Driving Vicariously Through My Parents

I'm one step away from surrendering myself to the life of a Suburban Stay-At-Home Mom. More like 1/8 step: there's still soccer and PTA and....(my daughter's only 17 months, so I have a LONG way to go). And really, I'm using my parents as my cover. How lame is that? I know, I'm not making much sense...just bear with me...

TANGENT #1: This is the deal. Just so you understand the family dynamics and why this effects me and my family (my husband and daughter) so much. I am an only child, EXTREMELY close to my parents, some may say "too close"; I think the psychological term for it is "enmeshed". I have spent the second half of my life trying to "unmesh" myself from my parents only sabatoging myself in the long run. I finally gave in to the fact that I NEED them and WANT to be close to them. To make a REALLY long story (which I'm bound to touch upon here and there in past and future posts) short: has resulted in us (my husband, my daughter and I) living 2 blocks away from them (happily I might add - no joke), co-dependently, yet independently.


BACK TO STORY: My parents SO needed a car. They historically believe in driving cars into the ground. Let me put it in perspective for you:


TANGENT #2:
1971 Toyota Corona(not a typo, not Corolla, Corona): For all purposes, my Dad's 1st car and 1st big purchase upon his immigration to this country. His pride and joy understandably, it served him and our family well. I of course ended up the lucky driver of this gem 15 years later which at that point, putting it into reverse became an acquired skill. Two years later, at my refusal to drive it any more, my Dad felt the need to replace THE ENGINE and drive it for another TWO years. When it started snowing INSIDE the car and my dad started seeing the road UNDER HIS FEET (that's right - Flintstone style - their was a hole in the floorboard), he STARTED thinking that maybe it was time to retire it, and GAVE it away to the car mechanic - the only other guy that believed in replacing the engine of a 15 year old car that had over 200,000 miles on it.

Fast forward to present:

1986 Lincoln Town Car:

TANGENT #3 (I never claimed to be a good story-teller) Are there any self-help books out there for adult children suffering from post-traumatic stress due to the embarassment of being seen in the remains of a "3 Tone" (what my Dad referred to #1: the blue paint, #2: the faded blue roof, and #3: the RUST that had developed on the undercarriage (?) of the car) Toyota that wasn't even manufactured anymore, and an 8 foot, 15 (now 21) year old hoopty that so badly needed to be Pimped Out?

I admit in 1986, I felt like royalty riding around in the Town Car. After 5 years, the car was kept up well, and was still actually a nice ride. 8, 9, 10 years later, it started showing signs of old age. It was in the shop twice a year, then every 4 months, then every 2 months: at which point, I began urging my parents to invest in a new vehicle, with obviously no luck. In 2002, the 15 year old Town Car made the infamous trek from Topeka, Kansas to Las Vegas, Nevada for our big move. You can only imagine what state the car was in at this point.

After several years of desperately pleading with my parents to replace this vehicle which had found it's spot permanently in my family and on the mechanics paycheck, I finally gave up when my dad arrived late in a taxi to MY WEDDING, because the Lincoln had broken down; and he maintained that the car was perfectly fine and there was no reason to replace it.

It was clear to me this was not a rational man I was dealing with.

After 2 years of keeping my mouth shut, but refusing to ride in this eye-sore (sorry Dad), a month ago, my Dad said the magic words: "It's time for a new car". The inside panel of the driver's side door fell off.

After family deliberation, he decided it was time for a minivan.

Today was the day. My parents surrendered to replacing the Lincoln (which is actually still sitting in their garage...scary), and I surrendered to the fact that I will probably be driving that thing more than they will.

Remember when I said I was one step closer to Suburban Momville? Well, not really I guess since it's my parent's van. But what's great is that we have the benefit of using it when we need to, but we don't have to OWN one...YET. I can just see the all-knowing smirks on the faces of all of you minivan-surrendering/driving moms out there.

Is there self-help books for late-blooming 30 some-year old that refuse to grow up?...and own minivans?