Open Letter to the Impatient Driver in the Parking Lot

Dear Madam,

I don't know what your day has held thus far. I don't know if you're running late or just impatient. I don't know if you ever had small children and if they were perfectly behaved. I don't know if you remember the stress and anxiety of being in the foxholes and trenches of parenthood. I don't know you.

You don't know what my day has entailed either, though. You don't know that these three little boys aren't trying to annoy you. You don't know they are trying to flex their independent muscles and choosing bad timing...not wanting to hold my hand in the middle of the parking lot while you're trying to park. You don't know I'm trying desperately not to quelch their freedom while still keeping them safe and alive. I'm trying not to yell at them. I'm trying not to dislocate their shoulders by dragging them when they sit down, like stubborn little donkeys, refusing to be told what to do. I'm trying not to say unkind words or scream at you, who is making me frustrated and angry and, quite frankly, making the "momma bear" in me want to come out and beat the snot out of your impatient vehicle.

Yes, I saw you throw your arms in the air in exasperation. I saw your lips move as you mumbled things I couldn't hear...and probably didn't want to hear. I saw you inch your car forward, tapping the brakes as if you couldn't be bothered not to run over my kids. These two toddlers and their eight-year-old brother are actually pretty damn awesome kids. They're generally well-behaved, hilarious, kind, generous, fun and all terribly cute. But you couldn't see that. All you could see was a fifteen-second delay in your precious schedule.

As you are past your child-rearing years, I also hope you never have the audacity to slow down. As I was leaving the parking lot, I saw a darling older woman, very put together, her stylish bag on her walker as she very slowly made her way down the sidewalk. I hope you never need a walker. I hope you never cause someone to wait as you cross a street or a parking lot. I hope it never takes you any longer to get into or out of a car than your very able body currently permits.

Because, dear madam, what would you do? What would you do if a driver such as yourself treats an older version of you the way you treated me and my three little boys today? These three little boys who are watching the way you and I both react to one another. I'm trying to raise boys into men with patience and kindness. I hope, dear madam, I raise them well enough. I hope no child of mine, nor anyone else, throws their arms up in exasperation and taps their brakes impatiently when waiting for you as a little old lady to cross the parking lot.

Sincerely,

Foxhole Mom