Road Rage: Mom Style

I'm pretty sure I figured out why more women are actually dying from heart disease than men.  Yeah, there's the whole more men suffer from heart disease and so we watch them more closely during their preventative check ups for the warning signs thus ensuring when it happens they're prepared and we aren't.  But consider this...

Today, driving to my monthly (should be weekly but I digress...) child free coffee date with my 11-years-long-coffee-drinking-buddy, I was cut off by some dude on an empty highway. He had plenty of damn space to either pass me like any other reasonable driving age human being in this country, or simply drive in the fast lane meant for people who are rushing to their destination and allow me to chill in the slow lane  where I'm relishing in dragging out the trip as I sing along to songs with swear words and loud guitars.  I prefer rocking out to screaming German men, not screaming babies.  

But no.  He was your stereotypical dude wearing his sunglasses in very overcast weather driving a little red something or other that probably had leather interior no one has ever spilled chocolate milk on.  I'm guessing he probably uses the word "Bro" at least once a day.  He speeds up beside me and swiftly switches back into my leisure lane much less than one car length in front of me and out of my driving mom habit, instead of raising my middle finger or yelling expletives, I held it in and sighed. I felt my blood pressure rising, heart rate increasing, all in the interest of not being the swears-like-a-trucker mom in front of the children who typically occupy the backseat.  Mommy road rage: the pent up kind making the air inside the mini van dense and dripping with discomfort that eventually the kids pick up on and their tendency to act up at the worst times kicks in because the moms-already-super-pissed threshold has been reached and it's in their nature to see if critical mass can be achieved.  Or at least that's what I'm convinced is occurring.  I'm going to call this extra-auto road rage.

Then what I call intra-auto road rage  begins.  The kids' naughtiness is triggered by sensing moms anger reaching the threshold, thus forcing mom to intervene between fighting and screaming and begging and whining and crying children, wreaking havoc on her cardiovascular and nervous system; vessels are dilating and the neurons in her parasympathetic pathways are simultaneously fighting the effects of circulating adrenaline while neurons in the higher brain centers are firing at break neck speeds, reasoning with her as to why she shouldn't pull over, call her husband to come pickup the kids and walk the rest of the way (critical mass).  Back in the day I always heard, "Don't make me turn this car around!"  I can't threaten mine in such a way; why would I offer them the entire drive back home with which to torment me?  

This image was taken in a parallel universe.  Such miracles are not of this world.

The pressure from holding in how badly she wants to smash in douchecanoes bumper is fighting outwardly against the pressure exerted from the children losing their damn minds inside the close quarters of the car. At some point one is going to give way and she will more than likely implode, collapse in on herself like a super nova in order to avoid terrifying her children into a future of therapists and medications to enhance said therapies.  

More than 18 years of this kind of stress would inevitably take the kind of toll on a person that a heart just can't take. And don't get me wrong, I'm sure there are plenty of dads out there battling the same stress; it's just that in my experience the dad is more prone to releasing the rage immediately and dealing with any consequences later (thanks dad, for teaching my 2-year-old how to say "f%$#ing idiot").

Save a mom, don't cut off the van with the stick figure family (or Dr. 9 with rose) especially if there's more than one stick figure child (or weeping angel) because as most of us know the pressure exerted on mom goes up exponentially with each child she's saddled blessed with. 

Because if I have to add one more to the back window, I'm never leaving the house again.

Or if you do pull up next to her, hell bent on finding out just how close you can make that lane switch before causing an accident neither one of you wants, pray that she's not the mom who has already hit her threshold and who may reach critical mass much faster; she may explode, resulting in thousands of dollars worth of damage to your car and to your person.  

On a more positive note, has anyone heard of anti-road-rage?  Is that a thing?  Like, "Hey man, I am so impressed by your use of turn signal and proper passing without five minutes of tailgating preceding it, that I would like to give you a thumbs up, instead of a middle finger."  Can we start doing this?  I think Minnesota would be the proper place to implement it;  you know, "Minnesota Nice" and all.  Here's to hoping the guy in front of me doesn't think I'm flipping him off...