Lock-Step

The alarm goes off while it is still very cold and still very dark outside.

I pull on my robe and shuffle across the hall to awaken Fifi. Thankfully, she is already up and in the shower, but I can see by the stack of textbooks on her desk that it was a long night. I wonder to myself how she's going to get through this day with little sleep, tedious classes to listen through, a violin lesson this afternoon and a babysitting job after dinner.

Next I wander over to the little girls' room and nudge Dumpling awake because she's a little slow to stir from her slumber. She's a grumpy waker-upper. Cuddlebug, on the other hand, awakens with a big grin. I spend too many minutes asking them to get up and get going before I finally give up. Now I'm making their beds for them and barking at them to get dressed and get downstairs for breakfast.

I realize that all the best moms in black-and-white with pearls and heels feed their families hot breakfasts of eggs, toast or waffles with o.j., but I don't ever remember seeing their kids race out the door in the dark to catch the school bus. Mine have to be at the curb at the unreasonable hour of 7:40 a.m.

I walk the little ones down the street and holler at Fifi to please remember to take her keys today because I won't be here when she gets home. I'm doing volunteer work today, and will be helping to train a new crew late this afternoon. They'll be eating take-out for dinner, 'cause I won't be home until late.

Once all the girls are gone, I get around to the daily chores. Cleaning, laundry, phone calls--and I do it with no interruptions. I could get used to this. No squabbles. No accidents. No questions. No needs. At least, none with which I have to deal.

I'm productive. I'm fulfilled. I'm enjoying adult conversation.

Right around lunch time, Fifi calls me from her cell phone to check in and say, "hi." Her flattering tone betrays an ulterior motive. I ask her how her day is, and she simply says, "Oh, fine." She wants to know if she can go over to her friend's house after school. I ask her if the girl's parents will be home. She tells me that she thinks the mom will be home, but she's not sure.

She says I should trust her more.

It's easiest to just keep the peace and determine to believe her. But to do that, I must stuff down what I know of being her age; I must reject the vivid memory of my many deceptions.

At 2:30, I drive over to the elementary school to pick up Dumpling from 2nd grade and Cuddlebug from Kinder. Cuddlebug isn't wearing the big grin that she was when I last saw her, and I ask her, how was her day at school? She bites back tears to tell me that two little girls in her class were whispering loudly to the children at an adjacent table--mean words about her teeth. And later, nobody played with her at recess.

I ask Dumpling what she's got in her backpack--it looks heavy. She says she has homework to do: math, reading, social studies. Later, I'll notice that her whole body is contorting to bear the burden of the books up the path to the front door.

A few minutes into the car ride to the babysitter's house, I hear Cuddlebug ask Dumpling to play with her. She has two little people puppets that she made in class today, and she offers one to Dumpling, but Dumpling says, "No. That's dumb," and instead pulls out the Gameboy that her Uncle sent to her for Christmas. Cuddlebug looks on, hoping for a turn that is never offered.

It's easiest to just keep the greater peace and pretend I don't see it.

As we pull up at the baby sitter's house, I pray a little prayer that the Lord would hedge His protection around my girls. I don't really feel comfortable with this arrangement, but it's as good as I could find. I mean...I'm doing a good thing in my volunteer work, right? Surely, I'm serving the Lord, so I can trust Him to guard their hearts with all diligence against the worldly influences that they'll be exposed to when the sitter's middle school children come home next hour...right?

It's just a few hours, after all. What could happen? I know that the other children will probably watch some television, but surely my little ones won't be interested, and will otherwise occupy themselves. And if the older children think it will be great fun to start a MySpace page for my girls, surely Dumpling and Cuddlebug will remember that Mommy has said, "No."

And even if, it'll be o.k. Surely. People do it all the time. It's just the way things are today.

I drop the girls and go get lost in my good feelings volunteering at the local women's shelter. Before I know it, it's 7 p.m. and time to head home. If I hurry, I'll get to kiss Fifi goodbye before she gets picked up for her babysitting job. She says she'll be home before 11:00. I meant to talk to her about something she said in passing the other day, but I guess that will have to wait for the weekend. I hope I won't forget.

I make myself a sandwich, take a shower and unwind with a tired husband in front of the newest pop culture addiction. I feel a little funny spending my time with such a ridiculous and frivolous past time, but I justify it in my own mind by telling myself that it keeps me connected with my kids. They love the show. It's all they can talk about as the finale draws closer.

As I climb into bed, I open my Bible and read--just a little. Mostly, I replay the day. My heart is heavy because I know my 12 year old is drifting from me, even if she knows well how to tow the line within the walls of our home. I try hard to convince myself that it is what it is. She's a tween. It's to be expected. It's part of growing up into an independent, productive adult.

But really, I wonder if the Lord agrees. Does it have to be this way? Is it to be expected?

My heart is heavy as I see my young ones are hardly friends since they started going to school and spending more hours with strangers than anyone else. The somewhat small age disparity between them has grown into a large chasm. They hardly giggle anymore. At least not with one another.

And with the exception of the occasional complaint, or grudging act of service, Fifi doesn't interact with her sisters at all.

And I want to cry. I just want to crawl into my prayer closet and...

*gasp*

I am mercifully awakened from my nightmare.