To celebrate I crashed our car into a parked car.
Envy my life at your leisure.
Onward (in Chef’s 1993 Toyota Corolla)
So, you know, when you’re about to have four kids – two of which will be teenagers before we know it, the others in car seats which take up so.much.friggin’.room. – you need a fucking big car.
4WDs don’t cut it because the second row of seats aren’t permanent, take up boot space and are a hassle to get in and out of.
Fancy pants people movers are no good as they only have six seats, so if one of the boys wanted to bring a friend they wouldn’t fit. And none of them have decent enough boot space (remember, we’re factoring in school age kids and kids in strollers – and those kids so close together there is a double stroller.
And they all feature car carpet. That hideous construct that means once grass, sand and crumbs gets into it, they never.ever.come.out.
The boys l.ov.e. it.
It still freaks me out in terms of size, but that is slowly passing and I’m quite enjoying being at the same driving height as an Sydney Buses. People kinda get out of your way, which appeals. And does she go!?! Bloody oath.
Oh, and it has plastic flooring. The salesman joked you could hose it out, until I pointed out to him that was actually a selling point for us. Once he told us you can take the back seats out and fit in a motorbike, Chef was sold.
Oscar’s has had nightmares – where the new car is cold.
There are tears if they have to go anywhere in our original car.
Chef was driving it yesterday and he passed another one on the road. They waved. It’s like “Breeders of the world UNITE!”