The Honda Odyssey

Whenever I take Abby someplace where other children are I play a little game with myself. I count how many blue Honda Odyssey minivans are in the parking lot. During the school year when I would walk her to school I would always giggle internally when I saw that almost ever vehicle in the parking lot was a blue Honda Odyssey. Seriously, everyone around here drives one of those damn things and they are all the same shade of gross dusty blue. The newer ones have chrome trim around the windows and that was the only way I could tell Lisa's from Marnie's, but if Linda's was there I would get confused.
Are these cars really that great? And why are the all blue?
My friend Julie is the only one who I know who has a black one, but that does not make it any better. It is still a minivan, and it is still a conformist Honda Odyssey.
The other thing I have noticed about the Honda Odyssey is that the families who own them all fit a certain demographic. The women are the Alpha moms at the park. They are organizing playdates with the other Alpha moms and their Alpha kids, discussing their Republican politics, whining about their cleaning ladies, planning their block parties/next pregnancies/Bunko nights, and so on. The kids are usually quietly destroying something (the park, a toy, a sibling, another child's self esteem), and the fathers never drive them solo. Ever. Look around the next time you are in the parkinglot and see if this holds true.
My problem with the Honda Odyssey Moms is that they seem to be so wrapped up in the efficiency of their reliable vans, schedules, kids and husbands that they never seem to get a taste of life. It think the Odyssey makes you uptight. It must be the name, which implies a long journey with a connotative hint of burden, that influences those who own these things. I think that the women who drive the Chrystler Grand Caravan have it a little better. They are willing to live life on the edge and buy an American, thus inherently less reliable, van. A van with a name that makes their daily kid carting sound important and exciting, and less lonely. Grand Caravan. Or a Nissan Quest that makes the driver feel like she is going on a meaningful voyage to the Jewel, where along the way she just might find a missing piece of the puzzle. Even the Chevy Venture has a less mundane name than the Odyssey.
When I think of all the women I know who drive an blue Honda Odessa I realize that they are all the same. Even the ones I don't know who I just see loading the double stroller in the back on top of the "emergency kits" fit my stereotype of the Honda Odessa Moms. There is a slight sneer to them that is there to hide the quiet desperation that they feel while driving this nondescript van around town. It is like they are unsatisfied, yet unwilling to divulge this so they conform to the benign blue of the safest minivan on the road.
Sometimes I envy them with their easy open doors and spacious quarters. There are time that I long for a van so that I can be that much further from the constant questions from the backseat. When we go on long car rides I think about how easy it would be if we could just pop Cinderella in the DVD player and go. But then I realize that I would be missing out on a huge part of my kids' childhood. Everytime I ride in a minivan it gets easier and easier to imagine owning one. But then I come to my senses.
I'll take my Jeep Liberty with the apple juice stain on the passenger seat and the beat up bumper any day of the week.