the death of a minivan

A little piece of me died the day I bought a minivan. I’m not even joking y’all. I left the dealership and went straight to my shrink. I am NOT kidding.

I’ll never forget it…the tires squealed as I pulled into the parking garage. I bolted toward the door and collapsed on her couch. The words couldn’t come out fast enough. I was out of breath.

“I JUST BOUGHT A MINIVAN."

SILENCE.

Bless her heart. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  

Neither did I.

An hour later we came to a conclusion…this minivan was a stage in my life. This, too, shall pass.

“But Kathryn…I’m a SINGLE MOM driving a MINIVAN.”

"Holiday…it will be OKAY.”

Let’s be clear. I was NOT held at gunpoint by the car dealer (although that would have made this story waaaayyy more interesting).

Truth be told…I had been looking for a swagger wagon for a while when I finally found one that fit the bill (and when I say bill I mean loaded with leather seats, DVD players, sunroof, and enough room to fit a small African village…)

I really, really TRIED to love this car. But when your dad responds to your new car picture text with “Wow, Hol…did hell freeze over today?” you know you’ve got a problem (especially when your dad is the closest thing to Jesus you know, and he never, ever, ever says bad words…just sayin’).

Needless to say I’ve taken loads of SHIT from people (sorry dad…and Jesus) over this minivan ordeal. In fact, my friends love to laugh at me and make fun of my vanity license plate and car magnets. I know what you’re thinking…no, we do NOT have stick figure stickers…that’s a whole ‘NOTHER ballgame. But in my world you either go big or go home, so heck yeahhh, my license plate is a dead give-a-way that this minivan is mine. Allllll mine, baby.

Until tomorrow.

That’s right. Tomorrow I will be handing over the keys to Vannah (yep, I even named her Vannah…White, of course) in exchange for an SUV, courtesy of my Ford employee husband.

My friends and I have had a “minivan countdown” going for a while now…and now that it’s here I can’t help but think of the symbolism behind this stupid crappy minivan (sorry, Vannah…nothing personal)...

This minivan has been a stage in my life. In fact, I’m confident I could give any AP English teacher a field day with the symbolism behind this car…it has been a symbol of my life. I was the “single, minivan-driving mom” for quite a while…and yes, it sucked at times, but it was also part of my journey.

The day I met my {now} husband I was mortified to have to tell him I was the girl driving the {dirty} minivan...oh, yeah...I almost forgot to mention the fact that there is ZERO motivation to keep a minivan sparkling clean. In fact you could probably find "clean" and "minivan" in the antonym section of your thesaurus.

Clean, dirty, and just downright nasty at times, Vannah has witnessed smiles, tears, and everything in between. Sand from beach trips, snow (and ditches) thanks to ice storms, dirt from bicycles, giggles from kids, and kisses from people I love. If the walls of this minivan could talk I’m sure they’d have a LOT to say (it’s probably best they can’t!)

My minivan has been such a source of conversation I even suggested “The Ex-Wives Guide to Rockin’ the Minivan” as a sequel to our literary agent (Valerie vetoed that before I could get it on paper…)

Life has a funny way of teaching us lessons…even if it’s in the form of giant un-cool automobiles. My friends cringe, but I will smile, as I look back on my minivan days. They may be gone, but they will not be forgotten.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I urge you to be thankful for the stage of life you are in, right now. Even if it just so happens to involve a minivan.

xoxo Holiday

p.s. save your money and skip the shrink...this too, shall pass : )

Hi From The High Dive

Hi from the high dive - it's me Valerie up here.

Half standing… knees slightly bent… feeling the wind weaving through my shaking giraffe like legs.

Glad I wore a one piece because I always lose something when taking the plunge.  Everyone else glad I wore a one piece because trust me it would not be pretty...

I'm all alone up here.  Staring at the sparkling chlorine filled water waiting patiently deep below.  Starting to call me to take the plunge.  Now calling loudly - losing it's patience.  Too loudly.  Almost screaming.  Me staring, head titled sideways and mouth half open, as I watch as the sun rays give light to the criss-crossing water peaks created by others that have gone before me.  Or are those still the currents of the last time I jumped in?  Doesn't matter…

I brace myself (and sometimes hold my nose but that is an all together different story and not nearly as sexy…but neither is my one piece so let's go with it).  And so it begins as I bend my trembling legs, cross my arms, and spring towards the call of the shimmering unknown - DATING DATING (not just "a" date) AFTER DIVORCE.  Full of hope.  Full of fear.  Full of "Why the hell am I doing this again?!?"

