Introduced my son to the joys of Barney music.
Had a Barney CD stuck in it, along with a penny, a dime and a calling card.
Brought two children home from the hospital.
Brought one of them back to the hospital again and again, sometimes in a hurry.
Had my first car accident.
And my second.
Went through the drive thru a million times.
Spilled french fries a million times.
Was barfed in.
Stranded me on the side of the road.
Stranded me right near the fabric store.
Drove us to California.
And the Dakotas.
Only had one working window.
Had crayon melted in one seat and a milk dud in another.
Brought us to football practice (again and again and again and again)
Was only washed a handful of times.
Spent a lot of time in the shop.
Didn't have many original parts.
Used a quart of oil for every tank of gas.
Had 172,328 miles on it the last time I saw it.
That minivan has a new life now - it was likely an organ donor, but it's not mine anymore. As sentimental as I might seem here, I'm not at all. Except when the kids start talking bad about it, I feel a little protective, like someone's talking bad about an ex-boyfriend who you're still fond of, but you're totally over.
No need to be mean, kids, just because we've upgraded boyfriends.