Baby you can drive my car..

1982 Honda CivicMy first car was actually a VW Fox. I couldn’t remember the year though and well, hated it. The heat never worked and it had this weird, fake feeling leather that the old Volkswagens had and I sort of feel, still do.

I traded it in for a VW Cabriolet. It died and after a series of stupid, crappy vehicles, I landed this beauty. Only my brother and I painted mine black with pink racing stripes. I loved that car.

It had probably 200,000 miles on it. The radio worked sometimes but it was the best car I’d ever had. I only had to get rid of it when Devlynn’s car seat wouldn’t fit in the back. They were much bigger than and a 1982 Honda Civic has a tiny back seat.

I handed my little Civic over to someone for 300.00 and moved onto motherhood.

Just like that.

As an adult I’ve had a few different rides. A white jeep kindly gifted to us from my in laws. It was stolen on New Year’s Eve and when it was recovered I was too afraid to drive it again. My sister in law helped us get a mini van. It was purple and felt horrible and perfect all at the same time. Buying a minivan made me feel like I was never going to be be cool again. I may never have been cool to start with though. The purple monster served us well, driving us two and from Pennsylvania and then finally it was the van that brought us here to live. The jury is still out on if it brought us home.

As many Dodge’s do, the transmission fell out and I took it too a junk yard, thanking it for it’s service and crawled into van number two. The worst car I’ve ever driven in my life. Never have I been so happy to see a flashing check engine, knowing it meant the end. That brought the Explorer. The car I loved, the car that died. The car that led me to the stupidest van known to man.

Okay that might be an exaggeration.

Last year we leased “the” van. We’ve named him Clark even though I still don’t love him enough to call him by name. He’s brand new and I don’t ever have to worry about him breaking down but not only did he come with a car payment. He came with shame. And utter uncoolness.

Minivan soccer mom, in the minivan that every single mother in North America drives. Except mine doesn’t have a DVD player or automatic doors. Because the jokes on me. (I do confess I hate those doors so really, I am okay with it except mornings at preschool when I feel silly to remind the poor preschool teachers that they have to shut it themselves. Insert embarrassed face).

I should preface that it’s a good van. And as I said, I don’t ever worry it will leave me stranded on the road. I have both peace of mind in good mechanics and Honda Care but there is something to be said about turning in your hot pink hair and picking up a set of minivan keys.

I sold out for safety. I sold out.

I might be having a midlife crisis I realize.

But I didn’t say that outloud.

I’m now searching for Devlynn’s first car. We’ve a small budget and I hear her say a lot how bad she wants a Jeep. She’s not getting one but hey, a teenager can dream. I think back to how great it was to have a first car. I’m excited for her to feel the indescribable feelings of freedom that comes along with being handed your first set of keys. Hopefully she won’t hate me when I ask her to pick up milk…. or drive her brothers to practice.

I hope she finds a car she loves. That she can remember fondly and google should she ever have a midlife car crisis. I have so many fond memories in that car. So so many.



Hi! I’m Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.

Dear teenage daughter


Dear Teenage Daughter,

I thought you were a boy when you were in my belly. I was convinced of it as a matter of fact. We would call you Max and you would play soccer and have almost black hair like my brother. Imagine my surprise when the tech said, “it’s a girl”. I bought pink suckers, tucked them into my Perkins apron and handed them out to everyone I knew.

When you were born I loved you. I still do. You cried though, a lot and I had no idea what I was doing and I worried that you hated me or that you were broken but one day you just stopped. And you looked like this tiny, happy angel and I loved you. I still do.

As a child you were happy. Very happy. You, always by my side, made me laugh. And you have always been kind and sweet and smart. When your first brother came, you squealed in delight and made the best big sister. When the next came, you fell into place as mommy’s little helper. By the time Dexter joined our family you were 12 and you welcomed him into the world with us learning both how beautiful and how brutal birth is but I will never, ever forget your face holding him the first time. Your instant love of him is still very apparent today. Now, we’ve added a fourth brother. The last and you will forever be our one and only princess. God knew we only needed one.