Think back to when you first met your Ex…  Ex husband - ex boyfriend - ex every friday night fling - ex coworker you had the hots for you literally enjoyed endless trainings in conference rooms with no windows and ham sandwich boxed lunches with mustard - ex fill in the blank.  I am willing to bet donuts to dollars there came a time where you realized it was time to jump in and swim.  Not just with your relationship, but within YOU.  Quite honestly anything involving donuts and or dollars excites me personally (I heart baked goods), but THINK….  Back to that one defining all in or all out moment that came to you so clearly as if it didn't matter how the other person would respond.

But what intrigues me time after time after time is when facing the plunge in anything in life, true high-dive moments - especially relationships - some of us have this unique ability to forget about our past jumps.  We forget mostly because we need to.  We don't entirely forget - but we stand up there and ask our soul, head, and heart "the" questions.  Questions like why am I doing this?  Exactly what is the chance of me being hurt, and is it an ER kinda hurt or Minute Clinic kinda hurt?  What do I have to prove?  Did I pay my insurance premium last month?  What is my goal and will this action help me reach said goal?  (Because sometimes our goal is finding a life partner and sometimes our goal is just free food.)  Will this be worth it - and what is my current definition of "worth".

Then we suddenly remember the time we missed the pool all together and splatted on the concrete (co-worker and bad ham sandwich).  Or the time we belly flopped so big our stomachs hurt for months and we literally stretched our stretch marks (can we say rebound?).  Or the time we went soooo deep, and too far down that we almost ran out of breath while desperately trying to propel towards the light for air in order to save ourselves (our beloved forever turned never).  And by "save" I mean just be able to breathe…  We remember mostly because we need to.

Goose bumps then appear and pop up one by one as do our memories of the jump where we sang and soulfully swam for years in waters that washed away everything worth worrying over.  Washed away the past.  Washed away the hurt.  Washed away the rejections and how fast can I get out of this not just from others but from ourselves.  Washed away any doubt that we deserve and are entitled to not only be high dive jumpers but deep water swimmers.  Let me repeat that…  We DESERVE to take the plunge and be rewarded.  Even if we crash again, at some point we will be rewarded, God willing.  (And please God will it now!)  We deserve mostly because we just do.

And I bet you jumped.  Jumped in because the reward far out weighed your laundry list of risk factors.  Your heart - it said I'd rather sing again than be silent.  Your head - that was an easy one because it is easily convinced - it's all about perception and immediate gratification.  Well your soul - you asked and you decided that not even a limb breaking on life-support kind of fall could ever destroy your un-sinkable soul.  Most importantly you jumped because I know you are like me - you would rather be fighting for your life than fighting with your inner self.  Endlessly asking yourself the proverbial "what if…".  Every time you jump or swim or both you become stronger, and wiser, and more aware of what a kick ass worth the deep end kind of woman you truly are.  Regret has no room in the house of our souls.

So here I am, swimming in the pool of dating / relationships again.  That's right I jumped in.  Not head first this time, but I did it.  After a 3 year long hiatus that included some sinking (bad one off dates here and there), some life saving (seriously - tumors in the head = no fun) and some concrete face plants (life!) that taught me how to be a better jumper.

Will I get hurt?  Possibly.  Will I be sad if this swim doesn't last as long as I would like it too by either my choice or his?  Possibly.  Will my past falls and almost-drownings define this jump?  No way.  Would I regret not taking the plunge?  Absolutely.

Never be afraid to take the plunge.  As in ever.  Never ever ever (ever).  No matter how bad you have been hurt, or how many times, we ALL deserve to swim in a sea of our desires.  And mine is to someday have a true partner and a family.  Just because that dream was shattered because of the actions of another and the choices that belonged to me, doesn't mean that I am not entitled to my dream.  It may be a slightly different or modified dream, but I will not give up on the vision God and The Universe instilled in my every fiber being.

Up on the high dive is home to many a truth or dare, not just heard from the mouths of school aged punks.  Know your truth and stare your "dare" down.  Luckily this jump into the dating pool is different for me, (and you and anyone who has been divorced or kissed concrete more than once…) because this time I am wearing floaties and yes my nose is plugged.