The Nile ain't just a river in Egypt

OK, so I was supposed to be "helping" with this thing from day one, and that hasn't really happened. But here I am, for better or for worse.

And I'm here to make a confession.

For those of you that know me, this might come as a surprise. The shock for some of you may be the content, but most of you will just be blown away that I've actually admitted it to myself.

So, without further adieu...

I drive a station wagon.



I like to call it a SportWagon, which is from the German schportvaggon, meaning "To lie to one's self about driving a station wagon." (NOTE: Since my college German teacher has been known to read and comment on this blog, I must confess this is not actually the correct spelling or translation. Call it creative license.)

Ya, whatever. I admit it. It's a station wagon.

Today, as I scrambled to take Claire to the doctor to get the goop looked at once again with only Grace to assist me (surprisingly, she was no help), I was reminded that it's OK to drive a sport....nay...station wagon.



I do like my car. It's not as fun as the two-doors that I've had for the overwhelming majority of my driving career, but today as I pulled my station wagon into the parking lot full of minivans at the pediatrician's, I made peace with the facts.

I drive a station wagon.