I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
September 9, 2005
Here’s a dirty little secret from the suburbs. The next time you get cut off in traffic, honked at when the light turns green, or tailgated in a school crossing zone, look closely at the offending driver… I’ll bet you three cans of Enfamil you’ll see a mom behind the wheel.
Don’t be fooled by their nice-girl minivans and their prissy Land Rovers. Suburban mamas are generally the rudest drivers on the roads. The fact is, I can count on just about any man, working girl, or senior citizen to let me into traffic– Surely they pity me when they see the sweetly clueless expression I’ve assumed for their benefit, the squabbling teen beside me, the toy-throwing toddler in the backseat. A suburban mama, on the other hand, will look me square in the eye, purse her lips in disgust, and keep right on going.
Case in point: Last night, I was maneuvering my Expedition through the crowded parking lot of the local Wild Oats, minding my own business, when I was treated to the mind-jarring effects of a Silent Scream. Apparently, I was taking up too much room in the aisle because as I drove past a mama in a Volvo station wagon, her face contorted with rage. “MOVE OVER!” she screamed as her children covered their ears and begged for mercy. Although I couldn’t actually hear her, I swear my ears rang for a full five minutes.
My theory is that these carpool-enslaved road ragers are unloading the many frustrations of mommyhood on other drivers. They feel no sympathy for the turtle-esque elderly of the roadways, the lost tourists on the interstates, even the other chauffer-moms in their subdivisions– because who felt sorry for them at three in the morning when they were scrubbing the effects of a three-year-old’s dual-exit stomach virus from the bathroom tiles?
*Tired of being a victim, I decided to imitate their anger-release techniques, hoping it would relieve some of the pressures I’ve felt on the mommy job.
“Wear a freaking helmet!” I screamed out the window at a man riding his bicycle to work, prompting him to crash into a tree. Yeah, that felt good. Real good.
Once I was on the highway, a young hotrod got a little too close to my rear bumper, so I slowed down to a comfortable 50 mph. As he swerved into the right lane to pass me, I sped up. Soon, we were both pushing 85, side by side on I-24. Looking over at him and noting the curse words spewing from his mouth, I knew what I had to do and groped at the floorboards until I found a Barbie. Holding her aloft, I yanked her head off by the hair and looked over at him with murder in my eyes.
He quickly veered off the road into the emergency lane.
“Another one bites the dust!” I said gaily to Baby in the backseat. She chortled in response.
No longer a servant, I was the ruler of the roads, the princess of the parkways, the captain of the cul-de-sacs. I headed for home on top of the world and came to the final four-way stop before reaching my neighborhood.
At the exact moment that I stopped, another SUV stopped at the sign to my left. I chuckled to myself and gassed it.
The SUV gassed it, too.
Surprised, I braked for a moment and looked at the opposing driver. Oh no. Not here. Not now.
I was face to face with another. Mother.
Steely-eyed, she stared me down and proceeded to inch forward a foot. I gulped and drove forward, too, causing her to jolt to a stop. A look of confusion crossed her face. This broad wasn’t used to being crossed. Scowling, she lifted her hand in a one-finger salute and tapped the gas again.
Returning her salute with one of my own, my SUV lurched forward another few feet. It was a 1 mph showdown and I wasn’t backing off.
But then, something happened I wasn’t expecting. The tinted back window of her Pathfinder slid down and two towheaded cherub faces peeped out. Awwww, shoot. I couldn’t be rude in front of them.
As I watched them go by, one of the cherubs leaned out. “Screw you, BEEE-OTCH!” he yelled.
Damn mommies. You just can’t beat ’em.
*For the more gullible of you, from this point onward, my post is sheer fantasy. No cyclists were harmed in the making of this blog and no children’s lives or psyches were endangered. Indulge me.
