If this van's a-rockin'...

Belle and I have been a little wistful lately as we watch our kids grow. Our 4-and-a-half-year-old daughter can already apply her own lipstick. Our 19-month-old son, after figuring out he can stand up during bathtime, has discovered the joy of peeing in the tub.

So, after much deliberation, we decided it was time to have a third... row of seating in one of our cars.

Not our van.

That we became Van People was a bit of surprise. But I should have seen this automotive evolution coming. I might have even predicted it five years ago:

Memories might be priceless, but if I can get a couple thousand dollars for my car when I turn it in, I'll take it. That money will not go toward purchasing my new car, though, because that is already in our garage. I'll soon be driving Belle's Corolla, a silver four-door with some pep and a small spoiler so named because it spoils the view out of your rearview mirror.

Belle, in turn, will get a new car. Something a little bigger, something with a bit more room, something that can fit -- gulp -- car seats.

Since then, the Corolla and I got along fine. But then the radio display stopped working. And then the automatic locks stopped automatically locking. And then our kids and our car seats got bigger and the car started feeling small when we all piled in. We could only take the car on short trips that did not require us bringing much more than ourselves.

Poor Belle was packed so tight in the passenger seat of the Corolla with her backpack, cooler of snacks and knitting bag that she could barely buckle her seatbelt. When the kids needed something while we were driving (it's never "if" when you have kids under 5), she would have to contort herself over the center console and effectively moon the driver in front of us.

(If you were expecting a butt joke there, I'd like to sleep in my bed tonight, thank you very much.)

For as long as I've known Belle, she swore she would never get a van. But the door opened for one in part because of the doors on her SUV. Contorting your kids through a car-door opening and into their car seats without any complaining is the toughest game of "Operation" imaginable. The appeal of sliding doors and the ability for our kids to climb into the van on their own, not to mention space for them to spread out, was a huge selling point.

Some couples go out for dinner on their wedding anniversary. Belle and I, in perhaps the most appropriate sign of how far we've come since we said "I do," spent our wedding anniversary at a car dealership saying "I don't" to financing plans and various add-ons to our new van. One month later, everyone is happy and comfortable in our new ride. Belle even lets me drive it sometime.

That third row, incidentally, is empty right now but we've been batting around a plan for it. It could involve -- gulp -- another car seat.

As I was writing this, at 6:30 one morning, I saw my son stirring in his crib on the baby monitor. He was calm, so I went back to writing. A minute later, I heard my daughter's voice over the monitor, and then saw her hand give him a book through the crib rails.

I ran upstairs and found my daughter sitting on the potty.

"Why did you go into his room?" I asked.

"He was trying to reach 'Pete the Cat,'" she replied as my son wailed in his crib.

People always joke about going from one kid to two is like going from a zone defense to man-to-man. But what you don't realize until you have a kid is that, in both scenarios, you're playing against LeBron James. All you can do is try to keep the score respectable.

So whether we have a third child or continue to marvel at how our two kids are growing, I was prescient five years ago about my future:

This is going to cost me a lot of money.