I’m not sure anyone ever enters parenthood champing at the bit to own a minivan.
It’s one of those milestones that you accept with resignation more than anything else. Let’s face it: it signifies a marked decline in the sexiness of one’s life.
All that aside, we were incredibly lucky to be given a hand-me-down minivan when we discovered that we were expecting twins. It was a solid workhorse that, despite the abuse that our family of five threw its way, kept plugging on.
Seven years later, we are finally having to retire the old van. As it often goes, there’s just too much work that needs doing — maintenance that would cost more than the value of the van itself.
So in honor of its years of trusty service, I’m sharing a poem from my book that I wrote in its praise. Here’s to the unsexy, crumb-riddled gifts in our lives!