Torn

Yesterday, on the way to the doctor’s office, my torn mind contemplated two possibilities. You see, my mother was visiting and had parked her minivan behind me. To make things easier, Savannah and I jumped in her car and headed off for my yearly check-up.

One minute into the drive alarms began to sound in my head. This is comfortable. This is practical. I gasped at the horror! My eyes wondered around the breeder-mobile and every amenity a mom could want surrounded me. It began with putting Savannah into her car seat. It was the same height as me! This was not like the giant SUVs where you have to climb up Mount Everest just to put your little tike in it’s seat. I simply extended my arms straight in front on me and buckled her in. In natural order, I got in my own seat and tried to start the car. It wouldn’t start. In the process of loading the toy bag to entertain Savannah in the doctor’s office, I had absentmindedly left the door open. No problem, just hit a button and it closes by it’s self.

My mental list began to grow with the numerous airbags, window shades, cup holders, and space…ah, the space. But wait, I am not a carpool, lunchable-eating, haven’t done my hair in days, soccer mom! I am “stilettos and foie gras in Paris.” The mini van is the ultimate in saying “I am NOT stilettos and foie gras in Paris!” And besides, I like my cute, little, save-the-world, gas efficient Scion. It’s new (or it was when I bought it the year they came out) and spunkier. But, oh those minivan amenities…

In a utopia a minivan would be trendy and I would be in the driver’s seat with stilettos, MAC make-up, and the infamous little black dress. Mark would be in the passenger seat consoling Savannah that we will be at the restaurant soon and then she could have all the foie gras she wanted when we get there. The floors and seats would be void of cracker crumbs and remnants of dried cranberries and Savannah would be watching a documentary about the Amazon and Manchu Pichu on the DVD player.

But back in the real world stilettos and moms must struggle to coexist while Little Einstein’s plays in the background in lu of an exotic documentary. Let’s face it, I need those mom amenities and stilettos don’t work well on the monkey bars at the park. But I’ll adorn the MAC make-up and settle for a trendy, fitted, and slightly cleavage enhancing outfit for now while the stilettos are relegated to Friday nights and Sunday mornings. And lunchables are out of the question for myself and Savannah no matter what vehicle we choose!

As for the minivan…will I buy one? Not anytime soon (I never say never). Somehow staying with the Scion gives me the sense I have cheated the “mom look” even if it is only in my own eyes ;)