Obligatory Mini Van Post

Yesterday, we got ourselves a brand new mini van. If I ever swore I'd never get a mini van, it was probably years and years ago when I thought I would brush my kids hair every day and cook delicious and healthy meals every night once I was a mom and wife. I didn't fight this purchase (lease) even for a second. I'm not too cool to drive a mini van. I'm not worried about what people will assume about me when they see me pull up. I don't feel older. I'm not concerned that it will be a slippery slope from driving a mini van to wearing high-waisted jeans and joining a Nicholas Sparks book club.

I drive a van now and I feel fine about it, great even.

And why shouldn't I? The van is easily the nicest, most pimped out car I've ever had. NTB. I am vowing that this car won't end up looking like the inside of my purse within a month. I'm going to order those rubber, all weather mats because the dirty footprints the boys have left on the van floor in the past 24 hours are already bugging me. I'm even going to keep a bag for trash between the two front seats like my grandparents used to do. And I am going to try to remember to do a crap and trash sweep when I exit the vehicle (when I'm alone, that is--I firmly believe it is too much to expect a mom to get anything but her children and possibly her perishable groceries safely out of a car on a day-to-day basis). As a sign that the above positive habits may be implemented, I will mention that before driving the mini van to the Jewel this afternoon (my first solo voyage in The Odyssey), I remembered to bring all my reusable grocery bags with me (and left some extras in the back, NTB).

So, that's the story. I have a mini van. I like it and expect that soon I'll love it. It was time. I was ready. End of story.

Gone But Not Forgotten

I rarely have the time, energy, or patience to commit to a watching an entire movie. I just don't. In my twenties, however, I watched movies all the times, often the same ones over and over. Sometimes I sat absorbed and attentive. Other times I used movies as the backdrop for crafting, hair curling, or treadmilling.

Last year, hubby and I weeded through a bunch of our VHS tapes and gave them away (whether anyone would/does want VHS tapes these days, I am unsure). If you asked me to name five titles that we gave away this time last year, I probably would struggle to come up with a list. A sign that we were ready to part with those movies. But, we were both unable to relinquish a few of our very favorites.

In this year's efforts to clean and declutter and in acknowledgment of the fact that we don't have a working VCR hooked up anywhere in our home, we decided that it was time to give away the entire VHS collection, including the very favorites . . . every tape except the one labeled "Badin JV vs. Purcell," which happens to have our wedding recorded upon it.

I feel okay with the decision because I know that probably all of these movies are available on DVD should I ever wish to own them again. Plus, I imagine that in another couple of years, it will be possible to order up any movie that exists for immediate viewing on one's television or computer. Maybe that's possible now?

However, like the pack rat and sentimental sap that I am at heart, I decided that I could part with my last bunch of VHS tapes much more easily if I first documented what I had. I wasn't worried that I would forget how much I love Four Weddings and a Funeral, When Harry Met Sally, or While You Were Sleeping, but I was slightly uneasy that I might forget a lesser-known treasure like Pure Country (starring George Strait!), Sliding Doors (for Gwyneth's awesome haircut alone), or Shag. What if I forgot about Shag and never got to watch it with Sweet P? Unthinkable.

And, so in the interest of posterity and as a means of offering a glimpse into the person I was in my twenties and maybe still I am, I offer this glimpse of some of my favorites.

The Rockies belong to hubby.

What about you? Do you still have VHS tapes? What were/are your over-and-over movies?

Much too young to feel this damn old?

Late this afternoon, we decided to take a family trip to Toys 'R Us to get a birthday gift for a party Bub's attending tomorrow. Getting everyone out of the house seemed a better option than continuing to pull Little Bit off the table (climbing up on chairs and then onto the table is his new favorite thing) where he grabs hubby's Blackberry, which necessitates taking that away, which leads to tears and whining. Bub was busying himself throwing socks around the room (from the sock bin that he climbed up on top of the couch to retrieve from on top of the cabinet where I used to be able to put things I didn't want him to access).

On our way to the toy megastore, we were stopped at the end of our street waiting to make a right turn. There's a bar at the end of the street, which just has the coziest vibe. There are little lamps on each table, old-fashioned decor that is not lame, and a little courtyard in back. Very inviting. As we waited to make the turn, I looked with longing at the twenty-somethings inside. The front door of the bar was open to let in the unseasonably warm November air. The kids inside were talking and laughing and drinking. Probably some of them were watching football. I like to imagine that some might have been playing board games (that bar has them for patrons to play). Whatever the case, most are years away from pulling toddlers off tables and ducking to avoid being pelted by socks.

To be clear, I do not want to be a twenty-something again. Not. At. All. I feel tired just thinking about it and know that those years are not as carefree as they might appear.

So I absolutely do not want to be 23 or 24 or even 26 again, but I would enjoy having more moments when I could just relax and hang out with friends in the middle of an afternoon without having to think about naptimes or babysitters or what time the kids would be getting up the next morning. More time to relax. More opportunities to laugh with friends who know me really well. Maybe a beer (not now, in my pregnant state, of course) and some boneless buffalo wings to add to the pleasure of the afternoon.

Fast forward to a couple hours later. Little Bit was in bed and Bub jammied up. I ordered some Chinese food for our dinner and decided to take advantage of the great weather and walk to pick it up. I walked down Clark St. past Wrigley Field. Twentysomethings dressed in college logo sportswear spilled out from bar after bar. Kids were crowded outside smoking and making calls on their cell phones. Most of the bars looked hot, crowded, and sweaty inside. Tables were littered with empty bottles. Big screens everywhere were lit up with football games. Plenty of visibly intoxicated youth. People were catching cabs, and I wondered how many of the twentysomethings getting inside them were headed home to change out of their OSU sweatshirts and into their "going out" clothes and then keep drinking elsewhere. I can't even imagine.

I enjoyed the walk and the awesome weather, but I would not trade places with any of the people I passed along the way. Unlike the scene we passed on the way to Toys 'R Us that made me feel a temporary sense of longing, the people and places I passed walking to get our dinner just made me feel good about where I am now . . . ready to get home, dig into that Chinese food, and clean up the socks and toys littered all over the floor.