Betsy is her full name, but we call her “Bets” for short.
“Come on, Bets,” we mutter, as she climbs mountains. We pat the center armrest, “You can do this, old girl!”
Betsy doesn’t fit in with the Florida crowd, with their tinted windows, shiny exteriors, and spotless insides. Bets bares the scars of being a family car. Her front window is smudged by my toes, resting on her dashboard during long trips. The ceiling has been splattered by strawberry applesauce, which was waved around in its squeeze pouch during a tantrum. I suppose I could have cleaned it off, but there was never the right moment. Now, I’m afraid, the stains are permanent. But I’m okay with that.
Bets is the kind of car you can live in, comfortably. Last night Alice asked if she could eat her ginormous unicorn horn lollipop on the car ride home. Had we been driving Chad’s new truck, the answer would have been no. But with old Bets? Of course! Sticky hands are welcome on her worn seats.
Bets has been there for a lot of the big moments in my life. On the way to the hospital to deliver Avery, on the way to the hospital to say goodbye to my little Irish Grandma. She reliably schlepped me to and from work- through snow and ice, rain and heat. She was there that one time a car lost control on a dark icy morning, crossing the median of the highway, coming directly at me. I don’t know how I avoided that head-on collision, but I suspect Bets and my guardian angel trouble-shooted that one for me.
Bets brought me across the country, from Minnesota to Florida. And she’s been a central figure in our family trips to the Smoky Mountains because although she is not shiny and new like Chad’s truck, she has all-wheel drive.
She’s reliable, though it is easy for her to shine brightly compared to my two previous cars. One burned to the ground on the side of the highway. The other shook violently after a chunk of its engine fell off.
I’ve never had any trouble with Bets, except for that one time her battery died on top of a mountain as the sun was setting. That time, I met my guardian angel in human form.
We needed someone to jump our battery. No one else on the mountaintop had jumper cables. And then a powder blue, ’96 Oldsmobile pulled up next to us. I looked at it skeptically. This, of all cars, should not be driving through mountains. But the sweet couple in the front seats had jumper cables, and they were happy to help. While the men hooked up the cables, the older woman came over to chat.
She said hello to the girls, and explained that her car was named, “Bluebell.” And then she told us that God had sent her to help us with our car. Up until that point in my life, angels had been a very abstract concept.
But now I know that my angel drives a ’96 Oldsmobile, and I wouldn’t have known that without Betsy.
Betsy was shiny and clean when we bought her. And I was just starting to show in my pregnancy with Avery. Now I have stretch marks, and Bets has a couple of dents. Sometimes the front part of the car needs to be popped back into place. “Did you hit something?” my neighbor asked as he eyed the popped-out part of my car.
“Not that I am aware of,” I shrugged.
One time I backed into a parking garage cement wall with Bets. Chad wasn’t too pleased about that one, so now I try to be more careful with her. I try to limit myself to just hitting the occasional curb. Bumping a garbage can is fine as long as it’s empty.
Bets witnesses the daily humdrum of motherhood. She is with me as I bring the girls to and from school, doctor’s appointments, and Target runs. She isn’t perfect- she’s quirky, and maybe that is what I like best about her.
My attitude towards Bets is one I wish I could cultivate toward my body. I wish I could say, “Hey old girl, you’ve been through a lot.” And when that critical voice in my brain sneers at the stretch marks or cellulite, I could say, “Remember that time you grew two entire humans, from just two cells to 26 billion cells?” “Remember how you created enough space to house these two beautiful beings? Remember how you morphed to create an exit large enough for an 8lb, 9oz, burrito with a very large head?”
Not only did Betsy introduce me to my guardian angels, but she taught me about having unconditional love and compassion for myself.
She’s pretty great, and I’m starting to embrace that, so am I.
