Activity is picking up again.  Oh yippee.  Actually, for the most part, the fighting doesn’t affect us at all, other than hearing the sounds in the distance.  Nothing is directed towards us, but the sounds can be startling, especially in the middle of the night and if the listener is 6 1/2 years old, lacking the emotional maturity to be able to reason her way through a fearful situation (dang, I’m 36 and barely have reached that maturity.  Oh wait.  I haven’t).  I woke up this morning and commented to The Mister, “Wow!  It was really quiet last night!”  He looked at me confused, “No it wasn’t.  There was a lot of shelling going on.”  Huh.  I guess I slept through it.

Lola had woken up and heard the fighting too.  She told me all about how the loud explosions lasted for awhile and then it got quiet and she could just hear guns until she fell asleep again..  Then she cried when it was time to go to school.  I tried to comfort and encourage her as best as I could before sending her out to the carpool, but I felt shaky.  We got a call from the carpooling mom saying that Lola was crying quite badly, saying that her throat was sore.  I overheard The Mister strongly convincing her that, no, her throat didn’t hurt her, she just didn’t want to be at school, and, no, she can’t come home.  My heart went out to her.  Poor girl.  She is the only one at the school, from our family, I mean.  I can just imagine that from a little girl’s perspective, the world is very large and noisy when you are out in it alone, and it only gets bigger and noisier the more scared you are feeling.

When I got to the school, I whispered from behind the door to her teacher.  Lola had settled down and was reading, but her teacher let her come to see me.  Her eyes were still big and watery.  We hugged.  ”Lola, I love you.  I would not send you somewhere that I think is dangerous.  You are safe here.  The teachers love you.  I love you.  You are safe.”  She nodded her head, gave me a hug, and asked for new Kleenex.  Knowing that I would come to pick her up from school, she returned to class a happier girl.  

But I couldn’t shake the feeling.  The terrible feeling that I’m abandoning her.  As Charlie and I were getting our fingers coloured with blue and red paint from his model of a heart, we heard some explosions in the distance.  ”Can Lola hear those?” I wondered, “Is she afraid?  Does she need a hug?”  I made myself sick with worry.  I know that worry is a sin, but, um, I’m a mom.  Worry is my middle name.

I ran to the bathroom to relieve the worry that plagued my tummy.

Twelve 0′clock could not come soon enough.  Again, I raced through the city to get to Lola’s school.  She was happy to see me.  ”Were you okay, Lola?”  It took all my effort to restrain my worry from transferring to her.  I didn’t mention anything about the noised I had heard earlier.  I didn’t ask her if she had been afraid.  I just asked if she was okay.  ”My neck hurt again today, Mommy,” Lola said as she tugged at the tie of her school uniform.

Turns out that she really did have a sore neck because I’ve been adjusting her tie too tightly in the morning.  She isn’t under threat of being hit by a bullet or tank ammunition, but her mother is slowly strangling her to death.  Good one, White Girl.