The Tire Light Went On

The day started early for me. I woke up before the alarm and saw your sleeping face on the monitor. Get going, Ana. I pushed myself to roll out of bed, turned the monitor’s volume down, grabbed my glasses, and chugged the last bit of water before making my way to the kitchen.

Ugh. March 10 will kill this moment for me. I stand outside our bedroom door, looking at the dark skies adequately decorated with the downtown buildings. We have such a great view here, Elena. It’s one of the reasons I bring you to the window to greet everyone.

I quickly prepare the dough for the food I’m bringing to your class and start the stove. I get more water and check for overnight messages—no unexpected parent emails. I speed through the arepa-making process, slowly pouring the flour into the water and mixing with my right hand. Always in circular motions, my mom would say. In 20 minutes, I have all 12 arepas cooking, and you open your eyes. You decide to grant me only 8 minutes before requesting my presence. It’s time to get Dada to do your morning routine so I can finish packing everything up.

I shouldn’t have said it. I should have kept those words to myself, but as I loaded the stroller, I whispered, I think today will be awesome.

We get in the car at 7:17—Perfect timing. I can choose the playlist, put on lipstick (which I wait until I’m in the car to apply so I can kiss you all up before we head out), and decide if my “Mama just woke up” bun looks professional enough to leave it at that. Then, I see the light.

It’s steady and bright enough to demand attention. My eyes immediately checked the outside temperature to see if there was a sudden change, and that’s why the light went on. (I’ll tell you later about the things Dada teaches me about cars and weather and the few ideas that sort of stick with me.)

Ugh, I think today is the day.

Up to this point (I’m 38 years old), I’ve only checked the air in my tires once. I’ve been lucky to have a husband who graciously (he says “reluctantly”) agrees to do it for me. I knew there was a possibility I’d need to drive several miles south, and I didn’t want to add another unexpected stressful situation to my already upside-down week.

I opened the glove compartment and saw the little thingy. I’m sure you will remember its name because your dad will make sure of it. But for Mama, it’s still the little thingy. You watch me closely as I kneel with a metal stick by your door to check the tire’s air pressure.

32! Ok, this is a good sign. Yes, also 32! 2/4 is pretty good. Woohoo, Mama! 3/4. we’re good. Then, 20.

I get back in the car and announce our rerouting to you. You just stare out the window, eyes focused on the guy pushing the trash cans. The clock reads 7:24, and I ease my worries while mapping the nearby gas stations where I can get some air.

The first stop fails due to a big truck blocking the way. I continued driving west until I reached the Marathon gas station Dada had suggested. $1.50? Seriously? Thank God for those cash-paid lattes. I get the thing going and accomplish the task.

As soon as I get in the car, I text Dada, “I did it!” We joke about all the things I can accomplish as an independent woman, but I just don’t want to do. And yes, there is so much I do without help, but unless it’s mundane tasks that Tim could take off my plate, I’m not good at asking for help—Nothing to be proud of.

Not long after heading towards school, I noticed you’d fallen asleep—No surprise, you only slept 9 hours. The clock now read 7:45, and I knew I would not make it to the classroom in time for the 8:00 AM early arrivals. I knew I had to ask for help, but I still drove three more blocks, exploring options. Maybe if… Or if I just… No more of that. I’m trying to make decisions through you, and I don’t ever want you to feel like asking for help is bad.

Be courageous, Elena. Don’t hesitate, just ask.