Car shopping is on the horizon, and I'm not looking forward to it.

I am a person who has a deep bond with her vehicles, and tends to drive them until the wheels fall off, or until they meet their untimely demise at the hands of a drunken driver, as was the case with my 1995 Plymouth Neon, affectionately known as Penelope.After Penelope, I purchased my absolute dream vehicle: a 2001 Jeep Cherokee, also known as Sylvia. 2001 was the last year that they made the classic, boxy Cherokees, and I thought it was rather graceful of Penelope to bow out just in time for me to get one.Sylvia and I had many adventures. However, the back seat wasn't the most kid-friendly area, and when we knew we were starting a family, the Wonderful Husband and I started looking for a more family-oriented vehicle. Enter the vehicle that would become my Old Faithful, our slightly used Suburban.For me, the Suburban was the ultimate Mom-mobile. I am, admittedly, one of those people who swears they will never drive a minivan. (Note: I am pretty sure I may be eating those words soon.) Driving my Jeep for years, and living "in the country," I have become somewhat dependent on four-wheel drive, for one thing. And, another thing, any time I am in a vehicle where my children sit close to each other, I am at risk for driving off the road the next time I have to hear "He's touchinggggggggggggg me!!!"The Suburban has never needed a real name like my other cars. She has been referred to as the "bus" or the "tank" over the years. My dad always called her the Crummy, a holdover from his time spent as a forest firefighter in the Pacific Northwest. A Crummy is, and I quote, a "small van, bus or railway car used to transport loggers or other resource workers to and from the worksite."It's been 11 years, and the Crummy is starting to show her age. After her last visit to the garage, I got the warning that it may not be possible to get her through another inspection without a major investment. That news was a knife to my heart.For me, it's like losing a member of the family. The Crummy has been my security blanket for years. The very first time I had to run one of the kids to the emergency room was in the middle of a wicked snowstorm. I had to pack up both of the boys, one bleeding profusely, and head off to the hospital all by myself. The Crummy got us there safely, without further incident.A few years later, some crazy lady was busy texting and blew right through a stop sign. I actually saw her clicking away on her phone as she passed a few feet in front of me. Through some skillful maneuvering on my part and the Crummy's responsiveness, we managed to avoid completely T-boning her and only took out the back part of her car. The Crummy survived with only a small dent to her front bumper. The boys didn't even realize we were in a car accident until I started cursing the other driver out. (Maybe not my finest moment.) After checking that everyone was OK and thanking the Dear Lord that we were safe, I also said a special thanks to the Crummy for being our protector once again.Last summer, her brake line failed. She didn't let it fail on a hill or a busy highway. She held out until we were on a flat stretch of road and we safely coasted into a pizza place where we happily feasted until the tow truck came to get her.The Crummy is full of memories for me. It was the first vehicle that brought all five of us home together, after E was born. It is the car that we loaded up with most of the Cub Scout troop and headed to day camp. The early morning drives were full of chatter and excited Cubbies, and the return trip was full of passed-out, snoring kids. She's been the perfect vehicle for heading to the drive-in movies and taking friends to baseball games.It's the car that allows me to drag two portable soccer goals, a ball bag, and a first aid kit around all through the fall. It's also the car where I find a missing piece to a soccer goal under the seat in the middle of April.It is the vehicle that we've loaded up to the max for our summer trips to the shore. I can still look over my shoulder and see the kids gleefully wedged in between the boogie boards and the fishing rods, giddy with anticipation. It's also the vehicle that brought us safely home from the shore the night that we got the call that my father was dying. She transported us safely, and as fast as she possibly could, but unfortunately, we got home too late to say goodbye.Now, it's getting close to time to say goodbye to her. There are things I won't miss, like the smell of chocolate milkshake that someone spilled a few years ago or the radio knob that's been missing for what seems like a decade.Or the hinky heat that only works in the back of the car, when it wants to work at all. I just hope our next vehicle realizes what big tires it has to fill.Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News. Her column appears weekly in our Saturday feature section.