Ford Flex, the Mommybloggermobile.

It took Obsession.  Overanalysis.  Focus.  Dedication.  And…

– 635 days from the time I first blogged about it.

– 50 days from the time we decided to buy to actually find one that met all of our criteria and price point.

– 177 miles driven to purchase it.

But I finally have one of my very own.  The most disliked car in all the universe, The Ford Flex.

(I mean, Ford doesn’t even promote this car.  Even they hate it!!  Lucky for them, there’s a me in the world.)

But.  Without further ado, I am so pleased to introduce you all to Flexi,

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The Space Toaster.

Space Toaster

“Why??”, the people ask.  “WHY would you buy such an ugly, unpopular vehicle?? You could stick wood trim on the side of it and it’d be a 1978 Brady Bunch Station Wagon!!”

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Because I understand that no one can appreciate her beauty but me.  And I’m okay with that.

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Because I don’t mind being way off the trend curve, and Flexi is A Geek’s Paradise.

Because I’ve only begun to scratch the surface of her abilities (I can’t wait until I have the opportunity to read her many manuals!! And make an excel spreadsheet of all of the things I need to try!!  And then check them off the list with glee!!), and she completes me, in a way that only an Artificial-Intelligence-Automobile could do.

She knows things.

She knows when we cross time zones and automatically adjusts her clocks so that I don’t get confused.

She knows if it’s dark outside, and she automatically darkens her rearview mirror so that your bright headlights don’t damage my sensitive eyes.

She knows when my phone is in the car and automatically plays music from it via Bluetooth.

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She knows when my phone rings, so she mutes the radio and displays the caller’s name on her screen.

She knows that I have an intense fear of locking my keys and my children in the car, so she has a keypad on the driver’s door that I can use in just that sort of situation.

She listens to me.

She listens when I tell her to call Gramamma.  She asks me whether she’d like me to dial Gramamma’s cell or home number, and then she calls her.  And my kids can talk to Gramamma.  And hear Gramamma.  Through her speakers.

She listens when I tell her to turn up the air.  Or down the radio.  Or to play a certain song off of my phone.

She opens and closes her own trunk with the click of a button, saving me from the pain and agony of trying to close a trunk one-handed while holding a squirming 22 pound baby.

She talks to me.

She tells me how to get to where I’m going.

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She tells me if she isn’t feeling well.

She shows me how I’m doing while backing up, and strongly urges me not to hit things in my path.

She saves things.

She records my CDs and keeps them on her hard drive so that when I’m all alone in the car, I never have to remember to pop out VeggieTales to make room for Leona Lewis.

She keeps up with my cell phone’s call history and phonebook, you know – because she’s nosy like that.
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She makes the children happy.

They have more than enough personal space, but can still reach each other to share slobbered-on snacks.

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They have a cheery amount of light, thanks to three rows of sunroofs.

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And again, they can talk to their favorite people through the speakers.  Who would need anything else?

She tells me about her last owner.

Chris and I drove to Atlanta late Friday night, got very little sleep, then bought Flexi and drove her back home Saturday.  Somewhere around the state line, we popped in Ali’s “King George and the Ducky” to record it onto the car’s hard drive.

(You see, Ali had a Moment of Great Panic and told my Mom that she didn’t want us to get a new car after all because then she couldn’t listen to her favorite Veggie Tales CD!! And this COULD NOT be happening to her!!)

So we thought we’d really impress her and put it on the new car permanently – as the first album.

But as we were listening to “My affection for these duckies isn’t getting any stronger!!” and trying to figure out how to record it, we popped over to the “Jukebox”, and discovered that Flexi’s former owner hadn’t deleted her music collection.

189 songs.

And, based on the 189 songs left on the car’s hard drive, Chris used his Sherlockian powers of stereotype and nicknamed Flexi’s former owner The Urban Lady.

It was all R&B. Old R&B. New R&B. Greatest Hits R&B. Live R&B. Let’s Get It On R&B.  Girl Power R&B.

No rock. No rap. No country. No variation. No statistical outliers to throw him off the trail, like Wham! or David Hasselhoff Live in Branson.

And, all of a sudden, Flexi watched as it’s two new suburban homeschool owners went from VeggieTales to an hour of passionate yet awkwardly white car-dancing to Ne-Yo, Whitney, Mary J. Blige, and Jennifer Hudson, and then contracting romantic feelings while listening to Brian McKnight, Luther Vandross, and Lionel.

And we now have Date Night music for the next five years.

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God Bless You, Urban Lady.

Back to Flexi…

She’s Polite Like That.

She knows that when you use windshield fluid, it always drips back down onto the windshield post-wiping, so she performs a … “Courtesy Wipe” two seconds later, thereby saving my vision from unsightly skid marks.

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…Perhaps she can even teach my kids a thing or two.