May Days & Minivans

Thoughts on becoming

Photo by Jackson Simmer on Unsplash

As all teenagers do, I swore I would not have a minivan when I was a mom. The ultimate UNCOOL stamp. Give me a big SUV, like a Suburban or Tahoe or something similar. But two kids in and wanting more, what seemed like a divine opportunity appeared when my cousin listed their van on Facebook for an extremely reasonable price. We bought it and kept it parked at my parents’ house before bringing it up a few weeks ago to transition over to it before the baby arrived. But, everyone who has a van was right - the space is great! I love the automatic doors and I know that I’ll learn how to park it well with practice. I still can’t always figure out how to adjust the fan to be the right temperature in the car, and my kids will give a squawk if I accidentally forget to shut the sliding doors before I start driving. It has been an adjustment, like three kids and new dynamics.

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Taking a deep breath, I turned into the park, knowing coffee and trees and mom friends awaited me after a very long night and morning full of excruciating shoulder pain (me), wailing (my almost-two-year-old), whining (my almost-four-year-old), and a very gunky eye (my newborn). I wasn’t even going to go to my Thursday moms group, but I had committed to exchanging some things with my friends there so after scheduling an appointment with the pediatrician, I buckled the kids in the car and turned on Air1 to get some praise and worship flowing.

In the parking lot, I made eye contact with a friend of mine while I awkwardly tried to maneuver my new minivan into the parking spot next to hers. “You’re good!” She said.

CRUNCH, my van jolted as I ran into her minivan. “Oh good Lord,” I muttered, before yelling out my window, “I am so sorry!! I thought you meant my front was clear. I’m still learning how to park a car this wide.”

My friend chuckled, “I meant you were good with no kids in the way, but don’t worry, there are no dents, just tiny scratches. Besides, I backed into a truck in the first week of driving my minivan.”

I get my coffee and sit on a bench while the girls play at the park. A friend calls me to check in and we video chat for a few minutes. My friend (whose car I hit) joins me on the bench and we chat.

Later in the day, a message pops up from another mom in our group, Hey, was that you with the Toyota Sienna?

I quickly respond, The one driving terribly because I have no idea what I’m doing? Yep, sure was!

She proceeded to send me a video of all the dents, rust, and scratches she has added to her minivan. I had a good laugh and thanked her for the solidarity!

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May Day: A Springtime Festival on May 1st, cue images of maypoles and dancing and warmth

Mayday: An international word signaling distress based on a French word meaning “help me!”, cue a video montage of me struggling on May 1st

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After the minivan parking incident, my May 1st continues with an infusion of May Day and Mayday moments.

A friend takes my glass milk jug and willingly runs to the Farmers Market for my raw milk and to relieve me of a normal Thursday errand.

The kids and I chill for a bit at another friend’s house where the kids play and she makes us chicken nuggets for lunch.

I burst into tears at the pediatrician’s office after struggling to manage the needs of three children at once and feeling absolutely terrible that my newborn seems to have gotten an eye infection. The pediatrician puts his arm around me and says, “Mrs. Vanderhorst, it will all be okay” and gets me an appointment for two hours later at a pediatric ophthalmologist.

I feel the prayers of friends throughout the day.

My dad picks up my oldest so she can have special time with her grandparents for a few days, and leaves a $100 bill “for food or anything you need.”

My elderly next door neighbor walks out onto the porch very confused, and I have to remind him once again that his wife passed away. But then I also get to order him delivery from his favorite restaurant because I have his normal order memorized.

Someone makes us a meal, which takes something off my plate by putting something on my plate.

I have another hard cry on the way to the ophthalmologist.

The ophthalmologist gets us eye drops for our newborn quickly, but was also reasonable when I hesitated to do oral antibiotics right away (her eye infection was miraculously clear the next morning – but we continued drops for a bit). He also gives me his personal cell # in case we need something.

A friend texts me, I left a lavender oat milk latte in your fridge, and ice cream in your freezer.

I get a few minutes to sit on the porch and snuggle the baby before tackling bed time.

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I pull out my newborn little girl clothing for the third time in four years. I smile at the clothes that the older two have worn and can’t wait to dress my newest babe in them. I add in some outfits people have given me this week and I throw away some older super-stained outfits that we just don’t need any more. This clothes-sorting feels like a reflection of my becoming in motherhood. I've discarded my pride in how my parenting appears when one of my kids is losing it in public spaces, and I can outwait a tantruming child in Aldi like no one’s business. I’ve discarded the need to prove myself as a mom, choosing simply to show up with what I have to offer in each moment. I’m quicker to do what I know what works for me/us now: pack lots of snacks, get outside, stick to our weekly rhythms/ gatekeep our schedule / give grace to cancel plans on hard days, shut down asinine ideas about raising girls, say yes to people willing to open doors/ bring me coffee/ pray for me/ play with the girls, invite mamas into the circle, breastfeed where I need to, trust my gut instincts.

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Click, Click, Click. I buckle my newborn into her seat. “Get in and buckle what you can and then I’ll help you,” I tell my VIT (very independent toddler). Click. I buckle the bottom of my oldest daughter’s car seat. I walk around the car and buckle the bottom of my toddler’s seat. Click. Getting in my seat, I press the automatic door buttons for the sliding doors. Click. My seat belt finds its home.

“My daughter wants a minivan so she can sit in the third row,” my friend tells me. Internally, I laugh that the minivan life is cool to a 5-year-old. I missed the mark on what I thought was cool as a teenager, because it was never about the vehicle… the cool part comes with being entrusted with raising three wild and fabulous little women.

Maybe my becoming is in how I am learning to handle the May Days and maydays, learning how to be more even-keeled no matter what a moment holds. Maybe my becoming is in learning to say “yes” or “no” in the right timing. I'm becoming refined as I learn how to show up well as myself, a wife, a mom, a friend.

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Tonight I buckle my infant’s car seat into the back of my CRV before sliding into the driver’s seat. One month into driving my van and my former main ride feels off, different. The seat doesn’t feel quite as comfortable as the van seat. The car itself is smaller, slightly more claustrophobic. Already, I am changing too. My capacity is expanding, shifting, yet again, to include another beloved person into my heart and life.

“Every time I’ve been in a state of flux, of change, I fear that I will be trapped there. ‘Will this confusion last forever?’ I wonder. But it never does, and I haven’t grown weary yet in this business of uncovering, unmasking, and constructing who I am. It is both discovery and intention. And it is endless. And it is okay.” - Jedidiah Jenkins, Like Streams to the Ocean

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Become."