Stuck in my car, nothing I can do. . .

March 1, 2011


What is it about men, machines and snowstorms?

How come the most logical and easiest understood principles of common sense elude men when blizzards bring monumental snowfall, fiercely howling winds, outside is fit for neither man nor beast, and the snow plows operate on a schedule only the truly insane could comprehend?

I ask this question every time there is a snowstorm. . . 

. . .when, yet again, Stephen's testosterone overrides his common sense.

We agreed, on our drive home yesterday during the storm, that once the car was parked it was going to stay parked. 

Because a storm had begun and there wasn't anywhere we needed to go, so keeping the car parked in the driveway was the adult and responsible thing to do.

Adult and responsible are also overridden during snowstorms, or so it would seem. 

And yet Stephen ventures out around 3.45 to retrieve Keith from the university.

No big deal, he says.

Gone and back in the same day, he says.

Rental car with NO SNOW TIRES, I remind him.

Foolish enough to think he had gotten his deep seeded desire to drive recklessly amid a blizzard, I went about my business.

Marking papers while Em prepared dinner. . .Greek fried chicken and stir fried veggies with wild rice for me and Stephen, mashed potatoes for her and Keith.

Had supper, did the dinner dishes, back to marking.

And then I found myself in Keith's room for some unexpected conversation.

While comfortably ensconced in Keith's room, rocking back and forth in his desk chair and talking about the state of the world, Stephen snuck out of the house like a thief in the night.

I come downstairs to watch Man v. Food with Em, look out the front door to see what's going on weather wise, and notice there's no car in the driveway.

I inquire of Em, "where's Stephen?"

"I don't know," she replies. "He's been gone awhile."

Ummmmmm.






Just as Em and I are getting into our hour of bonding over food neither one of us can eat, Stephen walks through the front door.

"I NEED HELP! Can you please come outside! The car is stuck at the corner."

Oh really?

How come the car is stuck?

Would it be because you took it out during a snowstorm?

When the car has no snow tires?

Could this perhaps be the reason for the situation you currently find yourself in?

In my pjs, I shove my feet into my boots, put on my scarf and coat, and begin my trek through the snow to the car, sitting resolutely in the middle of the road, lights blinking, strangers milling around it.

And in this middle of this madcap snow circus, my husband, the ringmaster.

The well meaning strangers divide themselves: one behind the wheel, one behind the car with Stephen and the pushing commences.

Until they reach our driveway, where Stephen thanks them for their efforts and assures them we can manage on our own.

Ummmmmmmm.

Em happily puts herself behind the wheel to steer while Stephen and I, in my zebra striped pjs, start pushing.

Em steers right into the snow drift at the end of the driveway.

Moving to the front of the car, lights glaring in our eyes, we push the car back out onto the street, and with as much patience as I can muster under the circumstances, I gently assist Em in turning the wheels away from the snow drift toward the middle of the driveway.

And resume my position behind the car.

Because the only way it's going to get into the driveway is if its pushed.

Ford Fiestas are low to the ground.

Just a little bit of snow can make getting said car into the driveway a challenge.

Finally, finally, we get the car far enough into the driveway to ensure that the plow won't pick up more than a little snow on it's way by.

But the sounds of stuck car in driveway permeated our little hamlet.

And provided much entertainment for our neighbours.

Hat passing should be a given in such situations.






We get back into the house and Stephen cheerily comments, "That wasn't so bad, was it."

I remove my clothes, turn toward him, look him in the eye, and make it crystal clear what I thought of his sneaking out of the house like an errant teenager up to no good.

Crystal clear.

I ask him how many more times he has to get stuck during a storm before the synapse fire enough to put up red flags when he is thinking of such asinine activities.

It was a rhetorical question.

So, what lead Stephen out into the middle of a snowstorm in a car so low to the ground he could propel it with his feet, Flintstone style if he so chose?

There was no medical emergency.

No one was bleeding profusely, or threatened with loss of limb.

Milk enough to last a couple of days was in the fridge.

We had ample pet food.

You know what lead Stephen to sneak out of the house?

Nothing.

Nothing that could not have waited until today.

A book.






There was, however, some good to come out of our evening's entertainment.

Our nextdoor neighbour plowed our driveway for us.

Out of pity.

Meaning I didn't have to rouse the troops at 6.00 am for another family shovel time.

And all I had to do while waiting for Em to get herself to the car this morning, was shovel the steps and walkway to the front door while in a dress.

After pushing a car while wearing zebra striped pjs, shoveling while wearing a dress was nothing. 



Title Lyric: Stuck in my Car