I had a hard time coming up with a title.

For all this is really about is nothing more than a mishmash of my latest happenings, not that it is interesting.

Coming up with a good title for a piece is like coming up with a password for your debit card, or email, or work account. Chase bank now has it that you cannot pick a date, any series of numbers together, well, no numbers that make SENSE TO YOU. I can’t do my birthday or anyone elses, I cannot pick my wedding anniversary because it’s a series, 3-2-1. They need to put letter pads up there and let us pick words. I’d totally have tourettes and pick things like “douchbag”. “Shitfaced.” “Assmunch.”

So the title of today’s piece is “Butt breath.” For no other reason than I find curse words to be hilarious and NOT against my religion. And with Easter coming up I have a religious installment of my opinion just brewing up inside me, stay tuned to hear the tale of why I think the church is full of hypocrites and I choose to worship from my own damn home. But that’s another day. Today’s entry should be a little more light.

I am not a politically correct person. I eat red meat, I don’t buy organic (costs too much) I think growth hormones in cows are good for you. Puts hair on your chest. I breastfed my babies simply because it was free, not because of it‘s many health benefits. Hell, puree up a steak and stick it in the bottle for all I care.

My daughter who is 8 and extremely charming with her smile and her huge glasses with the huge eyes recently told me that whole grains are her favorite because they are good for us. Why did she say this? Because her teacher told her so. Like a sponge she is. So I could tell her that naked Thursdays with poptarts for dinner are better for us and she would totally believe it. She thinks IHOP is this mystical magical place because “it’s on TV!!”. Her ambition is to write and I do believe she will make her momma proud with her tack sharp wit and not being afraid to speak the truth, politically correct or not. She’s just a little bit nicer than me when it comes to telling it how it’s going to be. She has this no nonsense way about her that makes you want to just see her point because to disagree with her would be like saying fairies don’t exist and that rainbows aren’t pretty. She just exudes charm.

I figure she’ll either make a wonderful author or a total dictator. Isn’t it scary just how charming some of the world’s most notorious dictators have been? They make you think that baking millions of people in ovens just seems like the natural choice. It’s scary. I do admire her willingness to question things placed in front of her. But give her a logical explanation, and she will take it.

I am not so easily convinced. But I am not here today to convince you why I am right and the world is wrong. That will come at a later date.

Today I bring you a tale of a new car and how a simple trip to the mall totally defined my sense of self. Well, maybe it didn’t define me per se as it did bring out my totally insecure and vain side.

Last week as my little 4 door sedan continued to be a total ass wipe as I did my 110 mile commute each day, my husband had a few days off and got behind the wheel. I will say that my car did not act out as badly until daddy got in the car and I’m oh so proud of her for showing her ass because it convinced him beyond a shadow of a doubt that I needed a new vehicle to drive our precious cargo around in.

Throughout the winter the car PMSed it’s way through life, starting sometimes, and not starting others. Namely, it started on the days that I needed to drive 10 miles to go to Kroger but did not start on the days I needed to drive 70 miles to get my children. We’ve had several people trouble shoot the car and I was oh so careful not to voice my concerns that it might be the transmission because that was a nice chunk of money we did not have. So if I didn’t say it, maybe the car wouldn’t get it into her head to do it. I never did think of the car as a woman until we traded her in because only a woman would be this difficult.

I realize this is incredibly sexist coming from an actual woman but I’m not even going to pretend that I’m not difficult. I won’t even LIE to you. Some days I strive for difficult and don’t even come close.

In my former life I drove a 4 door sedan as well, and inherited a 2 door piece of shit that I could pick up with one hand when divorced. My ex and I had toyed with the idea of getting a minivan but never quite had the chance to get one. Then they came out with this thing called a hybrid and started producing minivans and SUVs in the hybrid variety. And I’m totally down with a car run on corn because it just sounds neat, neveryouminding that fueling up in these alternate vehicles is quite an adventure. I think it was about 5 years ago that I read somewhere that they new hydrogen engine was showing promise but in the state of California, the land of plenty and some of the wealthiest people in the world, only had 3 pumps available. In the whole state. I’m sure times have changed but this put a damper on buying an alternate powered vehicle so my exes solution was to simply buy none. He wanted a hybrid or alternate fuel engine and that’s perfectly fine by me, not because I’m politically correct, but because they look cool. But the only thing even remotely affordable was a 2 door vehicle that would barely hold my 2 cabbage patch dolls I got as a child, at a time when they were the hottest thing on the market and my mom probably had to commit sins unknowable to me to get them, but the cars were small. No midsize sedans. Or get an SUV. And a 30k+ pricetag. Hey, double it and you had what our house cost.

