Clara & Margaret Are Here

The First Day

2011-08-08T02:21:00.001-07:00

They have picked out their clothes (within a few parameters, because they will be wearing uniforms to school. Khaki or navy skorts, white, pink or light blue polo or oxford shirts, plain, clothes toed shoes. Quite a shock for Clara, who wears these kind of crocks shoes, with open toes). They are supposed to ride a bus but weren't given a bus number, so today we will take them. I am making lunch in just a few minutes.
Margaret is in a class with a special ed teacher who will help her work on her handwriting and socialization issues. It's a collaborative class, meaning that Margaret will be in the same classroom as the other children, she'll just get extra help when she needs it. Clara is in another classroom. She was considered the model student by her pre-school teacher, so we will see how she does. Clara loves rules and loves enforcing them, and if the rules aren't stringent enough, she will make them so, especially where it concerns Margaret.
Much of the public school system in Athens, and probably in Georgia, seems very punitive to me. Codes of conduct to be signed. Information about good touch/bad touch (which seems good to me, actually). Notices about restraining children. School insurance (which seems like a scam). We had forms and more forms to sign. All risk-management related. I can't imagine how complicated it is to play an organized sport on a school team.
The school PTA seems very organized, so I plan to get involved with that as much as I can. Which may be a lot, given that I soon will have an entire day free. When the bus does start arriving, I expect it to get here around 6:30, which will mean they will be gone from then until 3 or 3:15. A very long day for someone who's five.
Recently, we went to a movie (their first!) in a local art house theatre, where the feature was an hour of Looney Tunes. Clara settled into her seat next to me, holding half a bag of popcorn and her doll. She snuggled up to me and said, "Now, this is my idea of a good time."
She's hilarious. I will miss being with them all day, but I am also relieved not to be with them all day.

School Calls

2011-08-05T10:05:00.000-07:00

With temperatures in the high 90's and heat indices hitting 103 degrees, returning to school seems insane to me. Especially since the playground at the girls' new school has no trees in sight. Anywhere. I may join the gardening committee of the PTA and plant some trees there! We visited Timothy School yesterday, went to the children's classrooms, met their teachers and left feeling a little sad, at least me. There were so many forms about discipline, expulsion, legal rights, hearings, etc., that it seemed as though we were buying a house not just visiting a public school.
But sign there, I did. Gene wasn't so bothered.
He was more concerned with the principal, who couldn't pronounce the word "second" correctly. She said "sec-on-nd" with an extra syllable. She had a few other strange utterings, but they didn't bother me. I have trouble distinguishing "steel" and "still."
We have to provide four bottles of hand sanitizer for each child, two packs of copy paper, four boxes of Kleenex (the brand was specified) and five boxes of sanitary wipes. You would think they are guarding against MRSA instead of wiping off sticky hands.
Having looked at the school lunch menu, I'm going to be packing their lunches this year. I didn't do it for Margaret last year when she was briefly in Pre-K, but I'm going to this year. The menus sound yucky. No attempt at vegetables or fresh fruit. Clara will eat hummus and carrots and celery until the cows come home.
We went downtown this morning on a university bus (always a thrill!) and bought Clara a pair of new shoes. She's now ready to go! I'll post photos of their first day. I think I'm more worried than they are!

Time Flies when you're Flying

2011-07-20T18:58:00.000-07:00

This summer, we hae let the girls try many different things. They have been together in soccer camp (Clara loved it, Margaret did not, turning into Bartleby the Scrivner, who replied only 'I would prefer not to' to just about everything. They tried tennis (Clara excelled, Margaret put down her racket and told me she couldn't do it). And they tried dance class (the teacher told me Margaret freaked out when everyone starting tapping). Clara loves dance and will continue into the fall. She may sign up for soccer if it doesn't conflict with the dance.
This week, Clara is taking more tennis classes, and Margaret, well, she's at trapeze camp. We went to a "circus" performance at the trapeze studio in the winter, and it was all I could do to keep her from trying to get on the mat and on the bar. So she has been waking up shouting, "I"m going to trapeze!" I wonder now if she would have enjoyed the other activities if she had been alone? Who knows?
I don't want them over scheduled, not that we could afford all the things that are out there. I do want to figure out some way to get them into piano. They both love music. First thing is to find a piano!

Margaret rides to the rescue

2011-01-29T18:25:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas

2010-12-25T06:14:00.001-08:00

Clara and Margaret were so confident that Santa was going to bring them what they wanted, they pointed to the doll strollers and said, "Look, Mama! There they are!" as if they were introducing old friends. Wonderful to have such faith, no? And then, that wily ol' Santa brought them other gifts they didn't even ask for! They were dunderstruck.
Margaret will be going to school again in the new year. She was asked to leave Emmanuel Day School. One of the meanest acts I have ever heard of. The principal called me in one Friday morning and said, "Margaret isn't coming back on Monday." Out of the blue, in fact. Turns out, it was just too darn disruptive for Margaret's support people, her special ed teacher and occupational therapist, to come into the classroom. Just too disruptive, even though the school was started to help special needs children. But that's all water under the bridge now. We are moving on to a public Pre-K program, with support in the class every day and the coolest playground you've ever seen. And, best of all, Margaret will get to ride a school bus to school! How cool is that! She is so excited, she can't stand it! Their elementary school is within walking distance, so she and Clara won't get to ride a bus when they start kindergarten next year. Clara would love to ride a bus, too, but she will continue at Emmanuel.
My job at Patch is going to be good. Right now, I am busy helping to build a directory of businesses, government agencies and non profits in town. The list is huge, but it's fun meeting people.
The other night, we were driving around, looking at lights. We passed a huge display of inflatables: Santa, reindeer, snowmen and other creatures. I drove to the next street to turn around and spotted a small Nativity scene. I said, "Hey, look at that!" and Gene said, "It doesn't have half the lights of the other one." And Clara chimed in, "Daddy, that's the whole reason we have Christmas. if we didn't have Baby Jesus, we wouldn't have Christmas at all, you silly Daddy." And then Margaret said, "Daddy, we love Baby Jesus." And I thought, thank you, Jesus, and thank you Emmanuel.

change is gonna come

2010-11-05T18:53:00.000-07:00

We've had a lot of changes in the last few weeks. For one, I am now the Athens editor of Patch. com, a news site owned by AOL. They are starting hundreds of them across the country. I get to work at home, I have a budget for freelancers and I am basically the captain of my ship, if not my soul. So that's all good. Except Clara insists my "real" job is taking care of her and Margaret. Which is true.
Clara is flourishing at school, learning to write, playing with other kids, enjoying the many science experiments they do in her preschool class. Margaret is a different story. She wakes up happy every day; she loves going to school, loves her Hello, Kitty lunchbox and her coat. She loves her teachers. But today, Margaret was tossed out of school. From out of nowhere, the principal told me the school could no longer meet Margaret's needs. It was such a shock because we had a meeting about three weeks ago during which they told us Margaret was much improved. She is engaging other children in social situations and being friendly to them. A specialist from the public school system comes to work with Margaret twice a week in her classroom. An occupational therapist comes once every other week.
But all of that about progress and doing well was just hot air, I reckon. Today I heard reports of a disruptive child who doesn't engage socially with other kids, who doesn't understand basic concepts. When I asked the specialist about this, she was floored. And very angry. No one ever mentioned any problems to her. No one ever suggested they work on specific issues with Margaret. She was caught off guard as much as we were.
I spoke not a word while the principal was talking. it was clear to me that the fix was in, so to speak.
So now we are scrambling to figure out what to do with Margaret. To keep her moving forward and learning things. We will be able to visit her occupational therapist twice a week so she can work on developing her fine motor skills. And the specialists will continue to serve her twice a week.
It's too late to get into a pre-K class or another preschool. They fill up in Athens very very fast.
I was crying over this today, because neither Margaret nor Clara understands what's going on. I'm not sure I do. I am putting a positive spin on it for Tita's sake. I don't want her to feel weird about herself.
I guess I will continue to make her a lunch and pack it in her Hello, Kitty lunchbox. At least that doesn't have to change for her.

Summer's End

2010-09-29T08:50:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, we had a big rainstorm, a true toad strangler. In the gutter across the street, the water tends to back up because of bad drainage problems from a nearby sorority. Lots of dirt, leaves and sticks get washed down the gutter, plugging the stormwater drain. If things back up too much, the water will overflow across the street and wash down our driveway, taking much of it along for the ride.
So, during a lull in the rain, Clara, Margaret and I ventured out. They in their rain coats and rain boots, me in my sandals, shorts and running jacket. I had a flatblade shovel, they had their hands. Clara, alas, was wearing her white church dress. I explained to them what we needed to do. I scraped the gutter with the shovel and threw the mud onto the grass of the yards next door and across the streets. We used our hands to pick out the leaves, grass and sticks from around the drain. The water began to flow faster and stronger, and finally, the little girls couldn't stand it. They abandoned their posts and began making mud cakes, mud pies and mud sandwiches, all for my consumption. I ate a few, paying them with hand slaps.
Across the street, I found even deeper mud. As I began cleaning it out of the gutter, the girls suddenly went wild. They flopped into the shallow, muddy water. Muck and water got into their boots, in their hair and, dern, all over Clara's white dress (which is now oxycleaned and bleached white again). They were just cackling and going nuts. Clara began patting mud around my ankles. It started to rain, which wasn't a problem, but when it started to thunder, I called a halt to the riot. We walked to the back door, they stripped down, I toweled them off and marched them into the tub.
All in all, it was great fun. There's something wonderful about mud. Which must be why people will pay $$$ for a mud bath, no?
The rain has brought cooler weather. Which means sweaters in the morning when they go to school.
We had to separate them. Clara is now in a different pre-school class from Margaret. Because of her fine motor skills delays, Margaret gets special education services and occupational services from the local school district. Free. Her special ed teacher noticed that Clara was far too invested in Margaret and her outcomes. I was concerned because when I would ask Clara about school, her response always centered on what Margaret had done that day. Not what she had done. Clara seems to have skipped across the hall with no problems. Margaret, on the other hand, is back to her former pooping problems. I think now it's in reaction to Clara leaving her. Every day, she asks if she can go into Clara's classroom, and I have to say no. Margaret's classroom is much more structured than Clara's. I am hoping things straighten out, because we seemed to be over the hump with Tita and her problems. I don't want to go back.
On Saturday, I am going to Chicago for more than a week. Wish Gene luck!

