The sensible parents

We’re parents. And parents are supposed to be sensible. Logical. Responsible, practical. That’s why WE’RE the parents and THEY’RE the kids. It’s our job to teach them these things.

So when our two 18-year-olds were facing their first summer post-high school and came to ask us for fun money, after a good, hard laugh we encouraged them/badgered them/set forth the mandate that they HAD to get summer jobs. Yes, it’s a lousy job market, we said, but there will be no resting on your laurels this summer. You must take on responsibility. The Bank of Mom and Dad is now closed. Go get jobs.

That’s right: We sure told them.

Rising to our expectations as children so often do when they have big dreams and empty wallets, they did get jobs. My husband and I were naturally very proud… of ourselves. We congratulated each other on our brilliant parenting techniques. Our cajoling worked! Those freeloaders were now productive members of society! And just as we settled in to pat our own backs and toast one another, these crafty teens were back—this time asking for rides to work.

So we drove them off, and returned home and resettled in and raised our glasses and— phone call: they needed rides home. And when we got home, back they needed to go but we were busy now so we loaned them our car but then the other 5 kids needed to all be at various and sundry activities at the exact same time and GAAAHHH!!!

It became apparent rather quickly that we hated these stupid teen jobs.

Yes, yes, they needed the money. Yes, I know, blah blah productive something something society blah. Those stupid teen jobs had the unpopular side effect of creating shuttle driver jobs for my husband and I.

That’s when we sat down and looked at our finances. Maybe it was time for the teens—we have FIVE of them, after all—to have a car they could share to get them to the places they wanted and/or needed to go.

We’d already held out as long as we could. We calculated what kind of vehicle was reasonably priced and safe to drive. We visited the used car lot.

Our intention was to check out the electric blue Toyota Yaris.  It was cute. Better, it was in our price range. I didn’t know much about safety ratings, but it was the kind of car that could carry maybe a good 3 people. Four if they were small. And it apparently got great gas mileage. Sure, the color was a bit outlandish, but being an intelligent person, I knew that color had very little to do with the actual functioning of the car. Or so my husband told me, anyway.

But the bronze Toyota Corolla, two rows over? Now there was a car. It was larger and the price was better. And one look and we knew the kids would practically almost smirk with joy at such a car. Perhaps even manage a shrug of gratefulness to have something that safe. Yes, it looked like a car a mom would drive. Not this mom, per se, but you know. Some mom somewhere. Like an older mom. A grandmother, perhaps. Not my grandmother, per se, but… whatever. It would be a car that the kids could use, once they got past the flinching and gag reflex.

My husband and I knew it was the sensible choice. Logical. Responsible, practical. And we’re the parents, so clearly we know these things. This car had a lot going for it, characteristics the kids would come to appreciate in time. I mentioned the safe thing, right? Yeah, well there was that. Oh and it got similar gas mileage to the Yaris, so that’s something. I mean, while they probably didn’t care now, those kids would come to appreciate the gas savings. Bonus: it wasn’t peacock blue.

We went to the lot to see the blue Toyota Yaris. And we decided that the sensible thing would be to go with the larger, bronze Toyota Corolla.

How we ended up driving off the lot with the red 2001 Mustang GT is another story entirely. That one’s the story about us: the non-sensible parents.

Oops.