So no vehicle it was. And divorce city and 2 door shit eating clunker it was.

I met my husband and last year he bought me the holy of all holies to moms everywhere who desire to be hot and desired and not minivan soccer moms---the SUV. This was a wonderful plan. Until we went to put our 4 children, our 2 bodies, into the 5 seat SUV.

Um.

See our dilemma. But living in a town like Seymour where I can go eat dinner, drive to Cortland and back, stop in Walmart, and do it all in under an hour and still have time to kill, this wasn’t a big deal. We simply took 2 vehicles. No big deal.

And it wasn’t a big deal until we moved far away and it takes 30 minutes to get anywhere we need to be except his work and the rest of us have no desire to be there unpaid so that doesn’t even count. So inevitably, we played rock paper scissors to see which kid was going to hold onto the bumper and run real fast.

Hey, don’t look at me like that. It’s funny. But the car salesman didn’t laugh either.

Now I don’t write about my life because I find it to be totally fascinating. Quite the contrary. I know my life is just as mundane and average as the next guy and we are all just rats spinning in the wheel but oh why not make it fun why we are here.

Back to the story of how I sold out and became a soccer driving minivan looking type mom.

In all reality we were making the car situation work. We just bought the car 8 months ago and I’ve done the math, in 8 months we put what most people put on a car in just over a year even with the commute so I’m not so sure it should be acting like the spoiled bratty child I’m pretending not to know in the toy store after only 8 months. It started acting like this back when Rodney commuted and I was in the hot mom SUV. 1 month after we bought it.

I simply do not desire handing over fistfuls of cash for things that do not work or services that are not rendered in the way I think they should be rendered. Sometimes that’s as simple as a smile. Or a fork. When I go to Hardees and order food that requires a fork, dammit, you best be giving me a fork because it’s really not THAT big a deal to you that I don’t have a fork for my 97 cent biscuit but I’m paying for it. So I say it is a big deal. It is the difference between my eating and living or not eating and dying.

So it’s that time of year again where the federal government gives us back the money we overpaid them and they oh so generously held on to for us all year long. Gee. Thanks.

Our plan was to purchase a sofa that someone did not have to die for us to get. Most of our furniture holds that prestige, people dying for us to get it. We have a houseful and that’s grand and all but piece by piece we hope to start replacing things with new things that were made sometime in this century. And that someone didn’t have to die for us to receive.

But last week my oh so kind husband looks at me and says that he would like to investigate a new vehicle as that bratty little car we had was giving him fits that in this house, rate a whoopin. He asked if I would be against making the sofa wait if he found something decent for me.

Well, lets see, when this car breaks, and it will break and I can even tell you where it is sitting for sale all shiny and looking all new, just waiting for it’s next victim, maybe I’ll drive the sofa 110 miles to get my children.

Yes. I’m ok with a better vehicle.

We take our down payment in and speak with the kind folks at Ray Skillman. They sure are a dandy bunch there, just ready to sell you a car, smoke a cigarette out back, and drop the F bomb a few dozen times in the 6 hours we were on the lot closing the deal. These are people I can deal with.

The hot mama SUV I was eyeballing was not only out of our budget payment wise, the gas was just not even something 3 extra jobs would pay for. This is precisely why I don’t drive the SUV we currently pay for.

Something smaller and more efficient was going to be in the cards for us. Except, any car we buy holds the same problem we had on day one of this family, not enough room. Cars hold 5 people, there are 6 in our family, who’s running behind us?

But what’s that I spot…a minivan. What’s that like? Same payments we make now? Holds everyone plus 1 so we could go steal us a kid for a day just to see how it fills up? Hmmm. Tell me more. Good mileage. Probably not great gas mileage but if I’m going to pay the same amount every month, I may as well pay for all my family to fit in one vehicle so we were willing to pay a little extra to gas it up.

The salesman says and I do quote, “you probably wouldn’t want a van.” with that tone. Not that I think he was implying that I’m far too hot to drive a minivan but that because I didn’t specifically state that I wanted a van, that we simply weren’t van people.

I don’t guess I considered myself a van person mostly because it’s never been in the cards for me to find one I could afford. And some of the vans are so huge I think I’d rather drive a hearse. I’m not big on minivans moreso for the size than the vanity of it all. But the SUV we had originally priced was bigger, and the SUV we own now is the same size as this van as they were side by side so hmmm…size isn’t an issue.

So we take it for a test drive and it starts and runs and does all those funky little things you expect your car to do every time you turn the key. My husband hemmed and hawed and asked the salesman to do all sorts of things that he didn’t actually care about, he just wanted to see if the guy would do it. He was getting me that van no matter what, but lets just see how willing this guy is to please us.