You’re now 16. Learning to drive and learning about the heartbreaks of mean boys and mean girls and mean self. I monitor a lot of what you do without you realizing it and I can see the pain you feel with each passive Tweet and I know that you worry you’re not pretty or smart or good. I see you struggle with friendship and with family and with your relationship with your dad and I try, with all my might to give you good advice and I often cry on your behalf when you are not looking and behind closed doors.

It was hard to let you turn 16. Not that I had a choice in the matter. But I wanted to put you in my pocket and keep you away from all that is high school. I wanted you to never feel the hurt of not fitting in or the worry of not being smart enough. I, in short, did not want you to be me at 16. Who wasn’t smart enough to finish and who, will regret for the rest of her life, never going to prom. And who will always regret never wearing a cap and gown or doing what normal high school kids do. I may push you too hard, I worry. To do good in school. To go to dances and to make friends. Because as an “old woman”, I have regrets I never don’t want you to have too.

I want for you to do all the things.

All of them.

Go to school and work hard but don’t forget you’ll only be 16 for one year. Break some rules and make mistakes but not too big, not big enough that they will affect you for the rest of your life. Go to the dance. Wear the most beautiful dress you can find. Pick it because you love it and not all your friends approveA. Feel beautiful in it and rock the beautiful outside that is so gorgeous but not nearly as beautiful as your inside.

Go to every single try out and sports thing and club you want to and if they say no or you fail, at least you can say that you tried. YOU TRIED. Good for you. There is nothing harder than trying scary things. It’s harder to just try then it will be to hear no. Trust me. I know. So play. Play hard and try. Try hard. You’ll never regret it. I promise.

Be boy crazy but not crazy for boys. Because it’s fun to have crushes and to date. It’s fun. But boys? They’re don’t make you who you are. No boy will make you beautiful or smart or kind or successful. Only you can do that and waiting for a boy to love you so that you can love yourself. It’s not good. Just love yourself. Because if you don’t start now? Loving yourself in your 30s is much, much harder. So, date them. Cheer for them. Be friends with them. But that’s it. Chances are you won’t meet your future spouse now and if you do? There is a real good chance he loves you enough now to wait for you.

You cried in my car this week because you’re afraid to grow up. Listen my little love. You don’t have to go anywhere until you’re ready. So while I don’t want you home at 30, you’re welcome there through college and as long as you need. Going to live at college isn’t for everyone. You can be too scared right now anyway. Because you’re 16 and you still have time. You are still a girl and there is still time to decide. You can stay home and you can go and I will do whatever you need to feel okay. Even if that means moving you in or out mid-semester. You can be home with us. We want you. And when you turn 30 and you have your own family and you feel like you need away. Come home. Because I want you. I want you to know, when you’re 30, I am still and always will be the mother who held you with every broken everything… from skin to hearts.

You are loved. From the day I “discovered” you to the day I am gone and forever. I don’t want you to be afraid but I know it comes with growing up. So I hear, to stroke your hair and listen and to stalk you twitter and questions when I am worried that you are down. I want you to feel safe and loved and when you are scared I want for you to always come to me. Always. Don’t be afraid to grow up. Growing up is great. Aside from the bills of course. I know that maybe it’s hard to see your family, who struggles and your mother who battles the sad and worry that’s your future too. But you should know, even with the struggle, I wouldn’t change a thing because I might not have you. And I might be sad but, you are never my sad. Ever. You and your brothers are what keep me afloat.

So my dear teenage daughter. Do all the things. Do them all with love. Remember you can come home and remember, please, through it all, I am always your mother. Make your life what you want it to be. Don’t wait for approval and don’t wait. Just do it. Do all the things. I cannot say that enough…



Hi! I’m Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.