Our (Mostly) Graceful Defeat

Everybody said it would happen. When they did, we scoffed. Loudly. Openly.

"Not us! No way! Never! Do we look like those kind of people?"

Most everybody would smile or shrug in response and politely change the subject. Yet others were more blunt.

"Yes you will. It happens to everybody. You'll see,"

I did see. I saw lots of moms and dads, people who I liked and really clicked with, parents who are as outgoing and adventurous as we are-- I saw it happen to them and hoped against hope that we wouldn't bow our heads in supplication to the inevitable.

Sadly, they were right. It was crazy and I still have a hard time accepting the reality of what happened yesterday.

I'm at a small, intimate rock concert at the Fillmore. The music is great and I'm loving every second of it, feeling vibrant, my cheeks flushed from dancing and singing along with my friends. After the music is over, the musicians come out and mingle with the audience and I notice the guitarist noticing me. He's sooo cute and I'm super flattered that he keeps trying to catch my eye. My girlfriends want to get going. It is after all, a school night and we all have husbands holding down the forts for us tonight.

Reluctantly I agree and we make our way toward the exit and out into the cool, misty night. I'm the driver tonight so we stroll on out to the parking lot and I hit the beep button on the key.

"Beep beep! Over here," calls the car. My girlfriends and I turn our heads toward the sound and all of see at once that Cute Guitarist has followed us to the parking lot. But he's not looking at me anymore. He's checking out my ride, mouth agape and not in the good way. His eyes go from the car, to the key in my hand, back to the car and without a sound he turns around and hightails it out of the garage with nary a backward glance. All of my girlfriends watch in stunned silence and before Cute Guitarist even turns the corner they all fall on the ground, screaming with laughter.

I snapped back into the real-life moment, refocusing on the bright, glossy poster on the wall in front of me, and turn urgently to Hubby.

"We don't have to do this. Really. We can walk out of here right now,"

"We need to do something. We can't keep piling in and out of the Mitsubishi like a family of clowns,"

He's right. We can't even fit one of the Beans' new, monstrous carseats into the back of our "big" car. We haven't been able to go anywhere or do anything as a family for over a month and this one thing will make our lives so much easier. We just wish it didn't have to be this way.

We (Hubby) signed the papers, left his car at the dealership and drove home together, meeker than when we left earlier in the day. But at least we now have remote push-button doors, side curtain airbags, a 5-star crash test rating, alloy wheels and lots of other doodads in a color we really kind of like a little bit. All things considered, it could have stung far worse.

Biscuit is very excited about "The Starship" as he calls her. He has tons of room, TWO cup holders, a cushy seat-- the list goes on. Her name is Margaret and she'll do for the next few years, until the Beans can ride without carseats.

I certainly will not be excited to drive Margaret to any concerts. But I'll rest assured that even if I have to, and even if my nightmare becomes reality, there's still a cute guitarist at home waiting for me with our kids. And even though he knows I now drive a van he will not let a little thing like that intimidate him-- after all, he now drives one too.