Disclaimer: I love D-tent, but as if they'll ever be mine! (hugs Zero tightly and brandishes Holes DVD) STAND BACK, I'M ARMED.

These Kids

Day By Day

(ARMPIT-BASED. FROM HIS GRANDMOTHER'S POV)

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After I've sent Rish and Roshta to school, I wearily walk back to the kitchen. All the brightness and snap in my performance disappear as I sink down onto a kitchen stool.

I may be more active than most people my age, but in the end, I'm still an old lady who should have retired long ago. But for the past six years or so, I've been raising three children. A family, all on my own.

There's Theodore, who's sixteen and should be in high school, and the twins, Rish and Roshta, who are nine.

Neighbours and parents at the twins' school are always complimenting me and praising me; they find it remarkable that an old woman like me still has enough energy to raise a family for the second time in my life. They admire my strength and ability to look after the kids.

To my grandchildren, I'm not the spoiling, loving, gentle grandmother I had planned to be. I'm their guardian; their strict, know-when-to-draw-the line, disciplining parent.

I get up and walk gingerly to the sink to wash the dishes.

My son's wife passed away when the twins were three-years-old. She died of leukaemia and my son couldn't cope with her death. He left the kids with me, and went off to England.

My husband had long since passed away, of old age, and I was just beginning to settle into retirement. Enjoying the rest of my days, where all my hard work would finally pay off, and I would be able to look back on it, knowing I had lived a full life.

But all that changed.

Suddenly, staying on this world became much more important. I had been thinking that it wouldn't matter if I just... died... I'd be with my husband and other passed away family members... it wouldn't matter...

That ended, of course.

I found it pretty hard to manage the kids at first. Theodore was a lively ten-year-old. He was... always up to mischief. He was a bit of an accident-prone and was the main reason why several things in the house needed to be repaired. He was always sneaking snacks from the pantry, and Lilliana would chase him around with a wooden spoon, and tackle him onto the sofa. Both would be laughing and Lilliana would make him promise to eat his whole dinner.

Lilliana was a beautiful soul; there was never a lovelier lady. When she passed way, Theodore lost his liveliness. The twins were too young to understand, but I do remember them wailing for their beloved mummy. Then their father walked out on them.

A broken family.

The dishes are done and I stack them on the shelf. I go into Rish's room and start picking up her clothes off the pink carpet.

Kids need a mother. Kids need a father.

Rish, Roshta and Theodore had only me.

I guess that explains how Theodore ended up where he is. In a detention centre. In the middle of the night, sometimes I just wake up and cry. I wonder... where I went wrong. Was I too harsh on the boy?

I leave the bright pink bedroom and enter Roshta's blue room. His computer games are all over the place. His first birthday card made with much love by his parents and Theodore hangs framed on the wall. With a wry smile, I walk over and touch it slightly.

I remember that card. It was when the twins were turning a year old, and Theodore was very excited that his baby brother and sister were having their birthday. Lilliana came up with the idea of making the card, out of cardboard with sequins and ribbon and glitter and clipart from the computer. She was always full of ideas and creativity.

At that time, I wasn't living with them. I lived in a nice, old building; a sort of retirement home. I lived in one of the apartments and there were plenty of other old folk around. We were like a family, in a sense.

Lilliana was growing weaker week by week, and though she tried to keep up her usual confident and cheerful appearance we knew something was wrong. My son took her to the doctor's, much to her chagrin. She denied that anything was wrong and refused to lay low on her work.

I'm back down in the kitchen. Trembling slightly, I open the cabinet and take out a bottle of scotch.

I'm not a drinker. I've always set my mind to it that it's a horrid habit and a sinful one, at that. But sometimes, particularly these days, I feel driven to it.

It helps me... forget, I suppose. Not that I want to wipe out the memories of my beautiful grandchildren, my son, my daughter-in-law, my husband, and the rest of my family. But it's hard. I'm getting older and I'm not getting any stronger. One day, I won't be there for my children. They'll need someone else.

And what are they to do then?

Theodore's life has already crashed. Ever since entering middle school, he's been different. Reluctant to talk about his day and spending too much time cooped up in his room. I remember it wasn't like that with my children. But this is a different generation, so I suppose that explains it.

After I've downed the beverage, I feel a sudden surge of anger in my veins.

It's not fair! It was never fair! I've already spent my life working hard and getting through all my trials and tribulations! I've already gone through my share of it. Why am I still suffering?

Why did Lilliana have to be sick? Why did she have to die?

Why did my son leave? Why couldn't he stay strong? Her death affected us all, but none of us have fled to England. Why couldn't he be the good father I know he is and stay to watch his children grow up? He left two confused toddlers and a distraught growing boy behind. Why?

It's not fair... it never will be...

I'm bitter. I'm full of sorrow. Full of anguish. And I'm still grieving for a happy family that was lost six years ago. A full, hopeful, perfect family.

I pour myself another small glass of scotch.

When I received that phone call... the one that haunted my life and blighted me in a way I had never been affected before, even when my husband died. My son's voice was quavering on the other end of the line.

"Mum... she's... it... she's not with us anymore, mum."

And I remember the funeral. It... it was sad beyond words. Oh, sad isn't the right word. Neither is devastating. No... I can't describe it. But it was as if something was choking up inside of me, suffocating me...

But to tell you the truth, that wasn't as bad as what I experienced a couple of days later.

I was making my usual weekly trip to their house. I had been visiting every day since her passing to help out with the children. The twins were too young to notice anything, and were their usual selves, save them continuously asking where their mother was. My son had become a sort of robot - he hadn't shown any emotion since the funeral. I wanted him to mourn with me. I wanted him to shed as many tears as necessary. Because then he would be more human. Instead, this sudden mechanical state had taken place. It worried me. It wasn't healthy. Not for himself, not for the children.

