The Maxi-Van

My Okie sister-in-love has a phrase she says occasionally in her slightly southern accent, “You’d better make your words sweet, ‘cause you’re gonna eat ‘em.” and I think truer words have never been spoken.

I emphatically declared many years ago, “ I’ll never drive a minivan…”. I didn’t say this next part out loud, but the rest of that declaration went like this: “…because I’m too cool for that and I’m planning for 2.3 children like all good ‘mericans. Maaaaaaybe four if I’m feeling friskie.” No girl ever said, “I think I’d like to drive a 12 seater passenger van that smells like a turd.” But here we are.

You see, if you have a husband whose only biological requirement for reproduction is that of a common barnyard fowl, you need only stand next to him or hold his hand and are instantaneously knocked-up with an embryo, sometimes two.

So. Two minivans down and one maxi-van in service. Check.

What is a maxi-van, you ask? It’s a four wheeled spaceship that laughs in the face of the garden variety minivan with its too-tiny transmission and seating for only 7 to 8 souls. The Mothership, on the other hand, can carry at least 10-12 bodies, all their luggage, 5,000 house flies and does all these miraculous things while pulling a trailer loaded with six horses.

Ever wondered what it’s like to drive a bright white land-mammal-space-ship? Well. There are perks.

You’ll be happy to know you’ll be bringing joy to fellow motorists one stop light at a time because people inexplicably laugh, clap, cheer, give you the thumbs up and throw peace signs at stop signs regularly. I’m assuming this is because there’s like, a lot of kids in there and that’s super interesting like the Amish, so honk if a kid falls out, mmkay?

It will always smell like an armpit ate a diarrhea diaper stuffed with extra beans and onions with a side of dead fish, which digested a few hours and then barfed all over the place. Or a foot wearing a suit made out of anus skin in the middle of summer. I really can’t provide enough quality adjectives to help you understand the smell.

You’ll be proud because you’re always so prepared. There’s a lot of room in there, so you’ll always carry around garbage bags bound for Goodwill. That’s a good thing, because there’s always an extra outfit if any size or style of human pukes, gets cold or pooped on their shirt. Also, if your kids get bored they can play “Elton John” in the back with all the costumes. True story.

You will exercise your brain power regularly because there is an ongoing and frightening mystery to solve as to why there is a herd of those giant cadaver flies inside the vehicle. You know, the ones that sit on dead bodies and eat their flesh and lay maggots? Yeah those. But there are no dead bodies.

You’ll turn heads, but it’s not exciting or flattering because it’s not for your thigh gap or glittering white teeth. It’s for all the wrong reasons. When you exit, people will gawk unabashedly as all your ducklings waddle out in a green cloud of stench whilst goldfish and old red balloons and rotten cups of milk roll out behind them. They all wait for Pennywise, but he’s too embarrassed to show his freaky face.

You will come out of Costco on a regular basis and see people peeking into your vehicle and laughing and whispering. When you approach, they will politely ask you if they can look inside your “car”. Then they will request to get inside and sit on one of the seats. “I feel like I’m one of the Brady Bunch!” they exclaim. I don’t tell them they’re wrong but I’m willing to bet the Brady’s van did not smell like a butthole.

You will have to talk to people at gas stations every.single.time. They will ask you questions like, “What kind of van is that? Where did you get that thing? How many kids do you have in there? What kind of gas mileage does that Hog get? Can you pull house with that thing? Are you Amish?” Well, there are like 400 hundred horses under the hood, but I don’t think that makes me Amish.

Other parents, especially women, will tell you that there is no way they could drive a vehicle that big. “Ah,” you’ll say knowingly. “I never thought I could grow two humans at once inside my body, produce a gallon of milk a day or go 8 days without pooping, but I figured it out. You could totally drive this.”

The Wendy’s drive-thru girl with the skull stud in her dimple will ask incredulously, “Is this like, your everyday vehicle?” You’ll nod and smile. Then she’ll say, “Bitchin’!” and do this 🤘🏻.

You get good exercise because parking three blocks away and hoofing it in is the only option. Also, Sonic happy hour, parking garages and car washes are no longer an option.

Speaking of car washes, there is exactly one car wash in the state of Texas that you can fit the thing in, and it is one hour away from your house. Make your choice.

Being able to stand up in your vehicle is super fun and convenient. Especially when helping a newly potty trained little boy pee into a water bottle because you just left the house 3 ½ minutes earlier and you really don’t want to start pit stops yet.

You will be asked to carpool and drive to a lot of stuff. Just mention the maggot problem to get yourself off the hook.

You will buy an adorable miniature Shopvac that actually stays in the van because there is a real, actual outlet in the van and you need to vacuum after every excursion. Because, let’s do the math here. 17 toddlers times 75,000 goldfish, equals a lot of crumbs.

The answer to every problem surrounding the maxi-van has one solution. Take out a seat or add a seat.

There’s no onboard kitchen, but you will be making meals inside of The Mothership all the time.

It’s big enough to build a bathroom inside. Here’s the blueprint for that – strategically stacked suitcases, five gallon bucket with camp toilet lid, toilet paper. If your husband can go 27 hours without peeing, you can make it from sea to shining sea without stopping once. Except when you see a Buc-ee’s, of course.

There are these little bugs stuck to the ceiling all the time. They’re always dead. Dead bugs.

•Vacuum them out, spray the van with essential oils to attempt to battle the stench and the bugs.

•Search for cadavers but there are none.

•The bugs reappear. It is another sickening installment of “The Insect mystery of the Death Wagon”.

Death Wagons eat everything like a dryer and you’ll lose it forever. Socks, Chapstick, church shoes, microscopes, water bottles, dinosaurs, swimsuits, entire pizzas. People, a van this big will devour the panties right off your butt! True story.

So, I guess the moral of the story here is don’t tell the universe you won’t drive a minivan, girls and boys. God will straight up laugh in your face and send you a prison transport vehicle and a litter of really naughty little boys with good hair and a penchant for Mixed Martial Arts.