School is starting

2010-08-14T04:33:00.000-07:00

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?

An ordinary Life

2010-06-13T18:30:00.000-07:00

It's hotter here than it has been in a while, meaning in the 90s. I kind of like it. And would like it more if we didn't have the Asian Tiger Mosquitoes devouring us whenever we go outside in the daytime. I was accustomed to the summer mosquitoes that attack at dusk. Thanks to globalization, we get to swat in the day now as well.
Which means we have spray bottles of bug dope at every exit of the house. Like my brother Greg, Clara emits a chemical that attracts all the mosquitoes in the neighborhood to her. She can get 20 bites, while Margaret gets none. So spray, baby, spray is our summertime mantra.
This afternoon they were wanting to go swimming. I wanted to take them but cooking duties called. Gene was busy painting his studio. Finally, I got things underway and we headed outside to the sprinkler. Only it turned out to be water balloons instead of a sprinkler. I got soaked when Clara turned the hose on me, giggling. I ended up laughing like a hyena...it really was funny and I felt great. So we filled water balloons and threw them at each other for a while. Our friend Sarah, who had come to eat, sat on the porch stoop, laughing at us. Clara was delighted at being able to make Mama run away.
I have a job interview on Tuesday with the Georgia Sea Grant program. Nice people, hideous pay, but benefits. I am friends with the wife of one of the men who will interview me. Which is why I probably am being interviewed. I tell you, if I get it, that's great, if I don't, that's fine as well.
Why am I so sanguine? On Thursday, I felt a knot in my right breast, toward my back, and it hurt. I thought, oh, dear, and then headed to the doctor the next day to have it checked out. The knot hurt when he pressed on it, and he more or less ignored it. He was more interested in this itchy rash on the right side of my torso. When my doctor told me I may have shingles, I cheered. He looked at me as if I were nuts. He said the knot would probably go ahead as I started drugs for shingles, and it has.
When faced with the prospect of cancer, ordinary life becomes so precious. I thought to myself as I went into the doctor's office, ordinary is pretty extraordinary. Picking up the girls and tucking them in with songs. Reading together. Making pancakes together. Watching Margaret push her shopping cart behind me in the grocery store. Hearing Clara singing her song about fairies and Dora. I mean, God and the universe handed my little life back to me, intact, and for this, I am so grateful.

Good-bye to all that

2010-05-19T08:05:00.000-07:00

This post isn't about Clara and Margaret directly, but it does affect them.
I just wrote an explanation of why our long-time babysitter has stopped working for us, but in truth, I really don't know why. It's an awful thing to have someone you know well and love not be honest with you. I mean, this woke me up through the night. For the past six months, Roxy hasn't been babysitting for us. No, she told me, she had been cleaning people's houses, earning more money than I could pay her. I understood; times are tough and I can't pay her $20 an hour to babysit my girls. Yesterday, another mom at the girls' school thanked me for "giving" her Roxy. I was puzzled. Is she cleaning your house? No, she's babysitting, the woman replied.
I almost threw up. Clara and Margaret fully expect Roxy to return and take care of them one day soon. I am going to visit Roxy at her house and find out what's going on. After four and a half years, of paying her when I really shouldn't have done so, of finding work for her sons and her father when he visit, I think I deserve some closure.

Coming to the end of school

2010-05-17T18:34:00.001-07:00

This afternoon, the girls and I were lying on our bed. The ceiling fan was turning slowly, creating a slight wind that necessitated my getting both girls a blanket. And then I had to tell them witch stories. They love to be scared and entertained. Ghosts and witches abound in our house. They move dirty clothes, take dishes out of the sink and create all kinds of havoc. So says Clara. It was so pleasant lying on the bed with them both snuggling into my armpits, delighted to be scared just a little.
School ends for them on Wednesday with an ice cream sundae party. Margaret has made great progress on her social skills, thanks to a pre-school special education teacher sent by the school district. Come August, when school starts up, Margaret will be getting occupational therapy as well. It's so great that they come to the school. Clara is worried about her class breaking up and about not having the same beloved teacher next year. She can't get her head around the concept. She keeps telling me she wants to stay with Miss Bette.
Gene makes the girls read aloud to him before they can watch a video or swing in our new outdoor swing. Margaret is very motivated to do this because she loves the swing better than anything. Clara is balking about reading. She has been for the past few days. She wants me to swing her if Gene isn't home. No dice. Today, she told me that she had really truly done her reading. When I asked, who did you read to? she didn't miss a beat. "An octopus, Mama, really." When I said nothing, she confessed, "All right, it was really a fish." I'm not that easy to fool, but I loved her attempts to do so.
We went to our church picnic on Sunday out at a member's farm. There were bunnies to see and pet, so Margaret was in heaven. And horses to see running around. Plus, a swing set and even a trampoline. The old kind, with no net and no padding on the springs. The kind that sends kids into wheelchairs. I have found a safe trampoline, but it costs $600, so it won't be coming to live at our house anytime soon, believe me. Of course, now Clara and Tita want it.
The picnic was great, with a table of homemade foods, older kids to entertain the younger ones and nice people to talk to. In the late afternoon, I asked Clara to stay put and then I went to lead Margaret away from the trampoline and to the potty. When we returned, Clara wasn't to be seen. I didn't think anything bad had happened to her, but I was a bit panicked. After looking a little for Clara, I stopped Margaret from charming an unsuspecting daddy into putting her on the trampoline and deposited her with some friends so I could widen my search.
When I saw my Clara standing by our car, I felt tears in my eyes. She was smiling and almost crying, too. I scooped her up and kissed her and she said, in a slight scold, "Where were you, Mommy? I don't like to lose you, you remember that."

Growing up

2010-05-03T08:26:00.000-07:00

Last night, our friends Tanna and Stuart were over for Sunday supper, a usual event for the six of us. Clara was acting up and acting out and ended up in the uncooperative chair in the corner. Margaret soon followed her. As Margaret sat down, Clara yelled out, "Marg, call DFACS!" The Department of Family and Children's Services takes children from families when things aren't going well. The four adults tried not to laugh so that Clara could hear. I've told them about DFACS, mainly to explain why they have to accompany me out of their carseats when I stop someplace. Some days, I wish I could speed-dial DFACS and get them to take the girls away for just an hour or two. Or better, take me.

Margaret's evacuation problems seem to be resolved. She's worked hard. And for her reward, she received a small shopping cart, just her size. Which she now takes to Publix to shop with me, and to Earthfare, our neighborhood store. She now asks to "take a little walk" with the shopping cart. I have to say, it's very cute. Especially when she puts one of her dozen bunnies in the little seat. Margaret is a bunnyholic. This weekend, we were in Atlanta, at a friend's house, and she tried to convince the mom that the little baby owner of the coveted bunny didn't really need the bunny. And that she, Margaret, would take excellent care of the bunny. Didn't work. Neither did her attempt to talk our Aunt Lucy out of her stuffed bunny, promising to take really good care of said rabbit. So, when Margaret stops making "mad faces" at other children, a problem for which she is receiving special education help, she will get a new baby bunny, "just for me," she says.

Margaret and I go to occupational therapy every week at Miss Becky's house. Margaret loves it. It's like a cross between a classroom, a circus and a gymnastics facility. She swings and balances and picks up stuff and draws and just has a great time. So once, Clara came with us, and she loved it. The next time, she wanted to go, and Margaret didn't like this idea. To persuade her, Clara said, "Marg, you're going to be all involved with Miss Becky, and I'm going to be all involved with just myself." I loved that. Margaret was convinced and let Clara come along.

Since I've been so focused on Margaret's plumbing for months, I have noticed that Clara takes care of her needs at home. As do all the other children in their class. At home, Clara knows I don't usually accompany her into the potty unless she needs help with a more substantial matter. So she has taken to saying, "I need to poop." And in I go, ready to help. She and I both know she's not going to do what she says, she just wants me to come along to have me all to herself, if only for a few minutes. "Look, Mama," she will say, "I made ghost poop." Which is why I can't see it.

We have a lot of ghosts in our house, and they are very active. They take the clothes off of one doll and put them on a stuffed rabbit. They will take apart Clara's train and shove the pieces under their table. And they will eat food on the table that someone is saving for later. And sometimes, they walk around the house with towels or blankets on their heads, groaning and moaning and scaring everyone. Maybe I should get those ghosts to sit in the uncooperative chair, Clara says. Not a bad idea.

Ham on Stage

2010-04-12T19:10:00.000-07:00

Today was Clara's first public performance. She was great.
She was the child in tune, in time and on track during a concert at the girls' school. Margaret shook her egg and streamer to beat the band, but sang nary a word. She knows the words to the songs because she sings them at home. But not at school, and certainly not on the school stage, in front of a large audience of parents and friends. Clara, however, was right at home. I'm telling you, the child is a ham. Can't imagine where she gets it. I'm thinking back to dance recitals, when I was nine and dancing with teenagers because I was so tall. I took a movie with my phone and will download it when I have a second.
The rest of the day was also great. We spent some time on one of the school playgrounds. Margaret is obsessed with a toy shopping cart, pushing it around and putting things in it. If she continues to be successful in her plumbing system, I will buy her a shopping cart she can use at home. This smaller playground is shaded, which is good, because we have two of the whitest white girls I've ever seen. Margaret has slightly red hair and the white white skin redheads have. Bring me sunscreen!
Afterward, we ate lunch at the tofu place, and they even ate tofu. At home, we played outside in the sprinkler, or they did, in the afternoon. The firemen from a nearby station walk around our block. Every time they passed us, Margaret would say, "Hello, firemen!" and then give them rose leaves. They were gracious enough to take the leaves and to thank Margaret, who would then run to me and say, "They took my leaves, Mama!"
We are enjoying beaucoups of strawberries. Margaret could easily eat two or three pounds all by herself, and so could Clara.
Clara has taken to wearing ear bobs, my mother's clip-on ear rings. I have a few pair of them. The jewelry adds about ten years to Clara. Nope, it's going to be a few years before she's sporting that, believe me. But I detect the jewelry gene already. I think it's attached to the ham gene.

