Miss Minivan America

MV5BNzA5NTAwNDc4MF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTYwNzM0OTg4._V1._SX263_SY475_Last night I caught a few minutes of the Miss America contest. Is it called a contest? Is that the correct terminology? I just don’t even know.

Now, I’m going to start this post with an apology to anyone who may happen to love Miss America. If you were a beauty pageant girl and get warm fuzzies whenever you think of strutting around in a bikini and heels, then this post might not be for you. With that said, I will confess:

I don’t get it. I do not get the allure of Miss America. I know everyone says it’s about the scholarship, and these girls are so well rounded, but all I see are young ones wearing too much make up, dancing awkwardly in the sand, then strutting their stuff in a two piece on national TV. There are other ways to get scholarships, right?

Now I must confess, I was kind of pulling for Miss Kansas. Mainly because she speaks Chinese and shoots guns and somehow this made her a little more rockstar. But still, after five minutes of watching the broadcast, all I could think of was Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality falling on her face and I got the giggles and had to ask Lee to change the channel back to football.

Lee says I’m just jealous because I’ve never been on Miss America. I told him he’s right and maybe I’ll start my own Miss America contest. Miss Minivan America.

Then he told me there’s already something like that – apparently it’s called Mrs. America and it’s for…well I can only assume it’s for married people? Older women? The more pressing question is HOW DID LEE EVEN KNOW THERE WAS SUCH A THING?! Who is he?

It’s concerning, really.

Back to my point, though. If I were to design my own pageant, it’d be Miss Minivan America and we would eliminate that pesky bathing suit portion of the whole shebang, because all of us would have had multiple children and we know better than to throw on a skimpy two piece in front of the world.

Instead we’d replace the bathing suit portion of the show with an athletic clothing parade. Yoga pants and tennis shoes would be the uniform of choice and we’d strut comfortably in front of the judges. Some could even wear skorts if they felt so inclined, because we all know that the skort combines the comfort of shorts with the fashionability of a little skirt.

I think I’d keep the evening gown portion of the show, because what minivan mom doesn’t enjoy getting dolled up every once in awhile? Of course, to keep it realistic, she’d have to have at least one spit up stain on the gown and there would likely not be enough make up in all the world to cover the bags under her eyes, but dang it, she’d rock sequins like it was nobody’s business.

For the question and answer portion of the show, we’d ask super important questions like, “How do you prepare a dinner for five in 20 minutes or less?” Or how about, “What are your tips for optimum daily function on three hours of sleep?” Or “You have three children: One begins projectile vomiting in the middle of the grocery store while the other pulls an apple off the bottom of the pile sending the rest tumbling across the floor. The third wails in horror as she’s covered in vomit. How do you handle this situation with both grace and poise?”

As there are no good answers to any of these, we’d all probably bark “WORLD PEACE” into the microphone, which would be a satisfactory answer, because who doesn’t want world peace, right?

The talent portion of the program would be most interesting as it would likely find women performing all sorts of miraculous acts such as simultaneously fixing dinner, folding laundry, talking on the phone and signing take home folders all while ignoring a whining toddler. And all this would be done in her cute athletic skort, of course.

Perhaps another contestant would be working on her computer while taking a phone call from the school about a child who is sitting in the nurses office with a sore toe and petting the neglected dog who whines at her feet.

A third contestant would demonstrate the art of cleaning a rancid minivan in under ten minutes. (Grab a large trash can, sweep everything into it, even if it’s not trash, spray Febreeze on the seats and call it a day).

The possibilities for talent would be endless!

And there wouldn’t be any super blonde Barbie hair or dancing on the beach. Ain’t nobody got time for that! Ponytails would be the preferred hairdo with roots that were at least a half-inch thick. And contestants would wear just enough make up to look human.

Now naturally, you cannot have a contest without a reward, so what on earth could we give to the crowning champion of Miss Minivan America?

Six hours alone to do whatever she wanted.

Now that would be a pageant worth competing in.



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I have a confession to make

I need to tell you all something and it may be hard to hear. Maybe you should sit down for this. Wait – what’s that? You’re already sitting? Oh. Um…Great! That’s really…super.


Look I didn’t mean to be deceptive. You must believe me when I say that. I really truly to my core wanted to believe it was true, but the fact of the matter is…

I guess…I mean, what I’m trying to say is…

I don’t always think minivans are hot.


I know you’re disappointed. I know that I have been steadily convincing all of you over the last couple of years that they are, indeed, a sexy means of transportation but-


What now?

You didn’t believe me?

You don’t think minivans are hot either?!

*hangs head in shame*

I went to the salon yesterday with my hair piled in a bun on top of my head where it has remained for the past year and a half. I sat down dramatically in the chair and yanked out the ponytail holder, letting the golden orange locks spill onto my shoulders.

“I was trying to save money,” I said pitifully as she gingerly combed through the brassy gold locks. “The box said my hair would turn a dark blonde.”

“The box lied,” she said.

“Well, I need you to fix it and I need you to give me a total hair makeover. Drastic. Edgy. Fun.”

And then, friends, I uttered the words that revealed the deception of my heart.

“I do not want to look like I drive a minivan.”


Forgive me?

She fixed my hair, then she chopped it off. Waaaaaaayyyyyy off. And she covered up the brass up top. Then we made it just a tiny bit more fun.


Just a little pink...for fun.


When I first mentioned to Lee that I wanted to put pink highlights in my hair, I told him that the only thing holding me back was the fact that I’m a mom who drives a minivan.

“I don’t want the kids to end up taking me on Maury Povich someday under the unfortuante title MY MOM DOESN’T DRESS HER AGE!” I moaned.

But I have to tell you that as I strutted out to the parking lot, my van glinting in the afternoon sun, I suddenly felt a surge of confidence. I’m a minivan mom, yes. But I’m a minivan mom with pink in her hair and I happen to really love it. And suddenly I didn’t feel so bad about being said minivan mom.

Even my van felt a bit edgier and more fun! With all the scratches running down the sides from the kids’ bikes, I’d venture to say my van is down right punk.

Lest you should worry that my pink highlights are going to my head, I bid you fear not. I do retain the humbling necessity that will ever remind me of my minivan mom (and ever aging) status and that is the pair of the glasses that I have to wear now because my eyes are wearing down on me.

They do give me a respectable minivan mom look, though, don’t they?

I’m sorry I let you down, dear readers, but I hereby pledge to continue the valiant fight to erase the stigma of the dreaded minivan. I will say it over and over until I believe it to my core.

Minivans are hot, minivans are hot, minivans are hot…

Say it with me?

Minivans are hot, minivans are hot, minivans are hot…