A few hours ago, while in the drugstore down the street with my big girls, we ran into my oldest daughter's friend. We left the store with our gallons of milk and a newly minted invitation for an impromptu sleepover. A little more than an hour after that, I dropped my baby girl at her friend's doorstep.
It's quiet in our little yellow house tonight, believe it or not. There's always something missing when one of our girls is off somewhere the rest of us aren't. Her sister and roommate sleeps alone tonight, and admitted that the pain in her stomach means she is missing her big sister. Seems she enjoys her more than she knows.
This is the first time our daughter has slept over at a house where we are not also friends with the parents. We don't know if we have similar parenting styles, morals, values or rules. We haven't spent time together watching fireworks, school plays, chorus concerts or fiddling contests, or commiserating over schoolwork and teaching styles with the parent of this girl. We haven't walked for coffee (or sipped clandestine thermoses of wine) during ballet class, or visited the park after library class. We're leaving it all up to faith, a giant leap in a time when very few people have given us faith to believe in others.
The clocks move back an hour tonight. While I'm grateful for an extra hour of sleep (we already changed the clocks in the kids' rooms so they won't wake too early), I'm not sure how deeply I will slumber. Missing my girl.