It was 94 degrees. We were on I-35, halfway between Austin and San Antonio, and my 2012 Honda Pilot made a sound I can only describe as "a metal garbage can falling down a flight of stairs." Then the dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree. Then nothing. The engine was dead. I coasted to the shoulder while my 3-year-old asked "why we stopped, Daddy?" and my 8-month-old started screaming because the car wasn't moving anymore and apparently that was a personal betrayal.
I have now been stranded on the side of a highway with kids in the car twice. Once with one kid, once with two. Both times I made mistakes. Both times I learned things. Here's what you actually need to know when your car dies and you've got small humans in the back — not the AAA brochure version, but the real, sweaty, "my toddler just asked if we're going to live here now" version.
First thing, right now: If you don't have roadside assistance, get it. AAA, your insurance's add-on, whatever. It's $60-100/year and it will save you from a $400 tow truck bill and 90 minutes of Googling "tow truck near me" while your baby screams. Do it before you finish reading this.
The First 30 Seconds: What Your Brain Does (And What You Should Do Instead)
When your car dies at 70 mph, your brain does something stupid: it panics about the car. You're thinking about the engine, the repair bill, whether you ignored that check-engine light for six months (you did), and how much this is going to cost. Meanwhile, you have a baby and a toddler in the backseat and you're on the shoulder of a highway where people are driving 80 mph while looking at their phones.
The car is not the emergency. Your kids' safety is the emergency. The car is a metal box that can be replaced. Your job in the first 30 seconds is:
- Get off the road. Coast to the shoulder, hazard lights ON. If you can't reach the shoulder, stay in the car with hazards on and call 911. Do not get out on a live highway with kids.
- Do NOT get the kids out of the car. This was my first mistake. I unbuckled my toddler and stood on the shoulder holding her. A semi truck passed at 70 mph three feet from us and I realized I had just made everything ten times more dangerous. The car is your shield. Stay inside unless the car is on fire or filling with smoke.
- Keep the kids buckled. Even on the shoulder. A distracted driver can hit a parked car. Car seats are crash-tested for exactly this scenario.
The Car Seat Problem Nobody Talks About
Here's something I learned the hard way: if your car gets towed, the tow truck driver is not going to install your car seats for you. They'll flatbed your vehicle to a shop and you'll be standing in a parking lot with two car seats, a baby, a toddler, and no vehicle to put them in.
You have two options:
Option A: Have someone pick you up. Call your partner, a friend, a family member — anyone with a car who can come get you and the kids. This is the best option. The car can wait. Get the kids home.
Option B: Ride in the tow truck. Some tow trucks have extended cabs with back seats. Some don't. If yours doesn't, you cannot legally or safely transport kids in a tow truck. You'll need that pickup ride. Do not try to install car seats in a tow truck cab — I asked. The driver looked at me like I'd asked if we could grill hot dogs on the engine block.
🧠 The Car Breakdown Kit You Should Have Right Now
Not the jumper cables and tire iron stuff — you probably have that. I'm talking about the kid survival kit that lives in your trunk and you forget about until you need it:
- Snacks. Non-perishable, high-value snacks. Pouches, granola bars, Goldfish. When you're waiting 45 minutes for a tow truck, snacks are the difference between a bored toddler and a feral toddler.
- Water bottles. At least two. Dehydration makes everything worse, especially in summer.
- Diapers and wipes. A breakdown doesn't pause the poop schedule. I learned this the hard way.
- A fully charged portable battery pack. Your phone is your lifeline. If your car's USB ports are dead, so is your phone in about 90 minutes.
- Sunshade or blanket. If you're stuck in summer heat with no AC, a sunshade in the windshield drops the interior temp by 15-20 degrees. In winter, a blanket keeps kids warm when the heater's dead.
- A change of clothes for each kid. One blowout or spilled water bottle and you've got a miserable, wet child for the next hour.
The Waiting Game: Keeping Kids Calm When You Are Not Calm
The tow truck said 45 minutes. It took 90. Here's what actually worked to keep my kids from losing it:
- Narrate everything. "The car is tired and needs a nap. A big truck is coming to give our car a ride to the car doctor." Toddlers handle uncertainty better when there's a story attached. My 3-year-old was genuinely excited to see the "car ambulance."
- Sing. I hate singing. I'm bad at it. But a 20-minute medley of badly remembered nursery rhymes kept my baby from screaming. Desperate times.
- I Spy. "I spy something… green." "The grass?" "Yes." "I spy something… also green." "More grass?" "Yes." We played this for 30 minutes. It's not about the game. It's about the distraction.
- Do NOT scroll your phone visibly. If your kid sees you on your phone while they're trapped in a hot car, they will escalate. Put the phone away once you've called for help. Be present. It's the only thing that works.
What I Got Wrong the First Time
I want to be honest about my failures because they might save you from making the same ones:
- I got out of the car. I popped the hood and stared at an engine I don't understand, as if my confused facial expression would diagnose the problem. Meanwhile, my wife was alone in the car with a crying baby. Stay in the car. You are not a mechanic. You are a dad. Your job is the kids.
- I didn't have water. It was Texas in July. Within 20 minutes, everyone was thirsty and I had nothing. Now I keep a case of water bottles in the trunk at all times. They get warm. Nobody cares when they're actually thirsty.
- I called the wrong person first. I called my mechanic. I should have called my wife. She needed to know we'd be late, she needed to be ready to come get us if the tow situation got complicated, and she needed to not panic when we didn't show up. Call your partner first. Then the tow truck.
- I didn't have roadside assistance. I paid $385 for a tow that would have been free with a $60 AAA membership. I now have AAA. Learn from my cheapness.
The Aftermath: What Happens When You Finally Get Home
You will be exhausted. The kids will be cranky and off-schedule. Your partner will be stressed. The car is at a shop and you don't know what it's going to cost. This is not the night to cook dinner. Order pizza. Put the kids to bed early if you can. Debrief with your partner about what worked and what didn't, because this will happen again — cars break, it's what they do — and next time you want to be ready.
Also: when you get the car back, restock the breakdown kit immediately. Don't tell yourself you'll do it later. You won't. Do it while you're still feeling the trauma of being stranded with no snacks.
Look, car breakdowns with kids suck. They're scary, they're hot (or cold), and they always happen at the worst possible time — which is every time, because there is no good time for your car to die with a baby in the backseat. But if you've got roadside assistance, a stocked kid kit in the trunk, and the mental script of "stay in the car, keep them buckled, call for pickup," you'll get through it. You might even get a story out of it. My 3-year-old still talks about "the time the car took a nap on the highway." Kids are weirdly resilient like that.
Now go get that AAA membership. I'm serious.