What Matters

Maybe it's the heat. Or maybe it was the junk food fest she enjoyed yesterday at an over-the-top birthday party in Gwinnett. Or maybe she was tired. For whatever reason, Clara was a royal pain for most of the day. Crying. Pushing Margaret. Hitting Margaret. Not eating breakfast. Lying down in her chair at the table. And worst of all, provoking the cat and ending up with a scratch close to her eye. We either have to give away our lovely kitty or have her front claws removed. It's only a matter of time before she catches Clara in the eyeball. And then we will have a dog in the house, a seeing-eye dog.
And then, right as we were getting ready to go swimming, Clara started hitting Meowie with a squirt gun she got at the birthday party yesterday. So Clara didn't get to go swimming. She stayed in her crib most of the time Margaret and I were splashing around.
To cut to the chase, because I'm so tired:
When the girls were in bed, Clara asked me to stay with her while she was going to sleep. She hasn't asked me to do that in months, maybe even a year, so I decided to comply. I sat down next to her crib and stuck my hand through the slats. She took my hand and drew it under her blanket and started petting it. Then she reached her hand out and put it on my face. I was so tired, and thinking about what a horrible mother I am, that I started crying. She just looked at me and held my hand. She didn't seem upset or troubled by my tears. God knows, Clara produces a lot of tears herself. We are constantly making salty tear-water tea.
I think I was crying because it was so touching to me to have my little daughter asking for me to stay with her and holding my hand like one of her stuffed animals. She won't need me like this for very much longer. She kept peeking at me over her blanket to make sure I was there. (Margaret had been asleep for about twenty minutes before Clara's eyelids started getting heavy--thanks to the swimming.) I started singing "All the Pretty Little Horses," a song that always put Clara to sleep as a baby, and she gave out this shuttering kind of breath and seemed to relax, deeply.
It makes me miss my mother even more, because she was the one person who would be deeply interested in the kind of details about Clara I could provide for her. How Clara's eyebrows knit together in the Roberts scowl. How strong her little hands are and how much she likes to get her hands in dough of all kinds. How Clara makes a nest every night when she's going to bed. Gene says I do the same thing. And how blessed I am to have her. I tell Clara I waited my whole life for her to come, and she smiles and says, "Here I am, I'm here now."

Being Mama

When we play pretend, Clara can be Daddy and Margaret can be Stuart. But they never let me be anyone but Mama. Maybe for an instance, I can claim to be Tio or Tanna, but then they laugh and tumble into my laugh and both say, "You're just Mama, my mama." And since I learned I was carrying the two of them in my tummy, as they say, I have known this is who I would become. I think about them all the time. If we are apart--like now, when Gene has taken them to the grocery and the library--I wonder if they are okay, are they thirsty, will they tell him when they need the potty, will he be able to spot when Margaret is squeezing her body so she won't poop. If we are together, I wonder if I can continue to laugh and enjoy and engage them without getting too tired, wonder what and how I will fix for supper, hoping Clara will start to eat better and Margaret will fill up, because she never refuses food and just burns it all off. Only when I am sitting in a dark movie theatre do I forget, just for an instance, that I am Mama. I don't think of myself at all, I just watch whatever image is flickering on the screen.
Margaret and Clara don't see skin color, or body size or wrinkles or blotches or any other imperfection or distinction. Margaret easily and often slips her hand into the hand of a stranger who looks like the large woman who runs the church nursery. She and Clara seem to relax and smile when they hear someone speaking Spanish. When they look at me, they don't remember when I was last angry or tired or fed up or even gritting my teeth with frustration. They smile and pat me. And Margaret will lay one of her warm, small hands on my cheek and ask, in her soft voice, "You like me, Mama? You like me tons and tons still?" and I always say, "Tons and tons and more tons, baby."
Because that's what she knows Mama is going to say.

Practice for School

Last week, Margaret and Clara and I went to Bible School. I was a crew leader for the pre-school set, they were part of the crew. When I went to Bible School, we spent a week making baskets out of popsicle sticks or making mosaic tile creations, drinking orange colored liquid and eating? what? I can't remember. Sugar cookies, maybe? We played games and memorized Bible verses and sang a lot and played outside on the church playground.
Now, however, churches buy packaged themes for their Bible Schools. With everything built in, from DVDs to songs tying into the Bible verses, to the crafts and tee-shirts. Quite lucrative for someone. I don't think children will remember the theme as much as they will remember the songs. Or at least Clara and Margaret won't.
It was fun for me to see my girls interacting with other children, noticing differences and playing. Margaret's tendency to scream when something happens she doesn't like, well, that didn't go over well. The other kids stared at her. Clara continued her policing of everyone, making sure everyone was in line, was out of the bathroom and was sharing toys. Margaret actually started singing! which is great. Clara sings so well that Margaret would never sing....but she loves the song "Deep and Wide." And she started giving the Bible School cheer, pumping a fist into the air and yelling, "Fear Not!" they both loved doing crafts, with some success....I heard them saying "please" and "thank you," all the time and I was so happy! I will work with Margaret on her grasping a pencil or crayon and drawing. Her fine motor skills are getting better, but I don't know if she's on peer level or not.
Both Clara and Margaret are excited about coming to school. As long as I accompany them. They firmly believe the three or us are going to pre-school at Emmanuel Day School come August. There is an opening for an assistant teacher at the school, and I am going to put in an application. I've applied for every other job I've heard of, so I might as well go for this one!
I know the girls liked Bible School, because on Saturday morning, they were up early, ready to go out the door. And were disappointed when they learned school was over for this year. I will have to find out whatever happened to the popsicle basket idea....