Patience is a virtue

2010-04-10T18:11:00.000-07:00

We learned today that Athens Clarke County likes in line far more than online when it comes to registering for county recreation department programs. Clara and Margaret and I started standing in line at 9:15 this morning, and finally left at 2:45 p.m., having secured one of three summer classes we were interested in. They didn't get into a puppet making session at the art center, nor an animal-centered one. But we did make a gymnastics program that Margaret will enjoy far more than Clara, I believe. M isn't as coordinated as Clara, but she enjoys being upside down and bouncing and spinning around.
The girls were great while we were waiting. Not any whining or complaining. We did manage to go to the potty twice, traveling there by elevator and then returning by the coolest of all, an escalator. Both girls knew what an escalator is from the book Corduroy, but had never been on one until today. It was so exciting for both of them. Clara insisted I hold both their hands, which I was happy to do. And this particular escalator was really really long.
A couple of times today, as the line crawled along, Clara lost sight of me. She panics when that happens, whereas Margaret is happy just to find a new friend and be on her way. I am torn between making them paranoid and having them be too friendly. I don't want them to be afraid of people, but I do want them to be cautious. To speak to my friends and acquaintances, but no one else. I'm not sure how to do this. In familiar places, like Publix, they expect everyone they meet to be kind and friendly. For the most part, other customers and those who work there are kind and friendly. But I have read and written stories about children being snatched from grocery stores.
WWPD? What would Peg do?

Being a Mama

2010-04-06T06:11:00.000-07:00

So there we are, me in the driver's seat, Clara and Margaret in their car seats. I am spaced out a bit, but alert enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. When they play, sometimes Margaret is "Mother," and Clara is "Baby."
This afternoon, Margaret says, "Baby, I really am your mama."
Clara: "Mother, you can't be my mama. Real mamas have big feet, and your feet are little. And real mamas sit in the driver's seat and drive. Look at you, you're in a car seat like me. Mama is the real mama."
I laughed and laughed. So, that's all one needs, big feet. They are fixated on my feet, and my shoes. No matter what kind I've been wearing, they pounce on them and clomp around. Luckily, none of the heels are too high.
Yesterday was one of the most difficult days I've had with Clara. I don't know what was going on with her. She gets so excited and/or angry and then lashes out, sometimes at Margaret, sometimes at me. They had been playing in the sprinkler in the front yard, spraying each other and screaming with delight. Yup, it was 88 degrees here on April 5th!) When they came in to get washed off--they had grass in their hair--Clara was miffed about having to stop spraying. After being rinsed off and toweled dry, she was pressed up against my thigh and I was drying her hair. She bit me in the leg, and it really hurt. To the uncooperative chair she went, with restrictions about playing with Harper, our lovely next-door neighbor. In the course of the evening, Clara also kicked and hit me when things didn't go her way.
She told me later that she does these things when she doesn't think. So I encouraged her to start thinking, or she will never see her friends again. It takes a lot of self control on my part not to hit her back when she hurts me, but you know what? I'm way bigger than Clara is, and I could really hurt her.
Whenever I put her in the uncooperative chair, Margaret starts calling, "Dee Facts! Dee Facts!" The Department of Family and Children's Services, or DFACS, takes children away from mean parents, they both know. So Margaret calls them to rescue Clara.
Where was DFACS on Sunday? We went to a church-sponsored egg hunt after church. Some well-intended parents had scattered about 400 eggs around a playground, without hiding them. These are little plastic eggs filled with candy or toys. We were the first to the playground, because the girls wanted to play, and had to wait about 20 minutes before things got underway. Other children and parents arrived and crowded on the stairway leading to the playground. We moved into the shade to wait and let the others go into the playground first. About a minute after the gate had opened, all the eggs were gone. Clara found one, Margaret found none, while some children walked away with thirty or forty eggs. One dad and his son were high-fiving. I didn't like this event; it wasn't a hunt, it was a free-for-all, competitive candy grab. I may stage an egg hunt at home myself next year and actually hide the eggs. That's what Clara and Margaret like, finding things.
Candy isn't the primary reward, discovery is. Besides, they know I'm going to dole out their candy. Because that's what big-footed mamas do.

Easter Egg Girls

2010-04-04T09:23:00.001-07:00

Take my girls. Please

2010-04-03T08:40:00.000-07:00

This morning, we spent an hour or so preparing to go to the library. Rather, the girls and Gene were headed to the library. To get books and draw with the computers and have fun, I hoped. As they were climbing into the car, Margaret started yelling for me to put her in her carseat...but I still had on my pj's and was barefooted. Gene said, "Well, if you don't want to go, just stay home," and I yelled, "No! No! and ran out into the driveway in my pj's and no shoes and put her in her carseat. Gene said, "Do you want to be like that woman? What are you doing?"
That woman was Mae Eggert, who jumped over her backyard fence buck naked one day while a group of kids was playing basketball in the adjacent yard. She was manic, jumping over and over this low fence, cackling. I don't want to end up like Mae. Which is why I wanted Gene to spend time, alone, with the girls this morning. I have to head to the store for some Easter basket goodies (I know, I'm late!) when they aren't around. Also need to pick up the house, wash some clothes and plan food for tomorrow.
Clara has taken to saying very snappy things. Like "What are you up to?" And "How's it going, Mama?" Gene and I were talking about how much fun it is to walk and think and Clara announced, "I never think when I walk." That struck us as funny. Margaret told me "I've told you a million times," about something or other. I understand more and more why Daddy made up words. That way no little ears every caught ugly words and repeated them.
Am off to the day's duties. Will report on Easter later. It's lovely outside here.

Spring is coming

2010-03-26T18:07:00.001-07:00

The girls don't go to school on Friday. So we had big plans today....first, swimming at the Y, then lunch at the pharmacy, then a nearby playground, and finally some errands downtown requiring a bus ride. They love riding the bus. Well, while I was putting on my shoes, they got into an argument which ended with Clara biting Margaret's finger hard enough to draw blood. Needless to say, Clara ended up getting a swat (I swat them if they hurt each other on purpose, and with delight) and then was confined to the Uncooperative Chair for a few minutes. And she was not allowed to go swimming. The last one was the hardest to enforce. She wanted to go swimming and had even gotten out our swim bag and swim suits and a snack for afterwards. And then she didn't get to go. Even Margaret missed her. But when we got home, Clara told me she wasn't going to bite Margaret anymore. She had not bitten her in two years, and she had never drawn blood. I don't think she will do it again.
We walked to Five Points, a nearby commercial area, and they helped me return some cereal at our local health food store. Then we stopped at the toy store for a quick viewing of possible Easter bunny gifts and at the consignment shop to see if anyone had purchased some clothes i was trying to sell. Lots of new toys and great gifts but no one has yet bought anything of mine. Too bad, the two are related.
Clara wants a few things. She wants so many things, she told me, that we need to get a bigger house to hold them all. Ha ha, I said to her. She said I don't need them, Mommy, I just want them. I explained everyone wants things they don't need. And that sometimes it's fun just to look. She agreed. Margaret wanted what else? A bunny. And a fake cell phone so she can call Roxy. We haven't seen Roxy in weeks. Her husband is making her clean houses instead of babysit, because house cleaning pays more than twice what babysitting does. I always thought you dance with the one what brung you, and i did direct her to all her house cleaning clients....but they do things differently in Salvador. I'm needing someone just one or two afternoons a week, just so i can think quietly for a little while. If anyone knows anyone, send them my way.

Help is on the way

2010-03-22T18:13:00.000-07:00

It's a little difficult to sit in a room with eight professional education types and listen to them talk not quite English about your child. But I listened well, and asked a lot of questions and learned quite a bit. The upshot is Margaret is just fine, a little above average cognitively, but not up to peer level on her fine and gross motor skills or her social skills. Which I already knew. The great part is that she's going to get special education services at her pre-school. And that she is going to advance to the four-year-old class come fall, and to have a fabulous teacher.

They're even going to evaluate her for more occupational therapy, to be given to her in the school setting as well. We already go to a private pediatric occupational therapist once a week. Clara went with us last week, and told me, confidentially, with her hand over her mouth, "All Tita does there is play, Mama!" Which is true, but some of that play is hard work. And all the services and help Margaret is going to get are free. She doesn't need speech therapy, which kind of astounds me. She was way above average verbally, though not with physical verbal cues. Something the special ed person will work on with her. Such as, if you make an angry face at someone, chances are that person will make an angry face at you.

But I was so relieved to have the meeting convene and then end on a positive note. I learned that many parents who hear their child needs help just refuse to accept the help or the conclusions. They expect their kid to be perfect, and don't want to hear anything but that. Kids have been withdrawn from our pre-school because the parents didn't want to hear anything but positive news. I am convinced that, with help, Margaret will be ready for kindergarten when Clara is ready, which will be in the fall of 2011.

We have discovered on line all these old Mickey Mouse cartoons from the late 1920's. They are hilarious, black and white and just wacky. I understand that Walt was involved in these cartoons. Very very funny stuff. The girls love them, and so do I.

Clara has picked out her next big purchase. She wants a bunk bed from the Land of Nod that has a double bed down below and a single bunk above. It's a very cool setup, but it costs about two thousand dollars. We can't swing that, but maybe Gene can build something similar. It's such a good idea. Margaret has claimed the bottom, and Clara wants the top bunk. Don't think this is happening for them right now.

I can hear Margaret snoring. She has snored since she was a baby. There's nothing wrong with her lungs, and she doesn't get ear infections or have any problems. But, Lord, the girl can snore!

spring is coming....eventually!

2010-03-21T18:12:00.000-07:00

Redken Smooth Down. I love you.
This is the shampoo that's saving me half an hour every day. That's letting me brush and even comb Margaret's hair without fighting her. That makes her beautiful hair even more lovely. Ahhh. Before I learned about Smooth Down, I spent 45 minutes a day combing and brushing her oh-so-curly hair. One week, I decided to forgo a good de-tangling, and her hair almost went completely to reddish blonde dreadlocks. So now we have hair that's down to the middle of her back when wet, and just a little above her shoulders when dry, floating like a cloud. And both she and I are much happier.

