It is negative 18 today. My two-year-old tot has slipped into her winter jacket without any hustle. Another power struggle evaded, gratefully I look at her and smile.
The outdoors has always been her favorite thing and idling at home in the long winters of Edmonton has corroded her enthusiasm.
As the door opens, she storms out murmuring—Whoa! Whoa! The cold air gushes across her face and the happiness in her eyes spreads over to her tiny lips.
Whoa! Whoa! she repeats. It is an expression she picked from her favorite internet character B-L-I-P-P-I. She learned this spelling with great conviction.
Enthusiastically, she steps down using her tiny hands to balance her feet, wrestling an ocean of snow. The air bites at my face, crisp and unforgiving. My breath forms tiny clouds as I try to ignore the chill creeping through my gloves. I navigate her to the car and she smiles promptly relishing the comfort of a seat.
Unsure about how her new facial accessory is treating her, I enquire, “Are you ok with the mask? Should I remove it?”
The question is met with an assertive tone, “No!”
I often wonder where is this clarity in decision making coming from? Not from her mom at least.
As I push the key in to start the car, while quickly running my mind through the list of places I needed to visit, the tires below give an awkward signal. What now?
I push the key into the ignition, bracing myself for the familiar hum of the engine. But instead, I am greeted with a deep groan from the tires—like they were mocking my to-do list.
I take the gear forward but the truth has already pushed me a step behind. After days of being unattended to, the tires of my little hatchback have now given up to the snow. This wouldn’t be a quick fix, so I put the little one out of the car leaving her to play in the pool of snow. She dives into the heap counting until 10. The snow crunches beneath her tiny boots.
4 hours later….
My tussle with the snow has not shown results. The tires still screaming for freedom. Thankfully, the tot has managed to keep herself entertained first outside and then inside the house with her friend B-L-I-P-P-I.
I’m knee-deep in snow, wrestling a tire that refuses to budge, and I can’t help but think—Blippi has never prepared me for this level of adventure.
Four hours in, my hope has slowly melted like the snow beneath the tires, leaving me with nothing but exhaustion. I’m not just fighting the car anymore—I’m fighting the sinking feeling of failure. Responding to my exhausted body and mind, I decide to call it a day.
New Day…
A new day begins with a mission to free the tire and re-invent my failure into success. Also, a veiled desire to show my toddler what a supermom looks like. I seek her permission to step out. She responds in her usual assertive tone, “Go!” and claps happily sharing the excitement of my new mission.
3 hours later..
The tires have only moved a few inches forward. Time to ask for help! I call an acquaintance to help navigate the direction of the front wheels but the hurried man decides to take an easier route. “The tire is flat and no matter what you do it will not move,” he passes judgement.
“But I just moved it a few moments ago,” I assert. His call for duty makes him reiterate his previous assertion with conviction. Or probably he just didn’t intend to encroach into the troubled land, I gauge.
“Ok, thank you,” I respond meekly letting him free.
The next move is to call for road-side assistance. Blessed to have a service like this for emergencies in the unpredictable Canadian winters. A young man bustling with energy arrives. He is already hinting at my limited privilege for his time. I brief him with the situation, ” The tire is flat and stuck in the snow.”
He replies in a hurried tone, “Well, this one just needs some air and I would push the car out. ”
I smiled, but my patience was running on empty. ‘So, you’re sure this is just a hiccup? Not the tire giving up on life?’ My words sounded sweet, but all I wanted to say was, ‘Just fix it, please.’
Well, this guy manages to push the car out of the snow, however, lands it haphazardly on the road miles away from the sidewalk.
I gently ask him to pull the car towards the edge to make it less encroaching for the flowing traffic on a busy road. “I have a line of calls to attend to,” he grudges, pointing at a windrow sticking out near the sidewalk. “Your car will be stuck again and I need to go.”
The Turning Point
Unable to contain the exhaustion of two days of digging into the ice, I blurt, “Listen, my two-year-old is inside the house and without her mom or any human for the last few hours. You can rush wherever you have to but get my problem solved. ” A stream of sympathy runs on his face but I am in no mood to heed, at least now. Determined to demonstrate how the work needs to be completed to the finish line, I pull the shovel out and start brushing the snow on the street aside. Fatigue and anxiousness of leaving the baby in the house alone, is beginning to vent out in a way of heavy breathing pitch as I move the snow. A stroller passing by hears my agitated breathing.
He stops, looks at me, and asks, “Do you need a hand please?”
In the last 24 hours, I have finally heard a voice that is so human. No advice, no rush, no judgment—just simple humanity! After hours of being brushed aside, it wasn’t the tire or the snow that wore me down—it was the feeling of being alone in it all. And in that moment, a simple gesture from a stranger reminded me that even when we feel most stranded, we’re never truly on our own. I reply with a smile, “You are kind but Thank You.”
It’s been few hours but the voice is still resonating into my ears. That voice of a drunk man!
