changes

We made some changes this past weekend.In the garage.

I no longer have my beloved white Civic. I no longer drive a 5-speed with pleasure and delight, feeling the control of my car in the palm of my hand. I can no longer feel the wind from the sun-roof. I will no longer ride the curves close to the ground. And I will no longer be getting over 30 miles to the gallon.

Oh, no. I’ve traded down (or up, depending on your perspective). I’ve joined the ranks of those I never thought I’d join. I am now working to shake the stigma off my shoulders and know we made a wise choice for us right now. I mourn my loss, but we don’t have a car payment anymore, and that makes everything better. My new wheels are a year older, and not the Honda I am so die-hard loyal to, but some friends sold it to us, so we know it’s in good shape despite the miles.

I am now (gasp, shudder, stall…) a “mini-van mom”.
Sigh.

It’s a dark green 2001 Dodge Grand Caravan Sport.
I love the space, I love the cushy, deluxe driver’s seat, and I love the fact we will do oh-so-much-better on a few road trips we have planned this summer. My son’s booster seat no longer cramps him tightly into the car. The bin of travel-toys no longer takes up leg room. It drives smooth and is much easier to handle than I anticipated.

But I really hate the stigma.

The funny part is, the friends we bought it from upgraded to a newer, less miles, Honda Odyssey. And she misses her old Dodge, feeling sentimental and attached; she’s finding it hard to adapt to automatic doors, different features and a color that’s not her vehicle-color-preference. I guess change is simply an adjustment, no matter how you look at it.