Margaret and Clara are going to be singing in church this coming Sunday, along with 20 other little people. I can't wait to hear them. I am sure I'm going to be that obnoxious mama crowding to the front of every performance. Maybe I can find a way to get it on film! Both girls like to hear me sing, which I do constantly, and both love to sing. Clara can actually carry a tune; Margaret sings herself to sleep at night, and she, too, can sing recognizable songs. Though she won't do it in the day. Probably doesn't want to compete with her hammy mama and sister.

Tomorrow we meet with Clarke County public school system officials. I had them do a pre-school assessment on Margaret to see if she will be ready for four-year-old work come fall. If they decide she's not ready, they will offer a plan for how they can help her get there, by providing occupational therapy, speech therapy and other services. We already see an occupational therapist every week, and her sessions are having a very positive effect on Margaret and her abilities, thank God. Gene and I are going, along with the principal of the school Clara and Margaret attend, and our occupational therapist. I need someone to translate all that educational jargon for me. Keep your fingers crossed.

What will they remember?

2009-12-21T09:35:00.001-08:00

It's Christmastime in Athens. There are lights on most houses, and our neighbor has a giant lighted polar bear on his roof. It turns its head slowly, somehow reminding me of the beast slouching toward Bethlehem in Yeats' "The Second Coming." Why, I don't know, but it does. Maybe it's the speed of the head turning.
We got our tree on Saturday. Clara ran from tree to tree at the nursery, hugging each one and declaring she wanted to take it home. We almost got a small, live blue spruce, until I realized our ornaments would burden it too much. So we settled on a delicious smelling Fraser Fir. We decorated it yesterday, even though I wasn't feeling well. We missed church and the Christmas pageant. My bookclub had a party Saturday night, and I think I ate something that argued with me.
Early this morning, I was really sick. Luckily, I had taken a pot with me to bed just in case things developed. What a horrible time to be sick! I have cakes to bake and presents to wrap and little girls to play with! They are home from school this week.
So we have turned to a movie to entertain them while I continue to recover. "Eloise," and it's great. A movie they can understand, whose heroine is heroic and which doesn't bore the daylights out of us or try to sell any related action figure, diaper or backpack. I like Dora but am sick of seeing her everywhere.
I hope Clara and Margaret don't remember I was sick, and that the living room needed cleaning. I think the girls will remember the lighted Christmas tree, and presents and the bright wrapping paper, and being together with family and friends. They will remember their stockings and, I hope, a yummy Christmas dinner. They will also remember going to church on Christmas Eve, and remember why we celebrate Christmas.
The other day, I was reading a book to them about the animals in the stable preparing for Mary and Joseph to arrive. At the last line, "welcome, welcome, to our house!" Clara piped up, "It's about time for Baby Jesus to get here!"

Church

2009-11-08T17:29:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-04T13:00:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-03T07:26:00.000-08:00

Margaret at four

2009-10-08T10:39:00.001-07:00

Waffle House hat

2009-10-02T17:53:00.000-07:00

Ouch!

2009-08-30T03:03:00.000-07:00

There we were, in Target, looking for an alarm clock for me. Even while, unbeknownst to me, Gene was at home repairing an ancient one that now works fine. Clara decided she and Margaret both needed alarm clocks, "just in case." In case of what? I asked. "You know," she said. When I said, we would think about it, Clara started doing The Dance of Desperation, hopping up and down and moving her arms a little. I leaned over to look at a clock and suddenly saw stars and felt such pain I yelled out. And grabbed my nose and collapsed on a bottom shelf. I was dripping blood.
I think Clara's titanium head connected with my nose, which means she can now hop fairly high. Gene is a master at protecting his face and other parts from them, but I am, obviously, more lax. Anyway, I sat there, crying with my eyes closed and groping in my pocketbook for a Kleenex or napkin. I found one and pressed it to my nose.
"Mama, what happened?" asked Margaret. "Mama, stop crying," said Clara.
I peeked at them and saw nearby shoppers casting sideways glances at me. By now, the napkin was also dripping blood. I felt the top of my nose and it didn't feel broken. "Girls, it's okay, Mama's nose hurts. Clara's head hit my nose."
"Are you okay?" A woman I didn't know touched my shoulder. She turned to Margaret, who looked like she might cry, and explained to her that Mama had gotten hurt and that was why she was crying. She asked them if they cried when they were hurt, and Margaret said, yes, and Clara announced, with her arms folded across her chest, "I never cry!" Which made me smile.
This woman was so kind, she gave me a Kleenex and talked to Clara and Margaret while I stood up and dried my tears. Even as oblivious UGA students pushed past us.
In the parking lot, we ran into Miss Ani, one of the girls' teachers. It was as if they had seen the heavenly host descending. They both started to wiggle with joy. Imagine! Miss Ani! How wonderful! If they had their way, they would go to school seven days a week. They are so into it. The whole day is one big love fest for the class and the teachers. It's costing us a good bit of money for them to go there, but it's so worth it. To start off loving school will keep them going forever, I hope.
Clara has gotten to be the line leader and Margaret has been the caboose. They have helped carry lunches to the refrigerator (I think our lunches in elementary school just got hot, didn't they?) and wipe the tables before they eat. And they are learning to clean up not only their little lunch messes, but their neighbors. On Wednesdays, they go to chapel and see our beloved Father Robert. It's all just great.
This morning, my nose is swollen and the tip of it is bruised. But the alarm clock, it works fine.

School and Swimming

2009-08-13T18:19:00.001-07:00

Margaret and Clara love to swim. We joined the YMCA because they have swim lessons year-round and they have a salt-water pool. It's so cool. When the girls splash in the water, it doesn't burn their eyes. Or mine. I always feel cleaned out and refreshed when I swim there. It's a very good setup. There're a shallow pool for little children, a deep diving pool and the rest of it is four feet deep or so, with a few lanes in the middle for those doing laps. There are skylights so it always seems light.
We go there probably four times a week. Clara can swim under water, or at least move around under water. Margaret can, too, but she doesn't revel in her accomplishment as Clara does. Clara comes up sputtering and smiling, with her hands raised like a gymnast who has just done a flip off the balance beam. They will be enrolled in real classes later in the fall. Margaret knows the swimming motion and splashes around on the surface better than Clara. So we have one underwater creature and one on the water.
When Gene comes, which is often, he kneels in the little pool and the girls climb onto his back and use him as a diving board. He's pretty strong to not be bothered by 35 pounds walking around on his back, I think. I don't do that move. The only kink is that Margaret cries for a bit if I leave them to do some lap swimming. But Gene usually has something fun that occupies her.
I think they are going to really like school. The classroom is bright, with lots of fun things to look at, do and play with. There are all sorts of toys, an area for dress up with princess dresses and fire fighters' hats, and even a filmy corner that simulates a kind of princess castle. So far, my girls aren't into the princess motif, and I hope they will shun it. Right now, Clara says she wants to play football. But back to the class. A table has sand toys in it, but it's filled with rice, not sand. There's a little white mouse in a cozy lair. Tons of art supplies. And the alphabet in various configurations all over the wall, along with a place for photos of family. Have to dig up a picture of all four of us, which may be hard to find.
For their entire lives, Margaret and Clara have been eating a hot lunch, at least since they've been on solid food. Eating a sack lunch will be an adjustment for them, and for me, who has to make it every morning. Any ideas to share? Please do. It was hard for me when I used to pack my own lunch!
As they were heading to bed tonight, Clara said Margaret had been playing on the playground with someone else besides her. Yes! Maybe Clara will realize Margaret is worth befriending and will try to be her friend instead of her manager. La Policia (as we call Clara) may be mellowing a bit! Stay tuned.

Waffle House

2009-07-28T12:51:00.000-07:00

Clara and Margaret love waffles, and they love Waffle House. If they could, they would eat all their meals at our nearby neighborhood Waffle House. As it is, I limit their Waffle House intake to trips. We've been traveling as of late, so they are full up to the bottom, as they say, with waffles, eggs with cheese, raisin toast and bacon. I know Clara is Peg's granddaughter. She came with a love of the two essential b's, butter and bacon. Both are plentiful at Waffle House.
This past weekend, the girls and I drove to Alabama to see family. On the way there, on the horror called I-85, the former interstate that's now a goat path, we stopped in Coweta County at a so-so Waffle House. On the way back, along I-20, we found a Waffle House I wanted to bring home. Wonderful staff, great food, a waitress who listened attentively to everything Margaret was saying. Not a crumb was left. And best of all, Clara came home with a Waffle House hat.
The hat came in handy later on Sunday. We arrived in Athens around four, and Gene promptly loaded up the girls and took them to the YMCA to swim. When he got to the desk, a nice woman named Brandy said she would take the girls through the women's locker room to the swimming pools. Brandy told me on Monday how things had gone with the girls.
After Gene left them, Margaret began to cry and panic a little. Clara took her hand and glared at Brandy. With her left hand, Clara pointed to her Waffle House hat.
"Do you see this hat? I'm Clara and I'm not afraid of anything. Come on, Tita." And then she led her sister through the locker room and into the pool, with Brandy following close behind. Margaret stopped crying, of course.
Now, what magical powers that Waffle House hat bestows, I can't say. But when the time comes for some new challenge I have to face, I'm going to borrow it.

Playing Games

2009-07-14T18:34:00.000-07:00

Clara and Margaret have a new game. King. They pull swim diapers over their heads, and you know what? The diapers do resemble crowns. Either crowns or the headpieces bishops wear. Either option--king or bishop or pope--would suit Clara. All come with authority.
Anyway, the girls pull diapers over their heads and then run around the house shouting, "King! King!" They want me to play but no diaper, save for a Depends, could possibly fit my pumpkin head.
Outside, they like to play Firefighter. Either Gene or I blasts them with water from the hose, something we couldn't do last year because of the drought. Clara, of course, would like to blast Margaret, but we don't allow her to do this.
At the swimming pool, both my girls are jumping in and going under the water for a few seconds, emerging wiping their eyes. Clara was falling into the water from Gene's shoulders, while Margaret had him supporting her stiff legs while he flipped her into the water. Margaret asked to take off her swim vest and then splashed around to get accustomed to just being in the water. They will take lessons this fall at the local YMCA.
They are sticking up for each other. When Gene threatened to swat Clara on the bottom, Margaret started shouting, "Don't swat Clara! Don't swat my sister!" And when I pretend to growl and bite Margaret's feet, Clara stops me with real concern. I guess when you are King you watch out for all your subjects.

