That’s life: Moving beyond the minivan

Last weekend I hit a monumental milestone in my life as a mom. A book closed. An era ended. I sold my minivan.

Maybe I was supposed to use this epic event as an opportunity to look back with wistful nostalgia, to reminisce and sigh over how quickly the years pass. But I didn’t. Instead I grinned and threw my hands in the air to cheer.

Like most moms, for years I listened to well-meaning relatives, acquaintances and strangers admonish me to enjoy each moment because it goes by fast. The advice was usually offered with a touch of yearning and a story or two. But sometimes it carried a tinge of reproach and a complete lack of empathy.

Of course the years fly by. Every mom knows this. But every mom also knows how days can stretch out like a string of taffy, long and sticky.

When your tired toddler throws a temper tantrum in the middle of the grocery store because you had the audacity to take away the container of mustard that those tiny arms miraculously swiped from the shelf when you scooted your cart to the side so another shopper could ponder relish, the days are long.

The aisle of the grocery store is also long if you’re out of milk and almost out of diapers and have a toddler flailing and wailing in your cart. You might skip the rest of the grocery list and endure the stares while grabbing those two items or you might hand that bottle of mustard back because it’s the only way you’re going to get yourself out of the store without throwing a tantrum of your own.

This doesn’t mean you aren’t enjoying your kids when you want days like that to end. It means you’re human.

And let’s be honest. Some days don’t end. Instead, when night falls and the rest of the world calls it a day, your day bleeds into the next morning as you walk the floor with an inconsolable baby or try to comfort and cool a feverish child.

I’ve loved each stage my children passed through and enjoyed countless moments along the way. But I didn’t enjoy every moment. Some I wished away.

When the minivan season arrived, I was thrilled. It was miles ahead of our two-door, low-clearance, high-mileage beater car. Just getting the kids in and out of car seats was a dream by comparison.

And when the kids hit school-age, I was often thankful for a vehicle large enough to cart kids to and from school or practice or rehearsal and have enough space for a couple more so I could carpool.

But my minivan season lasted a little longer than expected. Until last weekend, I’d been driving a mom-mobile for 15 years and five months, not that I was counting. I was too busy strapping children in and out of car seats, carting them to and fro and enjoying the unfettered conversation that often happens when you’re behind the wheel.

Still, that season ended almost two years ago when our middle child got a driver’s license. The seats-seven capacity isn’t convenient when you spend the bulk of your driving alone. My youngest still needs rides but he’s big enough for the front seat and any carpool buddies can fit in a conventional car.

Some say a vehicle shows your personality and status, that it’s a moving expression of who you are and what you value, like a gigantic accessory. If that’s true, my minivan told the world that I had precious cargo, a load of children to get from point A to point B as conveniently, safely and economically as possible. No extra points for style. But that’s not who I am anymore.

Today, I drive a car that says I like to meet friends downtown for dinner and parallel park on the first try. It says I probably don’t have a stinky sippy cup wedged between the cushions. It also says I’m a mom who wants the ability to traverse several snowy mountain passes when my son goes away to college next fall.

But more than anything, it says I’m moving. Because those stages of parenting are only meant for a season and there are good things on the horizon.

Jill Barville can be reached at jbarville@msn.com.