Church

Church is a big part of our lives. We go to the Sunday morning service, where we see our friends. Rather, the girls go to something called "the Catechesis of the Good Shepherd" and I go to Sunday School for the Big People. Then I go to church and they come in right before we have communion. In the Episcopal church, we have communion every Sunday. I bring snacks for Clara and Margaret to devour when they arrive in the pew. Because they get no snacks in their Sunday school classroom for fear of ants (while the adults eat doughnuts and have coffee). The snacks work out well; the girls don't talk while they are eating. Clara will open the hymnal when we are singing and sing, often in tune with her own random collection of words. We sit so close to the front of the church, the rector can hear her singing, and it often cracks him up.
On Wednesday evenings, we, including Gene, go to supper at the church. It's a great deal--for ten bucks, we can all eat. Mostly because they girls don't eat much. They get to run around and see their pals, as Clara calls older girls. I feel very comfortable letting them visit different tables of people. Everyone adores them.
So, can you imagine the pain of betrayal people must have continue to feel who were abused by priests? I'm sure they, too, were involved in their parish life. Maybe, like us, they also went to the school connected to the church. I can't imagine something so horrifying. Our priest is such a stand-up person. He left the Catholic church when tales of abuse starting coming out, and later married. His wife is great, too.
Between church and school, Clara and Margaret are learning various prayers, because they pray at school before they eat their snack. Of course, Clara wants to pray at home by saying, "Thank you for our snack," when we are eating supper. Today Margaret told me that God was her friend, but she wasn't sure Jesus was her friend. I told her Jesus loved her and was in her heart, and she touched her heart and said, "Hello, Jesus." And I think Clara's enthusiastic singing may help spur the formation of a children's choir at church.
When I was in fifth grade, I had to audition for the school choir. And only one other girl and I were rejected. I mean, in the whole school. How cruel is that? But no one rejected me from the church choir, because my low voice meant I could sing alto with no problem. We had a choir director who could read music, so it was okay. I just loved being in choir. I still love to sing. Anyway, we'll see if the choir comes to fuition and if Clara and Margaret want to be in it.
Today, I must have told Clara and Margaret about twenty ghost stories. About the ghost that ate the cottage cheese; the ghost in the attic who eat squirrels and girls, largely because they rhyme; the milk ghost; and the failed ghost who could scare only himself, no one else. Why do they get on these kicks? And then Gene matter-of-factly tells them, "Everything Mama told you isn't true. There are no ghosts." I told them, ghosts live only in stories. Which is true. I hope.

Shoes, Halloween and Fall

Of course, they would both love red shoes. Of course, there would be only one pair in the store that fit both of them. Of course, Clara would first reject and then covet Margaret's red shoes, which aren't leaving Tita's feet until she's in the bath tub. Think ruby slippers and the red shoes and you can understand the attraction, er, obsession. And then you, like me, can hear the gears just whirring away in Clara's fevered little brain as she tries to trick Margaret out of her shoes. Stay tuned.
I now have school girls, who talk about school, their teachers and their classmates. Clara has one friend, she tells me, while Margaret is friends with everyone. It's funny how they recognize each other's backpack and lunch box and other belongings. One of the jobs at school is to be the lunch boxer, and it's Margaret's favorite. She beams when she gets to tell me she has been the lunch boxer that day. The lunch boxer hands out all the lunches to the appropriate person. On Saturday we will go to a birthday party for Bella, a classmate, at the nearby city zoo. I'm looking forward to it. It's a book exchange, not a present thing.
Margaret continues to have problems with poop, but not much else. We have returned to kindermusik, taught by the beloved Miss Holly. On Tuesday, Miss Holly was singing Baby Beluga to them, and the children were responding. Later, after Clara had fallen asleep, I could hear Margaret singing to herself. Singing all the words, and singing in tune. Yay! I wonder if she's going to be one of those people who plays the piano just for herself? Stay tuned.
For Halloween, Clara was a witch, "a good witch." This was evident in her green witch's hat. She wanted Margaret to be her black cat, but Margaret had other ideas. She was a woodland fairy, complete with wings. A couple of people thought she was an angel. She indignantly corrected them. Neither child can get her head around Halloween. I mean, you dress up, knock on a door, and a stranger gives you CANDY? Not even Mama does that. Especially not Mama. Now, of course, they have forgotten about their candy and moved on to the next thing. Thinking about Santa and good girls and boys and coal.

Halloween and Fall