On the Beach this Spring

2009-07-14T18:32:00.001-07:00

What Matters

2009-06-29T19:19:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-21T13:38:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-14T13:56:00.000-07:00

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....

Likes and Dislikes

2009-05-24T12:30:00.000-07:00

Margaret and Clara are both developing preferences for....everything. I thought it would be fun to share a list of likes and dislikes before I forget.

Keys, bags, purses, Mama's shoes, lipstick and lip balm, nail polish, hair care products and camisoles. Dora undies. Going to the library. Max and Ruby. Little Bear. Madeline. Mama's side of the bed. Getting under the covers. Jumping on the bed. Walking through the grocery store aisle. Helping Daddy with any project, from finding ants to fixing the porch. Painting with a paint brush. Pencils. Drawing. Books, reading and re-reading. Drawing on the walls. Brushing teeth. Drinking milky coffee. Cooking. Wearing an apron. Stirring eggs. Helping Margaret. Root beer. Olives. All nuts, from pine nuts to pecans. Finding pecans. Hats of all sorts. All animals. Collecting leaves. Finding a great stick. Walking with a great stick. Watching bugs. Trains. Doing yoga with Mama. Waffle House. Being covered and tucked into her crib. These are Clara's big likes.

Here are Margaret's: looking at photographs. Reading alone and with Mama. Visiting other people's houses. Eating grilled cheese sandwiches at the neighborhood lunch counter. Finding a great stick. Sitting with Mama in church. Milky coffee. The crib, high chair and car seat, basically, any place removed from Clara. Being with Mama. Holding hands. Water. In the sink, the hose, the bathtub or a pool, lake or ocean. Cats and horses. Hair care products. Her kitty shirt (a shirt with a faded yawning kitten that is too small). Her pink pajamas. Watching Little Bear. Max and Ruby, specifically, Max. Reading anything by Rosemary Wells, like Voyage to the Bunny Planet. Lacing animals. Wearing Mama's shoes. Beating bushes with sticks. Swings and swinging. Acrobatics. Doing yoga with Mama. Walking to Earth Fare. Spinach risotto. Tofu. Rice of all sorts. Any kind of egg dish. All fruit except cherries. Broccoli. All kinds of soup. Popcorn. Stuart. Dancing and ring-a-round-the-rosey. Brushing her teeth. Waffle House, talking on the phone.

Their dislikes are similar: raised voices, Mama going to yoga or working in her office too much, strangers who touch them, wolves, having to hurry, Mr. McGregor, water in their eyes, the church nursery, being told "No," having Daddy fix their owies with Bedadine. The big one is being told no, being thwarted. Isn't that a drag for everyone?

Dr. Clara's Cure for Tummy Problems

2009-04-23T14:44:00.000-07:00

We took the bus downtown this morning to pick up a chronically troubled bracelet. I had taken it back to the store where I purchased it, long ago, at a ridiculous price. Since then, the stones in it have dropped out like baby teeth. So I decided to get it returned to the maker and to try and shame him or her into repairing it once and for all.
So the three of us boarded the UGA bus and rode through campus to downtown. Clara was carrying a pinwheel she had picked up for church last night (more about that later). She left it in the store and we had to return and retrieve it.
We were planning to end our errands by dropping by a cookie shop for a couple of cookies. Clara was sick last night, really, most of yesterday, with tummy troubles. She ate very little and complained about her tummy hurting her, and we spent much time in the bathroom, reading and hanging out.
Today I said, "I don't think cookies are good for girls with tummy problems, Clara."
She raised one finger and said, "Mama, chocolate cookies are very good for resolving tummy problems. That's the way it is."
She got her cookie.
Yesterday, we went to our church supper, which was slammed with people I had never seen there before. Why? The Day School was having a celebration, and many of the people were parents with children in the school. We headed for the upper playground, where C and M will go when they are in school, and it was crowded with children and parents. Neither girl was having fun. Except they liked the pinwheels they got to take home.
Before we left, though, they asked if we could go sit in on the choir practice. It may be just me, but I think it's a little weird for three year olds to sit quietly through 20 minutes of choir practice. A little boy, about 8, the son of a choir member, was playing with a Gameboy while we were sitting there.
After listening to his machine make its loud noises, Clara said, "Ssshhh. You should turn that down."

Clara in her favorite place

2009-04-23T04:50:00.000-07:00

Bidness

2009-04-22T18:17:00.000-07:00

This morning the girls woke up with one thing on their minds: lemonade. Creating and running a lemonade stand. No matter that we live on a quiet street. No matter that the street is closed until fall so the city can install drainage lines. Clara was convinced they would have hundreds of customers. The idea came from a Max and Ruby book, I'm sure. But the girls had their own ideas...until I nixed it, they wanted to give their pennies to customers. I explained why this wasn't a good idea.
Luckily, we had a few lemons in the fridge, so we squeezed them and added real sugar and lots of ice. It must be a dentist's nightmare, with the lemon peeling away the enamel and the sugar going to work. But it was really refreshing.
So we moved their picnic table outside and voila! they had an instant lemonade stand. Clara said she couldn't write, but she could draw, and so she drew a sign that, in her mind, said lemonade for sale. It looked like Japanese haiku.
A student from next door bought several cups, at five cents a cup. He confessed he was nursing a hangover and thought the lemonade might help. Then our neighbor Peter and his mom came by, and then our friend Joan. And then Stuart showed up and gave them much more than five cents for his cup. They were both beaming.
We walked to a nearby toy store and Clara picked out her train. She wants a Brio train that she can use at home. I think it costs $21. The thing I like is that both girls are content merely to look at the many wonderful things in this store, without whining when we come home with nothing. Looking costs nothing. Friends of ours own the store, and they buy the coolest, most interesting stuff. Makes me almost want to be little again.
I'll have see if they want to staff the lemonade stand tomorrow.....

Margaret loves dragons, but Clara's not so sure

2009-04-21T18:51:00.000-07:00

They are Da Bomb

2009-04-13T19:04:00.000-07:00

Easter and Cake

2009-04-13T18:42:00.000-07:00

Easter was one long, pleasant sugar high for Clara and Margaret. From the tiny chocolate eggs in their Easter baskets, to the giant bags of M&M's in the plastic eggs at the church egg hunt, to the cake at dinner, my girls were spinning all day. The Easter Bunny brought Clara a set of hand tools, just like Daddy's, only plastic. She immediately grabbed a wrench and said, "Tita! when you flush my Big Girl Undies again, I can use this to fix the potty!" and then she set up her Work Zone sign and went to work. Margaret was delighted to see a book about Lisa and Gaspard, two dogs who are friends, along with a new piggy bank.
At church, the sugar had them wiggling and twisting. Our usual place was taken by some CEO's (Christmas and Easter only, as my brother Mark calls the infrequent attendees) so we were thrown into a new pew. This new arrangement didn't sit well with either Clara or Margaret. About 3/4 of the way through the service, M had poopie and Clara had to tinkle, so away we went for about 20 minutes. On our way to the bathroom, we passed a table full of doughnuts, so each girl just had to have one, since they have never had one before, Clara explained. More sugar. But we survived the service and headed to the playground for an egg hunt.
Other kids pushed past my girls when the gate to the playground opened. Margaret headed straight for the swings, while Clara staked out her territory in a play house. A really nice guy we see at the church suppers directed each of them to the random egg, so they came home with candy from four or five eggs. I promptly whisked it away when we got home, but those doughnuts kept them going for hours.
At home, Gene headed to a client's house to finish a construction project and the girls and I settled down to an afternoon of cooking. A shame, really, because all Margaret wanted to do was to go outside and we all had to be inside so Mama could cook. All the food went swimmingly, including a standing rib roast (though Gene called it a reclining rib roast). All except an angel food cake. Clara was helping me add sugar to the egg whites and suddenly dumped about half a cup into the mix. I saw the egg whites fall before my eyes. But we enjoyed the angel food crepe anyway.
It has been raining so much I decided to buy them rain boots. I figure it's a good way to save their shoes, put on the rubber rain boots and turn them loose. The moment we returned from Target, out they went and into a giant puddle up the street. They were splashing and laughing like crazy, and so was I.
"Maybe it will rain tomorrow, Mama," Clara said. "I hope so."

A doctor in the house

2009-02-08T18:16:00.000-08:00

The other day, the girls were playing in their room with their zoo of stuffed animals. I heard Margaret echoing whatever Clara was saying. When I eventually went into their room, all the stuffed animals, maybe 20 of them, were lying on the floor with blankets, receiving blankets or clothes on them.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Mommy, I'm a doctor and I'm treating all these animals," Clara said.
"That's right, Clara's a doctor, she is," said Margaret, nodding.
"I had to give all these animals a shot so they would get better. And now they're resting."
I tiptoed out so as not to disturb the herd.
Later on in the morning, Margaret tried to retrieve one of her bunnies, when Clara snatched it away from her and said, "No! Tita, he's had a shot, and you have to hold him like this," she said, demonstrating how one holds an injured friend. As if he's going to be buried. Margaret nodded and said, "Oh, okay. Mommy, Clara's a doctor!"
The Doctor had an accident in her Big Girl Undies. Rather than put our ratty furniture at even greater risk, I decided to subject Clara to the indignity of a diaper. She was a good sport about it and didn't protest. But she came running up to me about an hour later, saying, "Mommy, change my diapers, because I don't want to get a rash. How would that look for a doctor to have a rash?"
Some days I am very amused. Other days, I feel as though I am negotiating with Hamas. Who's to say they haven't infiltrated our cribs? Negotiating with two wily three-year-olds is very tricky. We negotiate treats, books and activities. A friend gave us a DVD of Max and Ruby, a big sister bunny and her little brother bunny. We let them watch it for up to an hour. Margaret would happily watch it all day. When The Doctor settles down for a good viewing, she forgets to head to the bathroom and has accidents on the loveseat. (I have just learned how to thoroughly clean the cushion.) So we negotiate how long and when to watch. We negotiate holding hands--always in the street and crossing the street and when a car comes--and when to run--on grass, anytime.
Yesterday, an AJC friend came from Atlanta for the day. She wanted to see what I do with the girls. So we went to a nearby school playground, then to our neighborhood pharmacy, where we ate sandwiches at the lunch counter. The short order cooks know Clara and Margaret by name, and know they always want grilled cheese sandwiches. It's just their speed, and the egg salad is excellent. The three of us can eat lunch for less than five dollars.
From there, we went to Earth Fare, where they get pretzels and little bits of chocolate. We like to stroll the aisles, enjoying samples of chips and cookies, cheese and dips. Clara is very fond of dips of all sorts, while Margaret has never met a dairy product she didn't like. My pal was very amused. We then crossed the street to sit on the steps of a gift shop/toy store. The girls like to sit there and eat their treats. My friend wants me to adopt her.