See, he doesn’t just interrogate dates, he interrogates car salesmen and jewelry salesmen, and even the people at Yankee candle. What will you do for him to get his money. That’s the question. And surprisingly, many people will jump through your hoops and give you discounts if you simply ask. True story.

So we decide that yes we are getting this van and yes I can handle this decision as I had a panic attack right there on the lot even though my car was dying a slow death and grabbing at our wallets promising to do ungodly harm. I hate change and even good change. I’m difficult. I’m a woman. Even with my size A chest I cannot lie.

The tires looked pretty decent to me but my husband being the caring man he is, who wasn’t going to back out of the deal no matter what because I said I wanted it and he was getting it, said there would only be a deal if there were new tires put on the van. And voila. 1 hour later it had 4 brand new tires on it. And I had keys in my hand.

I immediately named it the mom mobile but that’s a mouthful so then I said it was the mom wagon but that just sounds like shaggin wagon to me. And then my husbands eyes lit RIGHT up. But this is a PG van folks.

I still refer to it as my mom mobile as it just SCREAMS mom as I drive down the interstate because it’s a van and there is a shitload of kids in the back at any given moment.

Today my husband and I drove to the mall to buy Easter presents for the children we will not have on Easter so that might play into why I bought like 4 extra things when I said I only needed 1 to complete their baskets. It’s amazing, you can go get “designer” stuffed toys at the mall (what makes them designer other than the label is beyond me) for cheaper than one can get at Walmart for half assed ugly bunnies.

My dear sweet witty Chandler is not only on a whole grain kick, she wants fresh fruit and uncooked vegetables and is steering herself away from a processed life. I can’t say it displeases me to see her keep her arteries clear because I personally believe it’s too late for me after having nothing BUT a processed life, but what makes her so unique is she has that politically correct thing going on at only age 8. So she told me she really wished we had antibacterial gel in our house. Mind you I have bottles of soap in every bathroom and at every sink. I’m a total germaphobe. But I know that after about 5 washes with antibacterial gel, you need to get yourself to a sink and use soap and water. It’s old fashioned but it works. But apparently on her way to the bathroom or in between rooms, she feels the need to antibacterial her hands. My sweet little germaphobe. Have I said that she's my favorite?

So I’m in the mall and I see bath and body works antibacterial gel for my little politically correct intellectual type who will someday write this story in her own words from some coffee shop from her little laptop that has yet to be invented. Nothing but the best for my little girl. And yes, it will be in her basket.

If you think that is odd I cannot forget the year that we had an egg hunt at my sisters which isn’t so much as a hunt as it is my brother in law throwing about 500 plastic eggs from the porch to some point in the yard and telling the kids to have fun. This particular year my sister had about a million free dental samples as the dental clinic had just opened up. So the kids got floss and toothpaste in their eggs. I think Chandler STILL carries that floss. I mean how cool of her Aunt Shannon to not just give her something but give her something that will keep her healthy? What a caring aunt she has.

So we are trotting down the mallway stopping in for little bits of this and little bits of that and I cannot walk past Yankee candle. I always go in but I think it’s been a year since I actually bought anything. In fact I know it was because I bought candles the day I bought my wedding dress and son-----of-----a----bitch I didn’t think that through. 3 large jar candles in a bag in one hand and my dress in a garment bag in another trying not to drag the ground. My arms haven’t seen a workout before or since.

Today I speak it aloud yet once again thinking maybe if I speak it I can do it, “I will be good. I will not buy a candle. I need other things more.” and I was going to do just this until my husband whips out his card (thought I was going to say something else didn’t you) and tells me to pick something out. So of course I protest for just a second (it’s that woman thing, feigned modesty like “you don’t HAVE to honey” when really we are thinking “it’s a totally good thing you volunteered because I was going to buy it anyway. Now you can take the credit and I’m all innocent.”) So of course I pick something out and I see the car smelly things in there. I had been meaning to get me a beachy smelling one for my not so hot old lady with tons of kids minivan to make it smell good. Score that it was BOGO so we got enough smelly good things to put in his hot momma/too tall cop driving SUV AND in my old lady minivan.

We get in the van and I put it up in the mirror and OMG I AM AN OLD LADY. I DRIVE A VAN AND I HAVE A YANKEE SMELLY THING IN MY MIRROR. I am OLD OLD OLD and so not hot anymore.

Then I look at my husband and I realize, not only am I hot, and I have a hot husband and totally RAD and intelligent kids, but I smoke, I say fuck and I think it's funny, and I live full throttle.

Who knew a car smelly thing could be so life defining?