The Last Days of the Dodge Caravan

Six years. That's all. Just six years before I figured out that I was driving a mom-van. Now that the realization has struck me like a brick to the head, I begin to bid my mom-van farewell.

Six years ago, my shiny new van rolled proudly off the lot and into our family's driveway.  He strutted down Dana Lane every morning and enjoyed excursions to the mall, the zoo, and even the Vehicle Emissions building. Ah, but time flew by, and his youth began to fade.  Age embraced my poor van, as did accidents.
There was the tiny fender-bender in downtown Waukesha. There was that sloshy Tuesday morning when my van collided with a truck just down the road from Asa Clark Middle School.  My poor van has had a facelift in the form of a new bumper, grill, and hood and Botox in the form of oil changes.

And here we are, six years later. You've had a good run, Mr. Mom-Van. But it's time to replace you. Don't worry; I'll leave the box of tissues in the console.