It's getting cold

2008-11-25T13:23:00.000-08:00

Gene was walking home from the public library the other day when a Siamese kitten began following him. A mile later, the kitty was still at his heels, so he invited it into our house. The girls were napping when the duo made it home. They awoke to a dream come true, their very own kitty cat.
"See you later," Clara tells Meowy when she leaves the kitty in the kitchen and joins me on the couch to read a book. "I'm going over here now." "Kitty cat, kitty cat," Margaret whispers to the kitty as she kneels beside the kitten at her water dish. Margaret sometimes will touch the kitty gently on the back.
Lucky for us, this cat tolerates a grabbing kind of petting. When things get a little too close for her, Meowy jumps away and disappears through the gate on the stairs. She likes to sleep under Gene's desk on a pile of papers. I'm just happy she doesn't scratch. I've been awakened the last two mornings at 5 a.m. by a mewing kitten, whose face has been right up next to mine. I'm not sure what she wants, but I have gotten up, made coffee and petted her. Maybe she just wants some company.
We had a breakthrough on Sunday. Margaret went to the church nursery on her own, thanks to the patient understanding of Donna, the wonderful director. Donna has been very kind and friendly to Margaret. Just waiting for her to feel comfortable enough to come back to the nursery. There are all sorts of exciting toys there, like a dishwasher and a play ironing board, plus all sorts of blocks. And eventually, Margaret had to return. There were no tears, just a declaration, "Margaret stay with Donna," and off I went, relieved.
On Sunday afternoon we walked to Five Points, our nearby commercial district. There was a Christmas open house, yes, way before Thanksgiving. One business was giving away ice cream (we all had some with sprinkles) and someone had paid to have free pony rides. Margaret got on a pony three times, and she would have happily stayed there most of the evening. Clara became concerned that the pony might bite her and rode only once. But fearless Margaret rode on and on.

November

2008-11-06T17:34:00.000-08:00

I have now been home full-time for two months. During that time, I've noticed a few interesting developmental changes about Clara and Margaret. Each is talking better and clearer. Margaret seems more Mama-centric, but also happier and less anxious about new situations. Clara's sentence construction is getting more and more complex.
Here are some of her favorite words and phrases:
"I don't care who started it," from the book David at School.
Actually and incidentally.
Today she said, "I'm a person who likes hot papoosas." (a Salvadorean stuffed pancake that Roxy makes.)
"Okay, that's it," from my saying that after counting to three.
"Oh, my goodness gosh!" combining two of my expressions. And one I wish she didn't parrot, "Forget it."
Margaret has taken to saying, "Nope, uh-uh," something I didn't realize I did until Gene pointed it out to me. She also has started saying, "Opps!" to whatever makes a mistake, falls or messes up. "Opps, milk!" if her sippy cup falls off her high chair tray. "Opps, car," if an oncoming car seems to come too close to ours. And the ever popular, "Opps, Mama," whenever I mess up.
We are not winning the diaper wars. Clara has taken her position on a hill and is now digging a deeper foxhole. Make that a WW I trench. Not for love, money or chocolate will she use the potty or the big toilet with a padded insert that's just her size.
So I'm now following a book, since my mother isn't here to help me. I've ordered some training pants, all cotton, so the girls can feel what it's like to have wet diapers. The disposable diapers are so good now that no one has the sensation of being wet. I plan to keep them home for a few days, to keep them off the furniture and to keep them close to the bathrooms. And to put them on a schedule.
I can't remember if I noted that Clara confided to me, "Tita and Clara had a dissussion and we decided we prefer our diapers." Oh, I said, did you vote? What were the other options? And where, I wondered, did she learn to use 'prefer?' I tried not to laugh, because she was very serious. At times, she will obviously be having some action, and I will gently lead her toward the bathroom, at which time she says, "Oh, that's okay, I'll just go in my diapers." Anyone who can verbalize about her body functions needs to be acting more like an adult, seems to me.
Besides, a box of diapers costs twenty to twenty three dollars, and we go through one box a week. I can't bear to think about how much we have spent the last three years on diapers alone.
The girls have come to love their routine activities, which have expanded with me at home. We walk to Earthfare and get a muffin and sit outside and eat it. We go to our neighborhood pharmacy and eat at the lunch counter, the only place that Clara is getting bacon these days. We ride the university bus downtown and get out and run errands, their favorite activity. We go visiting people on our street. Our friend Peter is disabled. His mother knitted an entire farm---a flat surface with different environments, plus all the barnyard animals and their friends---and we go to his house and play with the farm. We go to the library and get as many books as Mama can carry.
For Halloween, they wore traditional Chinese holiday costumes a friend's mom brought from China. Silk with elaborate embroidery, just beautiful things, coats and pants and caps. We went to a few houses, where friends gave them little cars, peanuts, pencils, playdough, some chocolate and glow-in-the-dark bracelets (which are very cool). They couldn't quite understand what was going on, but have asked a few times since if they can put on their costumes again and go visiting.
I'm working on a kid's book--actually, a book for Clara. I figure if I can interest her, another child will also like it. It's fun regardless.

October in Athens

2008-10-11T19:10:00.000-07:00

Last night after supper, we headed to Barrow School, a nearby elementary, to play on the playground. There are actually three playgrounds at this school, each one age appropriate. The school borders the UGA campus, and we could hear the Redcoat Band practicing for Saturday's home game against Tennessee. So we walked over to the practice fields and slipped in a gate. Margaret was complaining the entire way of being scared, but once we got inside and saw the 60 or so other people listening to the band, she relaxed. There are several practice fields. The band was in the lowest one, which meant we could sit on the slope and see and hear everything. It was quite a spectacle. There were girls waving flags, twirling batons and dancing. There must have been 25 people drumming and at least that many tubas and French horns. It's funny how the musicians walk sort of like figures in Egyptian paintings, with their bodies in one direction and their heads in another. And on tip toe. We got to hear exciting music without the horror of a college football game, with its associated drunks and crazed fans.
Clara and Margaret were up and bouncing when the drum corps started playing and jamming. It was hilarious to see them moving in this primitive, rhythmic way. And then they would just burst out and run around in circles for a minute or so. The wind was blowing, it was a little cool, and the moon was out. And so was the evening star. We stayed until the band started to break up, and then we went back to a darkened playground, where the girls zipped down the Big Slide a few times.
It was a great evening. Everyone loved it.
Living with Clara is a little like living with an actress/hypochondriac. A few days ago, we were coming home from our neighborhood pharmacy, which has a lunch counter, when Clara broke into a run and promptly fell down. She skinned her knee and her hand. Just when all the owwies everyone had suffered with had finally disappeared. This new owwie meant another band-aid we weren't allowed to remove for days. When I asked Clara to do something, she would say, "I can't, I have an owwie." If I insisted, she would limp around and finally get the task finished. The upside is that she is very sympathetic, if not empathetic when other people are sick or hurting.
So much for progress on the separation front. Last Sunday, I stayed in church until the end of the service. Other mamas came and picked up their children from the nursery, until only about five kids were left. As Margaret saw all the other moms come, she began to frown and pout. And then drop drop drop, she started crying. And nothing, the nursery workers said, could stop her tears. By the time they paged me, Margaret had been crying for ten minutes. She stopped immediately when I arrived and picked her up and changed the subject. I don't blame her; I remember getting anxious when my parents were late in retrieving me from an event or activity. So we are back to Square One, and I'm volunteering in the nursery tomorrow. I will start the long process of leaving them alone.
One last Clara tidbit: On Friday, Margaret went outside with Roxy, leaving a half cup of milk on the table. Clara grabbed it and settled down next to me on the couch. "Isn't that Margaret's milk?" I asked. She looked at the cup. "Yes, it is, but she would want me to have it." So she did. Also, I often (I have realized) will end a conversation with them by saying, "Forget it." And so guess who is saying, "Forget it!" Of course. She's even using it in the correct context. God Almighty, I really do have to watch everything that comes out of my mouth.
Tomorrow is my birthday. What better presents could i ask for than two hilarious girls and a funny husband?

The Amazing Threes

2008-09-23T18:28:00.000-07:00

For the girls' birthday, our friends Phyl and Albie sent Clara and Margaret magnetic paper dolls. One doll is a modern girl, Maggie Leigh, and the other is Princess Elissa. I had no idea how these young ladies would be received into our family, but if Clara and Margaret could throw rose petals, they would. Each doll is adored, if not worshipped. Clara insisted on taking Maggie Leigh (use both names, please) to bed when she napped. Margaret likes to arrange the Princess's head gear. And neither will let her sister even touch her own special new friend.
I heard Clara talking to Maggie Leigh. "What's your name?" she said. "Why did you come to my house? How you doing?" I asked Clara if she was going to be Maggie Leigh's friend. Clara folded up her hands and said, "I don't know, Mommy. I'm so busy with her clothes and shoes, I don't have time." She wanted to bring Maggie Leigh to the duck park, aka, Memorial Park, an established park near our house with a walking area, a lake with ducks and gesse, picnic tables and playground equipment. We go there often. I had to nix the idea of taking this doll, and her millions of little accessories and wardrobe items to the park.
"But, Mommy, she can sit on my lap. She wants to see the slide! She's a big girl with Big Girl undies," Clara said. She wanted her new friend to enjoy a well-loved destination. Despite this logic, I didn't relent.
I've been having a wonderful time with Clara and Margaret since I left the paper. We are reading a lot, playing a lot and hanging out a lot. Roxy is cleaning the house more often, because when I am around, neither girl wants to be with Roxy. It's WMOM all day, every day. It's been good because I've been able to help Margaret with her speech skills; it's bad because in this economy, who doesn't want a job? At least we have money from the paper coming in until next year.
It's funny how much busier I am without a job than I was with a job. I don't really understand this situation, but there it is.
We've had a breakthrough on the Mommy Separation front. Clara and Margaret will now go to the church nursery by themselves. Mama doesn't have to stay with them. It's good for them to be with peers, and to learn to play independently. I actually like all the people who work in the nursery. We go to the Wednesday suppers at church (good food for peanuts) and they hit the nursery and the playground again And I have a little break and time with other adults..

