased a very trendy (and very sucky) SUV, renewing our vows to never drive a minivan.
In 2004, I became a Momma for the second time. Because our sucky SUV was on it's very last tire, we had begun the process of purchasing a new vehicle. Hormones got the best of me, and we were searching for a minivan. As I held my newborn daughter for the first time, the delivery room phone rang and the bank had approved our application for a new car loan. And they sent their congratulations.
When Daughter 2 was 2 days old, I nursed her while sitting on a toilet of a minivan dealer showroom. Three hours later, we drove away in a minivan. Hormones got the best of me again, and I bawled the entire way home. Not because we were driving a minivan. Not because we were a complete family with two beautiful daughters. Not because I was utterly exhausted from giving birth just two days before. I was bawling because by the time we left, The Olive Garden was closed and I was really jonesin' for some salad.
The rest, as they say, is history... or - according to The Dad - hearsay.