School starts for Clara and Margaret on Monday. Because their birthday falls on September 16, they are four on August 31, the cutoff day for school grade placement. Georgia has a state lottery funded pre-K program, but they didn't get in.here are only a few spots for hundreds of applicants. So they will return to their Episcopal school, which is fine with me.
My concern is that it's hotter than blue blazes. Soon, I'm sure, school will be year-round. When i was little, it started in early September, and when i finished high school, it was late late August. The school calendar keeps getting longer and longer. Why don't they extend the year in June, when the heat index isn't 110 degrees? Well, nobody asked for my opinion.
The teachers on Friday told me the girls will learn everything the pre-K students do...only this school and curriculum are play based, not paper based. So they will learn about counting by playing store and using cash registers. And they will--Praise Jesus!!--bake the goodies for their own parties, relieving parents of that responsibility! And there is pizza every Friday, which means one less lunch for me to make.
We took a couple of little trips this summer, to Gene's sister's house on the Savannah River, and to the mountains. Rather, the three of them went up there so I could write at home. It's strange to have a silent house. I do kind of like it. For a while. But I do enjoy hearing about the trip and what all they did on it.
Whenever I pick up a pencil or pen, Margaret asks me to write her name. In cursive writing. She assures me her name is "Margaret, just Margaret," so of course I am now calling her Just Margaret. Her occupational therapist is working with her on learning to write her name. It's going to be a long haul, I fear. But she tries.
We are teaching the girls not to blurt out whatever comes in their heads, but it's hard. Gene took them to see a beloved, lovely neighbor the other night. This woman isn't the tidiest creature on the planet. As they were leaving, she said, "Come back soon," and Clara said, sotto voce, "Next time, I'm bringing a mop," while Margaret chimed me, shaking her head, 'I don't think so." I later had to assure the neighbor that we all still loved her.
Both girls can swim now, alone, though we hover nearby. We had to make a run to Target to buy swim suits, which seem to wear out at an alarming rate. It's worth it. When they like their suits, they swim better, Clara told me. Will it work for me?