Turning Three

2008-09-16T18:57:00.001-07:00

Summer's Almost Gone

2008-08-30T12:29:00.000-07:00

This was the summer Clara and Margaret started to believe they could swim. A friend gave us swim vests, and they jump into the water and paddle around like puppies. I hope we can take real lessons this winter at the local YMCA. They progressed from holding on the sides of the pool to swimming in the middle of the water. Clara now tells me, "I'm big, Mama, I can swim, all bymyself." Bymyself is one of her favorite people. Bymyself does a lot of things around our house. She gets dresses, she helps sweep up, she brushes her teeth. Another new resident is Margaretself. She, too, likes to work independently. The Self Sisters are very busy.
"What's going on?" is Clara's newest greeting. The other day, she asked the question, and then answered it herself with, "Nothing much." It's funny to hear her imitating us. She's got Margaret to answer, "Not much."
The other day, I came up on Clara as she was finishing a call on her fake cell phone. She ended with "Okay, see you soon." I said, "Who are you talking to?" and she said, "Bus." With Clara, you have to stay nimble to catcher her references. If you don't, she becomes enraged. Luckily, I knew she was talking about a series of books we had brought about three school buses and their adventures. So I said, "Who? Sandy or Barnaby?" and she said, "Toby." Then she shouted, "Toby! Come! Come to my house!"
Margaret has come to believe magazines are created just to carry ads for go-go's, her term for cars. She likes nothing better than to go through a magazine, screaming with glee and ripping out pages with cars on them. We don't get that many magazines (I have no time to read them) but the ones we do get end up in shreds.
Roxy called in sick yesterday morning, my last day of work for the AJC. So I took the girls with me to the downtown office, where they met and charmed everyone. Even the editor of the paper. It's amusing to me how some people have no idea how to talk to children. The editor talked down to Clara, just as she talks down to everyone, but Clara wasn't having any of it. She frowned when Julia put a pink post-it-note on her pink Croc, and said, "These don't go on shoes." When an almost 3 year old has more social grace than the editor of a large newspaper, I know I did right in leaving the paper. With the girls along, I certainly had no time to be sad when I turned in my computer and badge.
In fact, I felt a little giddy as I left the building. I should have done it years ago.

The end of it all

2008-07-13T13:12:00.001-07:00

Clara and Margaret are both interested in the newspaper. They ask for parts of it if I am home during breakfast and they pretend to be reading it. Heck, maybe they are reading it for all I know1 When we walk to Earthfare, they pick up the free weekly newspapers that are available, Flagpole and a Vegetarian publication of some sort.
So it pains me to realize there will probably be no print newspapers by the time they are able to read and comprehend the information. Thanks to a drumbeat by Hate Radio berating the "liberal press" for decades, plus arrogance on the part of some larger papers, plus the explosion of the Internet, the once-sure foundation of newspapers across the country has been rocked. Even a big, regional paper like the Atlanta Constitution is reeling.
A friend came over today from Atlanta, a colleague, who told me there's going to be an announcement this coming week about voluntary separations. A nice term for layoffs with benefits. The company is supposedly offering two weeks pay for every year of service, but if you aren't 55, you don't get to take the health care coverage with you. So I don't qualify for porting the healthcare. Should I take the money and hope, in the meantime, to find a job that comes with healthcare? Or should I turn it down, hoping to make it to 55 so i can get the healthcare forever, and then face what might be sn involuntary separation, a nice term for being laid off, with no benefits?
I don't know. We don't know who is going to offered this deal, if there is going to be any deal, how many people they are wanting to be shed of, if this is going to happen again next year, or what. So much is uncertain.
Long ago, I realized there's not much I can do about forces outside of my control, so I have tried not to waste my time worrying. Clara and Margaret are fine, healthy and happy, and I am happy, even when looking, possibly, at the end of a job I have loved and enjoyed for years. At least I got to work at a regional newspaper when it was great, and to make a difference in improving the lives of thousands of people, if only by making them laugh or cry over their morning coffee.
Stay tuned. Will let you know what happens.

Summer Evening

2008-07-01T03:49:00.000-07:00

The girls went down for a nap late in the day, like five o'clock, and when they woke up, or rather, when I woke them, they were sweaty and groggy. Margaret wakes up like I do, immediately. Gene once said I go to sleep and wake up like a dog, and Margaret is the same way. At least the waking part. Clara finally woke up after I plopped her in her high chair and she began to protest not being allowed to climb in.
After supper, they really woke up. They chased each other around "the block," as we call the interior track of our house. We were hoping to go swimming, but Gene's foot was hurting him so we postponed this activity. Then I thought I'd take the girls to a nearby park, but it was around seven, and the ducks that live there start to settle down at seven. Ducks are a big attraction for Margaret and Clara. Then we talked about going to the store---how can we be out of onions? I have to make potato salad for the Fourth---or to the library.
But what we ended up doing was just playing. Margaret got in her swing on the porch and Clara pushed her, much to M's distress. She prefers pushes from Mama, who can swing her higher. Clara has almost figured out how to push without getting smacked by the swing. Then Clara got in her sandbox and dug around for a while. It's on the porch as well, at one end, and it works well. No mosquitoes or hot sun can get them there.
Out of the swing, Margaret left for a while, then returned with a stuffed bunny and one of Clara's running shoes. She wanted me to stuff the bunny in the shoe, which I did.
"Look! Bunny's driving!" and that started at least a half an hour's play with Clara's stuffed bunny and her other running shoe. Those bunnies drove all over the porch, stopping at red lights, going at green lights. They drove to Earhfare, our nearby organic grocery, and bought--what else?---muffins. (The girls love muffins, and I used to buy one for all three of us sometimes when we went to Earthfare. At 99 cents, it was money well spent. In the past three weeks, the price of muffins has jumped to $1.69 EACH, and I refuse to pay that. Instead, I've been making muffins myself.) The bunnies were very good drivers.
Not satisfied with letting the bunnies drive, Margaret wanted to search magazines for pictures of go-go's, as they call cars. She brought a few out to the porch and we found a few go-go's for her. She would like nothing better than to have a chauffeur driving her around all day. She loves riding in the car. She likes looking at cars and playing with them.
By this time, it was at least 8:30---it stays light so late, I get fooled. Back in the house, they circled the block at top speed at least 20 times. Probably the equivalent of a mile or more for an adult. Then I changed their diapers---"Mama, I can wear Big Girl Undies in the bed," says Miss Big. Not an option right now, I say--and dressed them in their pajamas, Margaret in the much coveted frog shirt, and Clara in the tolerated butterfly shirt. (Note to self: remember to always buy the same item.) They had a drink of milk and we read "Baby Animals" by Garth Williams. The last baby animal in the book is a baby owl. Clara was hooting pretty well, and Margaret was trying hard to form her lips into a pucker so she could go "Oooooooo." She's going better.
After they were in their cribs, I could hear Clara singing her version of "Twinkle, Twinkle," and could hear Margaret hooting. The door to the porch was open, and I could hear the bugs and frogs singing as well.

Bribery and corruption

2008-06-20T18:29:00.000-07:00

So, okay, I did it. I caved.
Clara and Margaret love Dora the Explorer, brought to them through books, puzzles and diapers. And through Roxy, who loves Dora because she's Hispanic. Anyway, we were in Target, getting some things, and I took them into the Big Girl Undies section. We saw a universe of undies, all with Disney characters on them. Pooh, Tigger, the little mermaid, you name it. And, of course, Dora. They screamed with happiness to see her smiling face on the undies.
I told Clara that once she began to use the potty with great regularity, I would buy her some Big Girl Undies. "With Doda?" she asked. "With whomever you wish," said I.
That was Wednesday evening.
On Thursday, Roxy called me while I was fighting traffic in Atlanta to say that Clara had spent 30 minutes sitting on the potty until she finally went poopie. And then she told Roxy, "Mama bring me Doda undies, Big Girl Undies." So I did a U-turn and found the undies and brought them home.
Clara was waiting for me. She ripped off her diapers and put on her Doras. And then Margaret followed suit, of course. Though she is not at all interested in Big Girl Undies, she is very interested in Dora.
They looked so grown up in undies instead of diapers, I was almost sorry for what will soon happen as they continue to grow up. It's a small jump from Big Girl Undies to high heels and spaghetti straps.
For about an hour, Clara would sit on the potty for a few minutes and then hop up and look inside, disappointed to find nothing. Margaret tinkled happily in her undies and I put her back in diapers. She went merrily on her way.
I think the pressure of using the potty and not tinkling on the floor was too much for Clara. She asked me to sit on the floor while she sat on the pot. I did. Then she confessed, "No want to tinkle on Dora, Mama." I asked if she wanted me to take off her Doras and put back on her diaper. She looked relieved. Yes, she said.
So now we have the Doras safe in a dresser drawer, just where Clara can reach them. When she's ready to try again.

