The Mamas And Pop

From Diapers to Epidurals, Women Have Something to Sing About

Debbie Bergeron is lost in the musical moment, her eyes half-moons, her fingers hypnotically strumming her electric guitar. As the hip-swinging beat quickens and her groove gets going, she is heading straight into the Hendrix Zone. Nothing can stop her now except . . . 10 tiny digits mischievously creeping up the strings.

Annabel, the 3-year-old, the littlest of the Bergeron brood, wants attention. Now .

Mom wants to practice.

"Annabel, why don't you dance?" prods the mother of four, her fingers resuming their liquid strokes as if they belonged to another body, another setting -- a stage, not suburbia.

After trying to climb her mother's leg like a tree, Annabel finally grows bored and totters off, leaving Bergeron to continue singing "5 o'Clock Hell."

Kids are playing in the yard,

But I know what's in the cards.

I feel the tension getting high.

I hear each minute ticking by.

4:47 now 4:52.

Oh, I don't know what to do.

Luckily for the Manassas mom, it's only 8:15 in the morning. Five o'Clock Hell is hours away.