I should have seen what was coming. At least had the vaguest idea, the way things were going. But I suppose I didn't want to entertain the awful thought.

Because it would mean that my son was a coward and couldn't even stay together for his family. And I didn't want to believe that. I didn't want to think that. He would be strong, I thought, he would keep everyone going.

When I arrived at their house one morning... it was in a strange state. It was a school day, yet Theodore was still in his pyjamas, his eyes fixed on the television screen, though it looked like his spiritual self was elsewhere. The twins hadn't even gone to bed last night, it seemed, as they were both asleep on their beanbags, fully-clothed.

My son was nowhere to be seen. Theodore only shrugged when I asked him. It was so much different from what it used to be; when I would enter into their house and the three children would come flying at me, happy to see their beloved grandmother.

It broke my heart to see them like this.

But it was nothing compared to the grief I suffered when I discovered he had gone, leaving me nothing but his mess.

The scotch burns down my throat, but it feels good.

It was hard, accepting he really had left. It was hard, going to every living relative within reasonable distance, asking them about the children, and being turned down every time. And it was hard, when it was suggested the children go into foster care.

I couldn't have that. So I took them in.

Six long, hard years followed. Watching the twins grow up was wonderful, but watching Theodore struggle was among the hardest thing I had to see. If only his parents were still around...

I disciplined him. Punished him when he needed it. Gave him serious talks when his grades were dropping. Praised him when he performed well. But my attempts were fruitless. Even as I tried, I saw him slipping away.

Until he finally ended up where he is now.

At Camp Green Lake.

It's been months since I last saw him. He shouldn't be there. The guardians should be the ones disciplining their children, not some government-run place where hundreds of other criminal boys are.

Theodore's not a criminal. No, he's still got as much of a heart as he did six years ago, before his family crumbled.

I sigh heavily as I replace the bottle back on the shelf, and wash my glass.

I must not give up. I may have lost my daughter in law and my son, but I still have Rish and Roshta to take care of. I'm an old lady, but God gave me this task, and I will fulfill it to the best of my ability.

And I have Theodore.

When he comes back... I will not let him leave again. I'll make him see how he's hurt his family, and I'll make sure he'll never do this to me and his brother and sister again. How could he do this to us? His own family? It wasn't only him who was hurt by his parents!

At this, I lose control. I give a cry of anguish and throw down the dishcloth.

Why am I the only one who can stay strong for the family? One leaves, and they all collapse, and it's up to me to pull them together! How come I couldn't be the one who breaks down? Why do I have to always be around to help everyone else?

It's always been this way. I've never been allowed to sit and cry when anyone else was around. Because if I did, there would be no one else to help us. We'd be helpless.

Day by day, I looked after my children. It wasn't easy, but bringing kids up is never easy.

Day by day, I watched them grow up. They got married, moved away, and had children of their own.

Day by day, I sat by my husband's side in the hospital, watching hopelessly as his life slipped away.

Day by day, I enjoyed my time in the retirement home, where I didn't have any worries and made friends of my own.

I faced many changes.

Day by day, I look after the twins, wondering what will happen to them when my time comes.

Day by day, I am filled with hopelessness and dread as I think about Theodore, and how far away he is from home.

Day by day, I put my hand to the plough and keep working hard.

Just when I think all my faith is gone, the phone rings. It is my son. The son I have not seen or heard from for six years.

"Mum," he says.

And we both cry. We talk for hours. And cry most of that time, as well. But mostly, we are happy.

"Mum, I'm coming back," at last he says softly, "I need to see you and my children again."

It is hard to describe how I feel. Very emotional, and filled with all hope and joy again. Knowing that he is returning is like a light in my life. Maybe I should be angry and bitter towards him for leaving me, but I'm not.

I no longer feel dread at the thought of my grandchildren's future. Their father is returning and he will care for them. And that is a very comforting thought.

With a smile that lights up my face, I finish straightening out the house with unusual snap and spirit. I am glowing with happiness.

There is hope for all of us now. Hope for Rish and Roshta. Hope for me. Hope for Theodore. He and his father were the best of friends, a long time ago. Maybe he can set him straight where I have failed.

Day by day, I used to wait. Waiting for the twins to come home from school. Waiting for Theodore to come home from Camp Green Lake. And always, waiting for my son to come home from England.

I no longer have to wait for anyone.

We'll be a happy, reunited family, and live everyday to its extent. I will no longer have to wait for that faraway day in the future, where everything falls back into place, because that day has arrived.

"Rish, Roshta, I have some wonderful news for you," I say happily, my eyes filling with shining tears.

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A/N:O I am so, so, so, SO sorry for not updating for ages! I've been writing this for about a year now, whenever I had time or felt like it (hehe) and well, I decided to finish it off. Aww .. I was listening to the "Dig It" song by the D-tent boys the other night and I was reminded of HOW MUCH I LOVE THE WIDDLE ZERO. x) And yes, I was feeling in an updating spirit so here is the funky Armpit, although there wasn't much about him. Feel free to bean me with lamingtons for taking a millennium. xD Twahaha.

Anyway, thanks everyone for your kind reviews. x) I know it's been awhile, and it's really nice to write something for Holes again. I'll try update sooner! Next is Zigzag. xD Then Twitch, then it's X-Ray (crowd goes wild), then BARF BAG (yay) and the lovely lil Caveman. x) That's it, the votes are closed, your verdict is .. uh .. ready, and I shall see you in another millennium muahahahahaha! (No, I'm serious.) x) --MSQ.