A Blessing Hiding in a Ghetto Ride

Our car decided this past week that it required more time at the day spa, having its catalytic converter massaged. This was one pricey massage, it even came with a new battery. Perhaps you remember this post? Doesn't seem all that long ago that the thing was spending our money at the day spa, and our bank account is proof. Ironically enough, this little spa treatment came just shortly after The Husband came home with a surround sound system for the TV. Funny how that works.

Last time the car was at the spa, we had to rent a vehicle. Then we were blessed as some friends leant us theirs while they were out of town. This time, we were blessed again as we didn't require a rental. The car was out for almost a week (could you imagine spending a week at the spa? Seriously) and that could have been one pricey rental bill. But this time the blessing of a loaned vehicle did not come in the form of some snazzy friend's car.

Nope.

It came in the shape and form of my Father-in-law's travel/work, ghetto van.

A large, blue (baby blue to be exact), Ford Aerostar, early 90's van. Complete with the bumper being held to the van with a bungee cord. Let me not forget to mention the two mountain bikes in the back as well as a foam mattress for those late nights when you just can't drive (or bike) home. This blessing in disguise was left to us by the FIL after he finished a job out here and actually purchased a new van to drive home. Don't get me wrong, having a second vehicle is fabulous, just not when I have to drive it.

Yes, it did its job while my little car was being fixed. Yes, I should be grateful. And humble. I was, trust me. But I have pride. Just enough pride to park behind (or very far away) stores so no one could see me getting out of the ghetto ride. Just enough pride to wear my big, celebrity style sunglasses and hold my Starbucks up high, proving that I still had one last shred of dignity.

But the van also made me do crazy things. Perhaps it was the fumes of oil and grease that permeated my brain, making me into a crazy woman. I did not realize the effect of the van until one late afternoon in the grocery store parking lot. It had been a stressful shopping trip. One that was supposed to be quick, yet wasn't, complete with a cranky, demanding, sassy toddler.

Once outside, loading my loot into the van, a man approached me. He began to tell me his story of how he was just released from the hospital (I'm assuming he was looking for monetary help) and lifted his shirt to give me proof. Proof was his oozing brown, gauzed-up wound.

Me: "I don't want to see that!!!"

Random Man: "Oh, sorry.... I, uh, was just wondering...."

Me (in full snapshow voice): "What do you want from me?! Can't you see I'm a Mom, here with my kid?"

Random Man: "Oh, yah, uhhhh... sorry. Nevermind. Have a nice day."

Me: Audible sigh. "You too".

Please note I do not ever act this way to strangers. That poor poor man. He felt the full-on wrath of a stressed out, ghetto van drivin', hungry (grocery shopping does that to me), Mom. I felt terrible driving home, then I realized it must have been the van. I was taken over by its ghetto powers. Ok, not really, but I was trying to think up some excuse.

Even though the van tested my dignity, pushed me to snapshow on complete strangers, and even made me park miles away from my destination, it did its job. That I am thankful for. Some people don't even have a vehicle to drive, yes, I thought plenty about that.

Anytime that I am feeling ungrateful about something, I try and think of one positive thing, something to help me count my blessings. So, ghetto van, not only am I thankful for you getting us safely from point A to point B. But I am also thankful for how you complimented our costumes this past weekend. Nothing says AWESOME like rolling up to a family Halloween dance party, dressed in full Disco attire, driving a bumpin', baby blue, ghetto ride.

And for that, I thank you.