The moment remains short, scary, and memorable. I stare at the drivers seat directly in front of me in the car. The image of the cabin appears in the rear-view mirror. We try to park but the snow and ice make it as difficult as trying to tame a 6 year old on a sugar rush. James snores loudly in the passengers seat, completely oblivious to the situation. We slip all around on the ice like butter in a frying pan. The glass screen separating us from the outside world shifts from left to right, as the front and back of the car slide around. The driver in front of me struggles to maintain. The air inside and out stabs at us through our jackets and chills like a knife. 4 Non Blondes plays softly through the speakers, lightening the tense mood. Snow sprays out from underneath the tires, as the grooves in the rubber lack to find anything the grip. Looking back, the tire tracks in the snow remind me that we may not always know where we head, but our tracks can usually tell us about our past.