Parenting
By Jamie Collins
“Look! That’s your car, but in a different color!” My kids excitedly pointed at a minivan of the same make and model as ours, but in a sleek black instead of our faded blue. It shone brightly—perhaps because its hubcaps were still intact, unlike ours, which seem to fall off independently like they can’t handle the chaos any longer. Maybe it was simply better at concealing the utter chaos that fills the inside. Let’s face it: minivans are like rolling dumpsters, with levels of disorder ranging from mildly messy to “Oh my goodness, what is that smell?”
When I asked my friend Lucy to share a picture of her van’s interior, she replied, “Oh my goodness! I make everyone who rides in my van sign NDAs! I’m definitely not sharing that disaster!”
The only time I’ve ever seen a minivan with a clean interior was on a dealership showroom floor. Even then, the window stickers foreshadowed what was to come, as it soon would be adorned with unicorn and superhero stickers from pediatric visits.
Acquiring a minivan comes with a shift in standards, likely due to the drop in parenting expectations that occurs as family sizes grow. While there are certainly couples with two children who own minivans, the friends I know who transitioned from sedans to minivans typically did so to accommodate at least three kids safely and comfortably. By “safely and comfortably,” I mean “far enough apart to minimize bickering and touching, preserving your sanity while shuttling them from one activity to another.” If only I could install partitions between the rows, with snack doors included—because even soundproof layers can’t block the requests for snacks on a 0.7-mile trip to a playdate.
I bought my minivan when my partner was pregnant with twins, needing that extra row for three car seats. However, no one warned us that fitting three kids in the back was just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to minivan life.
Initially, the van became our land-bound cruise ship, and the person in the passenger seat was the captain. Crawling from the front to the back to hand over a bottle, adjust a DVD player, entertain a child, or comfort a carsick kid was both a blessing and a curse. As the kids grew, snacks were either tossed around or stashed in their backpacks. Tablets replaced DVDs, which would skip or stop working because the crawler accidentally unplugged the power source. But as their independence grew, so did the volume of their belongings. In fact, they just started bringing more stuff into the van themselves—diaper bags, portable toilets, Pack ‘n Plays, and strollers quickly occupied most available space until stuffed animals and Legos joined the fray.
Now, my kids’ toys, books, homework, sports gear, sticks, rocks, and trash seem to have made permanent homes under and on the seats, on the floor, and in the trunk—the same trunk that holds Costco hauls, hockey and baseball equipment, and often serves as a makeshift changing room while someone else is getting dressed in the middle of the van. Whether it’s a quick change from school clothes to soccer gear or rummaging for a blanket or dry shorts after an unexpected puddle jump, minivan life is about navigating the chaos of a busy lifestyle.
Ashley, a mom of three from Maine, told me that before she recently cleaned her minivan, it was home to “football gear, activity sets, Cub Scout uniforms, a bag of snacks, an overflowing trash can, and a variety of jackets, sweatshirts, hats, and backup shoes. We could literally live in there.”
Jess, a single mom of one, purchased her unique minivan during the COVID lockdown to use as a getaway vehicle. “It has a tropical headliner and a wooden box that unfolds into a bed in the back,” she shared. Though they’ve only slept in it once, Jess says it’s perfect for drive-in movie nights. “We call her ‘the adventure van.’ It’ll need a miracle to pass inspection, though.”
The minivan has become our second home on wheels. It’s not just a vehicle; it’s a space for listening to podcasts or music while running errands, a nap zone while waiting for kids to finish their activities, and even a mobile office. I’ve taken work calls from my van, awkwardly balancing my laptop on the steering wheel while stealing WiFi from Dunkin’ Donuts to send out client emails.
I don’t mind any of this. I’m not embarrassed by the lack of shine or prestige that comes with driving a minivan. I wish I could pinpoint the source of the persistent low-grade odor that lingers inside, but I appreciate this extra space that makes life easier, even in its chaotic state. You can live by the motto that what happens in a minivan stays there, but let’s be real—a doll’s head will roll into the school drop-off lane when your child hops out, so let’s just embrace the messiness and normalize the reality of minivan life. If you’re interested in more insights, check out this related post here.
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