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>That is so hilarious! And so true. Your post on poop was right on funny! I do believe I’ve experienced most if not all of those poopie types…
>Why do you think we SAHMs all drive big SUVs? So we can run down ANYONE who screws with us! HA! Hilarious post, but I hope you helped that poor guy without a helment out of the tree.My son now, when he thinks someone has cut us off or is going too slow, will yell out, “What is your PROBLEM?” I wonder where he got that? (grin)
>Steph, Steph, Steph, why would I interrupt my road rage fantasy to help the guy up?! Nope, he just sat there alone, rubbing his noggin and thinking “Damn soccer mom! Share the road!”
>Is it revealing that my kids will say, “hey lady, the gas is on the right!” when they think we are going too slow?
>Huh, all that road rage must come with them big ol’ SUVs y’all buy. Or y’all must be super-peeved at the crazy prices you gotta pay to feed that gas-guzzla you got! This is one SAHM that is slow, patient and polite behind the wheel! Must be cuz I’m a really horrible driver and I know if I piss with someone they can make me swerve into oncoming traffic without even flashing a blinker at me.(Let alone a horn or single-finger-wave.)
>Several men who do a lot of driving told me that the meanest drivers are women with soccer stickers on their vehicles.(I slapped on two when I heard that.)
>The poor mommies. Maybe they need more sex or something.
>I love this! Poor fellow on his bike, though. That’ll teach him to ride around where there are Savage Mommies on the loose!
>Hello, Michele sent me! I was just thinking of the time the President ran into a tree on His bike… and I was wondering if I needed to call the Secret Service! 🙂
>OMG… Great writing! I so understand. Truly.– Michele sent me! And, I’ll be back. Thanks for the great post.
>LOL on the silent scream. This is very funny.
>LOL! That’s too funny. I hate driving sometimes, the rudeness is apalling.
>Michele sent me, Lucinda.Your humorous post has a lot of truth in it. It’s certainly been my experience that the kid-loaded cars are the ones that do the most unexpected things and that are the most aggressive, often in circumstances that normally would preclude that sort of behavior by reasonable adults.Some say we should ban cell phones in cars. I say we ban soccer moms–present company excluded. Of course.
>oh to have been a fly on the roof of your suv – lol. i’ll be back! came by way of michele. 🙂
>LOL!Yeah, I’ve said the same thing crazy momcat did about all of us Suburban moms being in big SUVs, too.Last week a really meanie-faced (my kids’ term) SUV-driving Mom would NOT let me merge into the lane in front of her. I had plenty of room to get in and NEEDED to get in before my lane narrowed to being closed due to construction. I put my left blinker on and started to make my way into her lane in front of her and she SPED UP to try to cut me off. This woman was going to make me eat orange pylons? What was her problem? Well, I sped up faster and got in. This really ticked her off, apparently, because I could see her doing all kinds of sign language in my rear view mirror. I laughed a little because I mean, come on, it’s 8am and she’s already too stressed out by the world. It’s ONE FREAKING CAR in front of her that she had to let in. Why is that so hard? She doesn’t own the road. Jeez. My kids turned around and I said, “No, don’t look at her!, Just ignore her, we’re fine.” So the right lane opens back up a couple blocks further and sure enough she jumps out into it, goes speeding past me (going a good 20 mph above the speed limit, WITH her own kids in the car) and honks her horn for a solid 5 seconds at me. As she passed I shook my head and simply said “Oh, like your horn scares me! You should be the one scared by your own driving!”My kids thought that was the funniest thing ever. For 3 days they kept repeating my comeback. I just don’t understand why it’s so hard to be kind. JUST BE KIND and let people into the lane. We are all travelling inside LETHAL WEAPONS. Cars are dangerous. People in them who are driving in those kinds of road-rage moods are dangerous. Moms are the most dangerous ones I’ve seen. Most definitely.
>i love this post! i’ve been on the receiving end of those type of moms one too often… to think my husband thinks i drive too fast.
>So funny – so true. Our kids are quickly learning that swearing is rude and wrong – except when it’s done by their parents in the car.
>You totally had the right-of-way in your fantasy confrontation. Whatevah, beyotch.Wanna go on a road trip sometime? Now that would be SCARY!