Marian Vischer

O Minivan, Minivan, Wherefore Art Thou Minivan?

by 5 Comments

You can refer to me as “Dr. Scooper” from here on out. I have a PhD in Minivanology.

We are happily and safely home, transported to this much-loved place by our much-loved, new-to-us minivan. Thanks for your kind thoughts and prayers on our behalf. {If you’ve no idea what I’m talking about, just read my last post.}

My body is weary and my mind is spent. I’ve realized in recent years that my graduate-school research skills have an annoying tendency to hijack everyday decisions. Our latest quandry regarding an unexpected minivan purchase was just another example of my OTD {Over-Thinking Disorder} run-a-muck.

I can tell you more than you {or I} ever wanted to know about minivans…everything from the transmission of a Dodge Caravan to the A/C specs of a Nissan Quest.

How we reached any sort of decision in a timely manner is, in fact, a small miracle…especially when you are shopping with three children and one of them says directly to the sales agent: I hope our new van lasts a really long time because our old one just left us stranded on the side of the road at like, 3 in the morning. It was out before I could even pinch her.

So much for The Man’s professional attempt to keep that information on the down-low. We should have just walked in wearing signs that said: Desperate for minivan today. Name your price.

We are thankful for God’s faithful provision and relieved to have finally completed our unplanned mission, truth-telling youngsters notwithstanding.

The Scooper, PhD

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  1. Glad for you to be safely home. Bless.your.heart.

    When Jack and I had been married six months, we packed ourselves and al our homemade Christmas gifts into our little Pontiac Phoenix and set off on the long trip to our parents’ houses. An hour away from our little apartment in UVa’s Married Students’ Housing, our car breathed its last. We got a ride into town in the pick-up truck of a hunter, about the only person besides us who was out on the road in the cold early morning. I remember hoping that the guns hanging in the back window of his truck were expressly for hunting, not for shooting persons picked up along the side of the road.

    I remember feeling very helpless–almost naked–without our car. And that was just the two of us, with no kids. I can just imagine the stress and frustration of this past week for you.

    But you are home now, with a good story to tell. Or maybe several good stories to tell. I for one look forward to reading them. 🙂

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