I loved him.

No, I adored him. 

When he first joined our family, he felt strong, he felt safe, he felt like home. I eagerly fell into step as his most vocal adorer. I unabashedly, proudly, bravely sang his praises whenever I had the opportunity:

"He’s so smooth. He’s so sleek. He’s so cool."

"He’s just so comfortable, so roomy. He’s so sweeeeet. He really is the best thing that’s happened to our family. He makes my days so much easier. We are all so happy with him."

But today I ordered his seventh new hubcap. Seventh. Siete. Sept. Seee-venth. Seven.

So my love affair with Vanny is abruptly coming to an end.

It’s no secret that minivans are the symbol of the family. Minivans are stable, they’re normal, they’re middle-of-the-road, level and borderline dorky. OK, they're definitely dorky. They’re just not cool in any way, shape or form. They’re every day, everywhere and almost every mother with kids.   

But it is also a known fact that most minivans are a pretty smooth ride. They handle curves like buttah, their seats are comfy, they're so big that there's room for one family's kids and then some. Most models have automatic sliding doors, windows, and  trunks. The riders in the back can control their own temp (if they're not strapped into car seats), and when all the superstar tinted windows are down, it really does almost feel like you're chilln' in a hot rod convertible. 

Newer models' seats can be switched, changed, moved or removed. The backseats can hide away in the floor and the middle seats can turn into a table. There’s no high step to contend with when lifting the already-heavy baby carrier or the flailing, kicking toddler like in SUV's, Jeeps, Hummers or luxury whatever-else-there-is. Most minivans have only a semi-high step because they're mini. That's right. Big and roomy, but mini at the same time. The beauty of the minivan.

Our Vanny's kickin' company even came out with a crazy-hot video, complete with a rapping husband and wife and two dancing kids. Seriously, this brought my love of Vanny to a whole new level—not only was he a smooth ride, the perfect vehicle—now he even had a hip-hop song that every young mom or dad driver could connect with and be proud of. I sometimes hummed it as I drove along. Some days, I still catch myself singing it.

But no matter how cool a car is, when the local auto shop guy gives you the link to their direct sales hubcap site, your eyes begin to wander. Maybe it was just bad luck? The van gods gave Vanny a set of bad wheels that the hubcaps just won't stick to? Were there other Vanny relatives who were also missing hubcaps? Sure, now and again I'd see some. But not many. Were his cousins—from other minivan families—missing some? I didn't notice. But I do know that a few friends have spent entire days at their minivan's dealership, under the knife for one recall or another. Gah. Totally scary and very annoying.

Let me clarify: I am by no means a "crazy" behind the wheel, one who deserves to buy seven hubcaps in exchange for the danger she's putting her fellow drivers in every day. I've taken the No Cell Phone Pledge. Most of the time I am schlepping three kids and a friend or two—and a dog—around town. I'm careful. Really careful. OK, yes, sure—I tap a curb or a corner now and again, but should that really knock off my hubcap? Seven times? N-O.

So, do I leave my old love for a new, updated, easier, hubcap-sturdy, cooler companion? When is it time to sever ties, shake hands and move on? I don't have an answer, but I know is this: Vanny better hold on tight to this last new hubcap, or he's going to be out one hot-mama-minivan-drivin' sweetheart.