Free 365 Nights by Charla Muller Page B

value is, how the children enjoy their bucket seats and never fight anymore, and how all the electronics are wired up to each seat. It does not matter that my trendy, quite handsome younger brother drives one and constantly taunts me to “come over to the Dark Side” with his GPS system, iPod-infused, DVD-playing, bucket-seated, great mileage minivan. I simply can’t. It’s a flagrant, open, “shout out to the world” admission that I am no longer relevant, stylish, sexy, or cute.
    There are too many other things I have in my life that shout out that I am no longer relevant, stylish, sexy, or cute, so I’m hanging on to my boat on wheels. And my girls in the minivans? We’ll, they’re just as sold on their wheels as I am on mine, and hey, I guess even Angelina Jolie could look hot driving a minivan. I would rather drive a luxury BMW (and they don’t make minivans, so don’t you think that means something?). And for you hybrid-loving sisters out there getting all worked up about my monthly gas intake, don’t worry about me. I make up for it in other ways—I occasionally recycle and occasionally use paper instead of plastic and have been known to buy in bulk, on occasion . Baby steps . . .
    But I am never just occasionally more interesting without my children—I am always more interesting without them. Don’t get me wrong: I love my children . . . dearly. I think they are nearly perfect and the thought that I can’t even begin to know all the ways in which I am scarring and disappointing them for life keeps me up at night; it really does. But the fact remains, I am much more fun and entertaining without them. And you really don’t know and appreciate that until they’re here, and then it’s too late and you’re stuck lugging around a diaper bag the size of a Mini-Cooper and wondering if today is the day your kid will get head lice at preschool.
    A lovely couple we know just put in a pool in their backyard. The husband wanted to have a giant pool party for families. The wife wanted to have a small, intimate pool party for couples. Husband thinks said pool party with fourteen adults and twenty children sounds like “great fun.” The wife doesn’t. “We’ll all be in the pool playing games, hanging out, having a cocktail . . . it’ll be great,” he says. “Charla, what do you think?”
    Is he kidding? First, there is not one wife in that bunch who will be in that pool “playing games, hanging out, and having a cocktail.” After forty and motherhood, it’s simply not a good look for many. And after you get out of the pool wringing wet and it’s time for dinner? Again, not a good look for most. Hanging out drinking in a pool was so Spring Break 1989 (and need I mention that no one had kids on Spring Break 1989?).
    Second, the husbands will be standing near but not in the pool, playing games (like placing bets on when some cute wife is going to hop out of her Lilly cover-up and go for a dip) and having cocktails. Meanwhile the wives hump it to feed the kids hot dogs, wipe up spilled lemonade, get more butter for the corn on the cob, and generally work themselves into such a sweat that they’ll wish they could jump into the pool and cool off. Or at least they’ll consider the pool a sad alternative to the chaos of feeding twenty children.
    And then, once the kids are fed and swimming in the pool, you cannot even consider having a meaningful adult conversation because the odds are that you’ll find yourself totally distracted. It’s highly likely you won’t be able to make eye contact with an adult because you’ll be looking over the shoulder of some friend of a friend that you’re talking to. Let’s imagine: As you’re engaging “Mike, the New Guy from the bank,” you can’t help but watch someone else’s kid standing in the distance and sticking his arm