Baby boomers take a lot of good-natured ribbing about being fuddy-duddies. Take one of my favorite commercials, Dr. Rick with Progressive Insurance, on “unbecoming your parents.”
His funny and clever clues for new homeowners to see if they are becoming their parents rings true. If you have too many pillows on the couch, try to fix leaky plumbing or can’t pronounce “quinoa,” you could be in trouble.
I seldom recycle a sturdy cardboard box because that box will be good for something one day. I turned shoeboxes into a holder for gravy and taco packets, and I covered a few with wrapping paper to hold small toys.
The latest item to come under fire is the minivan. A minivan owner might as well walk around with a sign around his or her neck proclaiming “I’m a nerd.”
Rubbish.
I’m here to sing the praises of the bashed minivan or, as it’s often called, “The Mom Car.”
We purchased a minivan the second year they came out. We had three children: two toddlers in car seats, and a third grader who played sports.
Our sedan was too small and it was almost impossible to get a third child in the middle of the back seat without kids climbing over the seats and punching each other.
When I saw how the side doors opened on the minivan and how easy it was for the kids to climb in by themselves, I was sold.
Let’s not even talk about backing up or parallel parking. With the spacious window of the minivan and the height of the seat, I could see everything all around me.
The minivan fit my personality. My wardrobe back then was Mom jeans and a T-shirt, sweat pants and a T-shirt or shorts and, you guessed it, a T-shirt.
A recent article crucified women who dressed like that, and I felt bad for the thousands of moms out there who are lucky to get out of the door with their shirt on the right way when they’re trying to balance kids, snacks, an oversized purse and car keys.
In a minivan, it didn’t matter if the vehicle was filled with toys, pillows and empty juice packets. It also didn’t matter if you wore your pajamas or the kids had on just a diaper and slippers because minivans were invented for the mom who used her shirt to wipe her kid’s nose. Minivans, I salute you.
While we’re at it, here’s to plastic containers that do triple duty. Not only do they hold Cool Whip or soft-spread margarine, these plastic containers are perfect for leftovers. Sure nobody knows what’s in them, but that’s part of the fun of leftover night – mystery meals.
There’s no way I’m recycling a plastic container until I’ve reused it at least three times. In fact, they’re perfect for holding the extra ketchup packets from fast-food joints.
The red plastic bottles don’t reflect how much ketchup is in the container, so I’d usually pull the bottle out and find one of the boys had put an empty bottle back in the refrigerator rather than go to the trouble of throwing it away.
Ketchup packets to the rescue, and I knew they were in the old Cool Whip bowl in the pantry.
I love my imitation-leather purse with a dozen pockets on the inside, the mismatched plates and bowls in the cabinet, some of which were grocery store specials, and our scuffed-up Pyrex baking dishes.
Even though I don’t have small children and we sold the minivan years ago, I still drive a mini-van style vehicle because I’m basically a nerd mom who morphed into a nerd grandmother.
So here’s to misunderstood minivans, mom jeans and empty Cool Whip containers. Long may you serve the overworked and overtired moms of the world.
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.