Mom on the Run: A memory for every minivan mile

My minivan odometer turned over just as I pulled up to my house. It's digital, so there was no actual turning over, but still, I felt a satisfying "click" as 99,999 miles blinked up on the dashboard.

Satisfying, because this was the plan. My minivan had only four miles on the odometer way back when I got it, a brand-new vehicle—ooh!—purchased specifically to "drive into the ground."

And, as planned, my minivan has many miles still to go, though driving it into the ground has turned out to be a bigger commitment than I expected back in 2002, when my Toyota Sienna was shiny and new, when a CD player and eight cup holders were novel and exciting. Sure, "I'm thinking 8 to 10 years," I had said back then, not realizing just how many trips that would be, how many endless loops around Manassas: grocery store, home, baseball, dance, baseball, dance, home.

But now, at long last, 99,999 miles. I get out of my minivan and look at it appraisingly. It's held up well, all things considered. Two years ago it had some serious body work: parked and empty in front of a school, a landscape truck barreled by and peeled away the whole rear quarter panel. We never caught the guy. But six months later, when another driver didn't look and turned left, smack into my passenger-side door, I leapt out and got his license number as he tried to sneak away. Ha! Gotcha!

The body work was great, though, and except for those two not-my-faults, all other minivan accidents have been internal: accidental juice and soda spills. Accidental smears of mud. Accidental nose- and fingerprints. Nothing serious, ever, and nothing mechanical. There's no doubt: my minivan is good for a long, long time.

And that—sorry, honey, I think, patting the door handle—is a frustration. Because it's been seven years. Seven years, 99,999 miles, innumerable round trips, virtually every minivan mile with me in the driver's seat, and no end in sight. Not that now's a good time, we have to start (gulp!) paying for college in a year, but sometimes … ah, sometimes I look at other vehicles on the road and I dream a little.

A car! I think. To be surrounded by windows that all roll down! To have a reachable back seat! Cars tease me, so sleek and aerodynamic … not that my minivan isn't, I think guiltily, for a van it's lovely, but … but a minivan isn't very sporty. Isn't very cool. And after so long driving a mom-mobile, yeah, I'm ready for sporty and cool. I'm ready to not be the vehicle everyone races to pass. I'm ready to be able to see clearly when backing up. I'm ready to give up eight cup-holders. I'm a big kid now!

But then I think about college, about delivering someone hours away, complete with luggage, furniture, a mini refrigerator. I think about my daughter, her boyfriend, and my son, plus three dogs, all traveling to the dog park. I think about hauling my son and Andrew and Matt to hockey practice, gear bags piled so high I can't see out the back, sticks falling out when I open the door. And I think about that trip down I-95 for a volleyball tournament last spring, with me and my daughter and Jordan, Megan and Malorie, and a huge cooler, and everyone's luggage piled up in the way-back and between the seats, backpacks under feet and Megan's pillow in her lap, music cranking through all four minivan speakers and everyone singing at the top of her lungs as we plowed through the pouring rain ….

Yeah, I think about all that, and I know … my life and I are not ready to give up the mom-mobile yet. So 100,000 miles—and counting!

Lianne Wilkens lives with her family in Manassas. She can be reached at .