Mom on the Run: Moms should at least use turn signals

Lianne Wilkens/Columnist
Published: July 6, 2008

I'm on my way to work, just starting my drive, and, doing my normal mirror-scanning, I freeze. She's here! That woman! Immediately, I tense up and check the cars around me, looking for escape holes in the traffic...

Because that woman is insane. She drives a minivan, a newer model of my own, and she is a maniac behind the wheel. We regularly commute together on this little piece of road, and I know to beware!

I'm in the left lane, I'll be turning in a half-mile, and I start watching my rear-view mirror almost more than the windshield ahead of me. She's in the right lane, tailgating a dark sedan two cars back. As I watch, she slides into the left lane—no turn signal—squeezing between another minivan and the big older truck right behind me.

I see the man driving the truck check his rear-view mirror, a lot, as the minivan lady pushes him down the road. He slows down, increasing the gap between his truck and my van as he tries to manage the beast behind him.

I'm speeding up myself, trying to get away from the little Dodge Neon on my right, leaving space for the crazy minivan driver to slip into.

Whew, it works, the truck speeds up with me, and finally the nasty minivan lady is past the oblivi-ous Neon. She whips right, and accelerates into the free lane.

Finally, I reach the light, and gratefully slide into the left turn lane. Sure enough, the minivan stays to my right. She has to turn left, too, but then she turns right shortly after.

I remember this because one horrible day I was in that right lane, and apparently even at my rate of speed, I was too slow for her, and she tailgated me all the way to the light and then through it and then honked and flipped me off when she turned away. Looking back, I'm still surprised and shocked...

Because—and here I'm falling into the stereotype I hate as a minivan driver myself—who expects a mom-mobile to drive like that? Again and again, day after day? I can see one frantic late morning, but daily? I was suckered in by her breast cancer survivor license plate, too, a pink ribbon that made me reflect sympathetically the first time I saw it. No more: now it's a pink flag of warning!

Finally I make my turn. The maniac minivan whips into the right-turn lane, glares at us around her, and zooms off. Relieved that she's gone, I melt a little, relax into the seat, and at last turn my attention to what's in front of my van instead of out the back.

And what's this? The light ahead is green—miracle!—and the guy ahead of me is driving at … seven miles per hour under the speed limit?! It's green! Go! The road before him is empty and the other cars take off down it. I look right, see if there's room to go around him … I see the irony, and I pass him anyway. But I do use my turn signal.

Lianne Wilkens lives with her family in Manassas. She can be reached at .