Tonight, I was on my way to Jamin’s office with all three children in tow. After struggling for a good thirty minutes with sippy cups, bottles, lovies, pacies, diapers, and other random items (read: the entire house) my children were sure to require in the small 2.5 hour window in which we planned to be out, I was {Finally} well on my way. {Ah. A day in the life – no one ever told me the hardest part (for now) with three small children is getting everyone ready and out on time…I feel that I’ve run a marathon every time I pull out of the driveway. And I’m supposed to have the energy to carry out whatever else I planned to do on said outing? So, humor me for a moment while I totally ride this tangent: when someone is chronically late with, say, a three year old, just know that really drives me crazy. I mean get your act together, people. You have one. And they’re basically self-sufficient. How very socially exceptional of you to show up at every birthday party one hour late with your one kid IF you decide to RSVP (which I didn’t know was an OPTION.) Alas. Digression.

We were headed down the interstate, and I was talking to my babes when I realized the windshield was dirty. The sun was bouncing off the inch thick layer of particles (read: bug guts, bird poop, smog and pollen) we collected on the front of our van from hauling it to Nashvegas this weekend. Being the good, responsible and MATURE driver that I am, I then proceeded to wipe off said windows. (I am putting great emphasis on the word MATURE, as we may need to reference that one later) Pause: Last I checked with the socially acceptable maneuvers police regarding all things allowed when driving along on the interstate, one is allotted the liberty of removing filth from said windshield by instigating the self cleaning fluid button thingy on the dash.

And that is what I did.

I glanced to my left and noticed a disgruntled looking driver approaching quickly from behind. We’ll call him the Kanye. As in West. Because he thought he was. In his souped-up bright teal Nissan/Impala hybrid mix of a car. You know the kind I’m talking about. I would be floored if said piece of crap did not don neon lights from beneath at night. The only thing that would have made this car better would be a giant not-cute spoiler soaring a good two stories above the car in all its glory. Anyway, back to Kanye and his mad driving skillz. I said I glanced. Mid convo with Aiden and his peeps. And I noticed Kanye was staring me down through his sunglasses. The kind of 360 stare, where the driver’s head stays fixed on it’s subject as it passes, so an exorcist-induced road rage rotation takes place as the two drivers make eye contact. Kanye had some windshield juice on his car. At first I thought nothing of it, and in a split second it dawned on me. This moron was actually angry because I splashed his mobile of awesomeness mid drive.

What he did next completely awed me. He swerved in front of Coral Quest, (Yes, I drive a mini. Yes I named her Coral. No she is not pink. Yes this still makes me cool.) and threw on his brakes. Whilst simultaneously splashing my car with HIS fluid.

“OH. NO. He. DID NOT!” I huffed in complete awe. Seriously? Kanye was mad because a splash from my windshield touched his crap car? He must’ve just washed it. {Brilliant to do that in this rain-every-five-minutes-as-if-we-currently-live-in-seattle type of weather we’re having.}

“What’s the matter, Mommy?” Aiden asked me from the back seat.

“Nothing sweetie. There’s just a psycho on the road,” I answered calmly.

And then the thought occurred to me that this dude was so ridiculous. I, at that moment, absolutely had to get the last laugh.

I, Ashley Mills, decided to seek retribution. Justice. Backlash.

Pause: Mom. If you’re reading, stop now. You won’t like this part at all. In fact, I may get in trouble. Yes, I will be thirty this year. But the kids were with me and I had a bout of road rage at this very moment. Not so much rage, as much as “hahaha. I’m going to splash your car because you splashed mine and you freaked out, so now im freaking out back because you’re an idiot and maybe I should stop there because that makes me an idiot…” But as my friend Beth said, I could have easily been on the six o’clock regarding a sawed off shotgun and hospitalized children.

So yes, what I did next was totally moronic.

I sped up.

{Mom, are you still reading? Seriously. Stop.}

And I got in front of him again. Ever. So. NOT casually.

I turned on my wipers for a good minute or so.

“Eat it, Kanye. Eat it.” I laughed, maniacally to myself, thoroughly enjoying my temporary rant of insanity while Aiden repeatedly asked me what a psycho was, what he was eating, and why his name was Kanye.

And then Kanye kind of freaked out.

I realized this guy was really mad. And reality hit that I had three children under 4.5 in my car, and I love them more than life and this guy could be a total serial killer and I should not. Have. Done. That. I’m not sixteen anymore. I want to be on Oprah one day, but that’s because I want to write a book or cure cancer. Not because I died. In a carwreck. Because of windshield juice.

And I saw Kanye freaking in my rearview. Swerving. Trying to pass me again. I half expected him to pull out his Glock and pop a cap. I was officially worried.

I was now in the left lane, approaching someone in the right, and he was behind that person. I slowed down so he couldn’t catch up with me, and stayed steady with the car on my right. I barely made it there on time, but I could feel Kanye’s eyes with his ever so cool off-brand of sunglasses and mixed breed-even-if-it-was-missing-it’s-crowning-touch-of-a-spoiler in his fabo bright teal (oh my gosh that was so nineties) car as he swerved into the far right and sped up again.

I think he wanted to try and squirt me again. Either that, or cause a ten car pile up on 85 north. Or give me the finger. The world may never know because I slowed down completely out of his range, and put a few cars between us. I was scared. Lesson learned. Crisis averted. And most importantly: I WON!

Kanye got off at my exit. And was sitting at my light going in my direction, as I approached. I would have to sit behind him. So I decided to go around him and pull a U-ey. As I passed, I decided to look. I gave him his own 360 exorcist-style-I-think-you’re-a-total-psycho-way-to-freak-out-glance, as I passed.

Vindication is so sweet.

But I will never do such a ridiculously immature stupidity ridden thing again.

more mousal movement:

stencils, fainting couches, and love.

mendocino

aiden, emmy, and the giant produce.

check back later today below for my giveaway winners!!!-(around 4 in the p.m.) I'll be listing them here.

Garage sale. Mills house. This saturday. Stay tuned or stop by...(invitation extended to non stalkers only)