Wednesday night, the height of holiday shopping season, and shoppers were straggling out of the mall. My last customer at the Didoughs pretzel stand headed toward the exit, happily devouring her snack, a bag full of Christmas presents in her other hand.
The smell of salty pretzels hung in the air as I shut off the front counter lights. Closing time. Finally.
I looked back at the sink overflowing with pots and pans. A dusting of flour covered the floor and countertops. An hour’s work, at least, to get everything cleaned up. It would be 11:00 P.M. before I finally got home.
I hadn’t even had time to grab dinner. I was starving. My feet ached. My whole body, from head to toe, drooped with exhaustion. I couldn’t wait to crawl into bed. Too bad it would only be an all-too-brief reprieve before the alarm went off at 5:00 A.M. for my day job.
Why am I doing this? I asked for maybe the hundredth time that day. One by one I scraped dough-encrusted dishes and stuck them in the giant industrial dishwasher. I knew the answer, but it didn’t lessen the strain, which was as much mental as physical. Maybe more.
My husband Paul’s business had taken a huge hit in the recession. Without me taking the second job, there wouldn’t be enough money at the end of the month to pay the bills. Let alone buy any Christmas presents for our 15-year-old daughter, Marie.
Even so, I wondered how I could possibly juggle everything—my full-time job at a day care, then work nights at the pretzel stand, and somehow do my homework for my college class too. Not to mention what it was doing to my family.
I barely even saw Paul and Marie anymore. Marie was growing up, but a teenage girl still needs her mom. I worried about her, about us. Was she eating enough? Keeping up with her schoolwork? It had only been a few weeks, but already I felt like I was losing touch with my daughter.
Lord, this isn’t getting any easier. I’m not strong enough. Or young enough. Or something.
I wasn’t afraid of hard work. Or sacrifice. Everyone was having to dig deeper these days, putting in extra hours, doing without. I knew I was blessed to have two jobs, when millions of people couldn’t find one.
I spent my days surrounded by giggling children and nights by happy holiday shoppers—and yet I had never felt more worried, more doubtful, more unsure if I was doing the right thing for my family.
Things had been tight for over a year now, ever since the economy turned and Paul’s once-thriving internet business, selling collectible books, slowed to a crawl.
I’d cut our budget every way I knew, turned down the thermostat to 65 degrees, stocked up on spaghetti and beans, stopped going out, even for a burger and fries. Still, it just wasn’t enough.
In early November, I sat at the dining-room table with a calculator and our ever-growing stack of bills, making out the month’s budget. Finally, I punched in the final expense, the electric bill. That can’t be right, I thought.
Slowly, I re-entered the numbers, my stomach twisting as again the screen showed the amount. I looked at Paul. “We’re down to less than fifty dollars,” I said to him. “We’re not going to be able to buy any Christmas presents this year. What ever are we going to tell Marie?”
“She’ll understand,” he said. “She’s not a kid anymore. Christmas isn’t about the gifts.”
But in his eyes I saw my own doubts. No one wanted to wake up on Christmas morning to a bare tree. “It’s not just Christmas,” I said. “We don’t have any cushion. What if one of the cars breaks down? Or we have a medical expense?”
“I know,” Paul said. “But what can we do? Besides pray.”
I nodded, but money, and Marie, were nearly all I’d prayed about since the economy tanked. My hopes were dwindling faster than our bank account.
Then I heard about this job at the pretzel stand, working nights and weekends. It had seemed like the answer. Now I wasn’t so sure.
Dishes done, I mopped the floor, my mind going back to the conversation I’d had with Marie earlier that night. Paul had dropped her off at the mall, where she was getting picked up for a babysitting job. “Remember we’re going Christmas shopping Friday night,” she said, beaming. “Now I’ll even have my own money.”
Friday night? “Oh, honey…”
“I know,” she said, her smile dissolving. “You have to work.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “When the manager asked me, I totally forgot…”
“It’s all right, Mom,” she said. “Some other time. I gotta run. I’ll see you later, okay?”
I wanted to hug her, to tell her we were going to be all right, but there were customers waiting. I watched her disappear into a sea of shoppers. “Bye, honey,” I whispered and then turned to the first person in line. “Welcome to Didoughs. What can I get for you?”
Back when Paul’s business was booming I’d hoped to quit my job at the day care and pursue a degree in social work full time. Now I’d even pulled back from that. I’d dropped down to one class a semester. If I quit that, there was no way I’d find the willpower to try again.
Besides, wasn’t I always telling Marie to keep hoping, keep working and never give up? That going the extra mile, showing initiative and having a strong faith would be rewarded in the long run? What kind of example was I setting for her now?
She could probably see the worry lines on my brow deepening by the day. What if after the Christmas rush I got laid off? How would we pay the heating bills then? And Marie’s winter dance was coming up. We’d need to get her a dress.
Paul had told me he might have a big order for books in the works. I had gone ahead and put it into the budget. If that didn’t come through…
The floor of the pretzel stand gleamed. Nearly done. I just wanted to get home and burrow under the covers. After that? I didn’t know.
I leaned against the front counter, feeling weak with doubt. Dear God, I prayed, I can’t go on like this. I feel like I’m not doing anything right. Like I’m letting my family down. I need your guidance. Something, anything, I can hold onto. My legs felt wobbly. I grabbed a chair and sat down.
What in the world? Someone was banging— hard—at the back door of the mall. My boss? Had he forgotten his keys again? I took a deep breath and composed myself. Then I went to the door and cautiously cracked it open… Marie?
She turned and waved at a car as it pulled out of the parking lot, then smiled at me. “I finished babysitting. I told them I could get a ride home with you,” she said.
“Perfect. I was just getting ready to leave,” I said.
She held out a bag. “Oh, and I got you a burger and fries. I figured you didn’t have time for dinner.”
She’d used her own hard-earned babysitting money. Only a few dollars. But at that moment it felt like a five-course gourmet dinner—and not just because I was starving. “Oh, honey, you didn’t have to do that,” I said.
“You have to eat to keep your strength up,” Marie said. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”
I led her to the pretzel counter and pulled the burger from the sack. It smelled heavenly. “Honey, I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately,” I said. “I know it’s been hard for you…”
“Mom,” she said. “I so admire everything you’re doing for our family. When I babysit long hours or when I’m tired of doing homework, I think about you and how hard you work. How you’re always telling me not to give up. You’re my hero.”
I pulled her tight against me, but the warmth, the comfort, I felt went way beyond even the best hug from my daughter (and this certainly qualified!). Tomorrow the alarm would still ring at 5:00 A.M. The bills would still be waiting. There would be more rough days ahead.
And yet I was ready to face them. Together with Paul and Marie, all of us willing to work hard and make sacrifices, holding on to each other and to the hope that sustains us, even in the toughest of times.
Things would get better. With God and prayer and faith, with the love of a good family, they always do.
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