Don’t come knockin’ when the van’s a-rockin’

Nov 14, 2012 by

It’s 8 PM on Saturday night and the kids are in bed.  I put the baby monitor on a shelf in the garage and crack the van windows so we can hear it.  Out of the back of the minivan come the stroller and the potty; in go two sleeping bags zipped together.  I bring Sinead O’Connor’s “I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got” CD while my husband, begrudgingly participating in my little role-playing, brings Rush’s “Moving Pictures.”  Damn, that nine-year age gap really makes a difference in this scenario.  We agree to take turns spinning the tunes while I secretly curse myself for not making a sexy mix tape for the occasion.  Oh wait, no tape deck in the Sienna.  He brings the Boone’s Farm because I couldn’t seem to find any Bartles & Jaymes wine coolers.  Probably should have procured some pot for historical accuracy but oh well.

Once the stage is set, the suspension of disbelief begins:  We don’t have kids.  We aren’t married.  We’re just two high-school kids looking to have a good time and get laid in the back of their parents’ car.  (Never mind that I’d be 18 to his 27 and we’d be breaking several laws in several states.)

We lie down and look up at the map lights stars.  We talk about what we want to be when we grow up.  (This conversation is legit, BTW, because we still don’t know what we want to be when we grow up.)  He’s so earnest that I can see that long-ago teenager who I never knew.  I fall in love with him all over again.  I let him get to third base.  Who am I kidding, he gets a home run.  (Man alive, even in the back of a minivan, this is awkward.  Maybe I’m just not very bendy in my old age, but how the hell did I used to do this in the back of a Chevy Citation?  But I digress.)  A bit of reality creeps in when it hits me — this is a grown man who loves me more than anything.  Because of that, he hits it out of the park!

 

We stay out there for a long time, talking about anything but our real lives while “Nothing Compares 2 U” plays in the background.  At some point, he loses patience with the cuddling and switches the song, breaking the mood by rocking the air drums a la Neil Peart to “Tom Sawyer.”  Typical teenage boy.

Not wanting to miss curfew, we eventually pack up and head inside to our adult lives and our comfy, marital bed.  One true sign that you’re a grown-up:  you have sex in cars because you want to.  One night as teenagers is all we need; our real life is better.  But sometimes?  Sex in cars is HOT.

 

Photo credits here and here .

 

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Jen is a nerdy mama with a touch of OCD and a penchant for snarkiness. Before she joined the corporate world in order to put food on the table, she obtained a Social Work degree in order to save the world and hug all the trees. Currently, she works full-time from home and puts her degree to good use in designing online training programs for a large insurance company. Jen originally hails from rural northwest Pennsylvania, where “creek” is pronounced “crick” and cow tipping is an accepted social activity. Jen lives in Simsbury with her husband and two little boys, who are well on their way to being the best-documented children in history (40K+ photos and counting).

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7 Comments

  1. Kate Street

    omg, this post is, like, totally awesome. I mean, freak me out! (Going for my early teen-age valley girl speak.)
    What a great idea! We sometimes pretend we’re teenagers too, lol. And yes on the way back from a Roger Waters concert this summer, we parked our car at the end of our long driveway and christened our own Sienna before we had to be back for curfew…hadn’t done THAT in a long time! Love this post, Dear Sister!

  2. Sofia

    I have the minivan, but no garage. LOL.

    • Well, that could definitely up the excitement factor but I’d have to advise against it. Wouldn’t want you to get arrested in your own driveway. :)

  3. Mgpeak

    Haha- love this. We just got a Toyota Highlander. Might work just as good as the minivan :)

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