First Seeing the Sea

2008-05-30T10:30:00.000-07:00

Sand in our shoes

2008-05-06T13:37:00.000-07:00

The girls had been in their cribs for half an hour last night when I heard Clara calling, "Mama! Mama!" I went in and saw her sitting up in her crib, touching her hair. "My hair care! We forgot hair!" She has watched me apply various hair care products to my hair after showering and decided recently that she, likewise, needs them. So I got her out of the crib and into the bathroom. She held out her palm, and I splupped some mousse for curl enhancement (who comes up with these things?) on it. "Just a little bit," she cautioned. I helped her rub it into her hair, and then put her back in her crib and she drifted off to dreamland, looking good.
Margaret's hair is so curly that she needs no enhancement. But sometimes she, too, holds out her palm, expecting a splup. Mama shares all.
We went to the beach a couple of weeks ago, to a friend's wonderful house on Litchfield Beach, near Georgetown, S.C. Clara and Margaret were thrilled with the whole setup. The hammock on the porch. The teak porch furniture where we ate our meals. Having Tio, my brother Mark, all to themselves for a few days. The giant sandbox of the shore. Margaret loved the waves and the water. Clara was a bit frightened. The first day, she had let go of my hand and had slipped on her bottom when a wave came in. For the rest of our vacation, she wouldn't go in the water unless she had climbed onto Mama's shoulders. Or better, and higher, Tio's.
A few days after we got home, Gene showed them the video of them seeing the ocean for the first time. It ended badly, the video did, with Clara falling in the water. A few seconds into viewing it, Clara shouted, "Oh, no! Be careful, Clara! No fall!" and she was literally on the edge of her highchair as the video continued to show her running down the boardwalk to the sand. When she saw herself fall down, Clara burst into tears, and said, "Oh, no! Clara fall down!"
Gene had the brilliant idea of reversing the video. "See?" I said. "Clara got up. she's all right."
Clara's tears stopped and she said, "Clara okay! Clara get up!"
While she was going through her anxiety spell again, Margaret was laughing the entire time and yelling, "Ocean! Mama, ocean!" We should rename Margaret She-Who-Has-No-Fears. Because she has none.

Tiene Miedo!

2008-02-27T17:07:00.000-08:00

Bag Head

2008-02-24T18:36:00.000-08:00

At the Races

2008-02-24T18:09:00.000-08:00

Bath in a Bucket

2008-02-24T18:00:00.000-08:00

Out of Commission

2008-02-09T09:24:00.001-08:00

So I decided to end my knee problems once and for all. Therapy in November and December hadn't helped. Only surgery, I was assured, would fix my torn meniscus.
On Thursday, I had the surgery. Only the doctor found more problems that the MRI had shown. He had to fiddle with my knee cap as well as to trim the meniscus, which I tore while running. In recovery, I could feel nothing. I thought, hey, this is a piece o'cake, just as other friends described who have also had arthroscopic surgery. On Thursday evening, the numbing wore off and my knee woke up, and it wasn't happy.
On a pain scale of one to ten, the pain was about eight and a half.
But the girls don't understand why Mama has to be in the bed. Clara climbed in beside me, pointed to her own knee and said, "Me got owie. Me get better. Mama get better." She then handed me a plastic bag and said, "Get up, Mama. All better."
Would that it were so!
I figured I would be back to work on Monday. Wrong. The physical therapist I visited on Friday said I needed to be off all next week, and maybe the following week. So all my sick leave will vanish at once, which is what it's for, I think.
It's so frustrating not to be able to get up and tend to Clara and Margaret. Gene will hold down the fort with them, but he will find it hard to cook and care for them and keep the house straight. I think women are better at multi-tasking. So I called someone in our church and they're organizing food for us, which is a blessing.
Babies don't understand Mama being sick. I remember telling someone as a teenager that my mother had never been sick when I was little. From the next room, Mother laughed and said, "Of course, I was sick.It just didn't matter. I had to keep going."
The therapist doesn't have to worry about my being motivated to do my exercises. I want to get all of this over with and get back to normal. No, better than normal. Both Margaret and Clara understand Mama has a big owie....they have both kissed my knee.

Bucket brigade

2008-01-31T12:53:00.000-08:00

There's a serious drought going on in Georgia. To save water, we have started bathing the girls in sheet rock buckets. We fill them halfway and they get in and soak, much like a Japanese tub. The water goes over their shoulders so they're warm. Margaret likes to hold a bath toy under the water and then produce it, with a smile of Ta, Da! Clara is more interested in having more and more soap squirted out into her hand. We know Margaret is happier with this arrangement because she is secure and mostly out of reach from Clara. She will happily sit in the warm water until she's a little white prune. Though Clara does still try to wash Margaret. Gene bought a windup fish for the bath, but Clara is afraid of it, so she likes it mostly in Margaret's bucket. Clara is also afraid of a small remote controlled car that Margaret loves. "Tiene miedo," Clara says, speaking of herself in the third person as she often does. Both girls look so funny in their buckets, like they are adorable home improvement products you can purchase at Lowe's. The sad thing is that Margaret is growing so tall that soon she won't be able to fit into her bucket!

Cat Chase

2007-12-29T10:09:00.000-08:00

Clara in the Wagon

2007-12-27T07:47:00.000-08:00

In the Closet

2007-12-16T16:19:00.000-08:00

Miss Big

2007-11-28T12:07:00.000-08:00

We have many nicknames for Margaret: Tita, Ticky Tick, Miss T, and, of course, Miss Peg. I'm trying to call her plain old Margaret and not to get sucked into the nickname thing before she has a chance to name herself. Clara, on the other hand, has titles, not nicknames. Such as, The Police, The Boss, Miss Boss, Miss Big, and The Manager. My parents used to joke how everyone needed a supervisor. Well, Clara fills the bill.
If Margaret is doing something she shouldn't, say, going toward a fan with her index finger pointed, Clara will yell, "No, no, Tita!" Once when Margaret was standing in her crib, pulling on the window blinds, Clara rushed into the room, pushed the crib away from the window and wagged her finger at Margaret, while bellowing, "No, no, Tita." At night, once, when Margaret awoke, crying, on the monitor I could hear Clara admonishing her with, "No, cry, Tita, no cry." As my cousin Peggy pointed out, if Margaret would only submit to Clara's will and wishes, things would go smoothly. But Miss Peg has a mind of her own and submission isn't on her agenda.
We had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Almost completely. My brother Mark came, as did our friends Stu and Granna. Our neighbor Joan came for a glass of wine and a piece of pumpkin pie that I had made the day before. We were sitting at the table, just tucking into our pie. The girls were in their high chairs, having eaten a variety of T-day foods. When Clara threw a metal spoon, shattering Joan's wine glass. Glass went everywhere, including into the pumpkin pie and on the plates of those people who had pieces there. Only Mark was confident enough to eat his pie. It was a memorable end to the meal. Clara was shocked. She has now been restricted to a diet of plastic spoons....no more metal for her for months.
She also told me recently how she views herself. "Mama, big," she said. "Daddy, big. Me, big. Tita, baby." When she looks at books, Clara usually points to girls who are about 10 and says, "Me." Margaret is always a lap baby, one who's crying. If that's Clara's outlook, no wonder she wants to manage Margaret. She's just doing everyone a favor by taking care of a baby.

The Girls and the Meow

2007-09-16T18:02:00.000-07:00

Birthday Cake

2007-09-16T17:40:00.000-07:00

Taking it With You

2007-09-11T18:23:00.001-07:00

Here is what I pulled out of Clara's pocketbook today: crepe myrtle leaves, elderberries, a few pebbles, wilted witches fingers and some morning glory blossoms. Everything a beautiful two-year-old needs for a busy morning.
A month ago, I bought two purses at a rural library gift store. Each was a dollar. One was red and one hot pink. Small purses, big enough for a wallet and keys and not much more. Perfect for a child or a baby. Clara claimed the hot pink one for herself. She did her usual handing Margaret the rejected object (the red purse in this case) while saying, "Tita, Tita," Margaret's nickname. It's as if she is saying, Look at this great thing I'm giving you, when what she is really doing is throwing Margaret a bone so she can keep what she wants without a protest. When Margaret occasionally tries to carry the pink purse, Clara goes nuts.
Clara has taken to carrying the purse around her neck. This arrangement lets her work both hands to acquire and deposit new treasures. She looks like an archaeologist when she sets out. Besides picking up treasures along the way, she likes to pack the purse full of stuff she already has. Bubble wrap. Parts of an animal train pull toy they got for Christmas. Her toy cell phone. And an emery board I gave her. She broke it in half to fit better in her purse, which is about 6 by 6.
When it's time for an outing in the stroller, both Clara and Margaret grab their hats. And now Clara gets her purse, several stuffed animals and a toy or two. I told her she's not immigrating, she is just going around the big block and I'm pushing. What a funny baby. She's never happier than when both hands are full of real objects---a piece of junk mail, an empty prescription bottle, her cell phone and my hair brush--and she's on the move.
Margaret likes to have a stuffed animal on hand, but if she has the hat she wants, she is ready to roll at a moment's notice. She loves to ride in the car but lately she has preferred to push the stroller or the wagon rather than ride in it. For a small person, she's really strong.

Blowing Bubbles

2007-09-08T05:43:00.000-07:00

Tita Takes a Fall

2007-09-03T18:06:00.000-07:00

At the Pellarins

2007-09-02T07:41:00.000-07:00

Tita at the Window

2007-09-02T05:54:00.000-07:00

The Girls and the Birdbath

2007-08-31T19:53:00.000-07:00

Clara going home

2007-08-30T11:48:00.000-07:00

Where does it go?

2007-08-28T11:21:00.000-07:00

Monday night, we gave the girls a bath and dressed them for bed. They had their water, a story and lots of kisses. I had just settled them in their cribs when Gene burst into the bedroom to tell me the ceiling had collapsed in his office. And that his desk, and all the papers and books covering it, were soaked.
I abandoned Margaret and Clara to help him assess and clean up, ruing the fact that he doesn't put things away immediately. Neither do I all the time, but I don't have a drop ceiling over my desk. Anyway, it was a bloody mess. Beautiful books ruined, papers he painstakingly collected for his book soaked, disks destroyed. But he was pretty happy, because an hour or so before the bath, he had taken his laptop upstairs. It was fine. Everything else can be easily replaced.
On Tuesday, Gene took apart the innards of the house. Not only did the bathtub line erupt, the toilet also backed up. Why did both these things happen at once? Because they can, of course. Gene learned what caused the line to back up. A little blue hat that Margaret loves. It had gone missing last Friday. Now we know where it went: Margaret dropped it in the toilet and Clara flushed it away. She has the strength in her hands to work the older toilet, while Margaret does not. I wanted to laugh and cry when Gene showed me the poop-covered hat. I could just picture them working out the details, cooperating and giggling together. And getting along. To cry because I can only imagine whatever other mischief they're going to get into. I just hope they don't hurt themselves.
Luckily, Gene had a contracting business and has every tool known to man, as well as the know-how to use them. Otherwise, a plumber's bill would make us very very sad.
I felt like a charwoman, washing towels for what seemed like days and days. Gene has cleaned up his office and found that only one book has permanent damaged. And best of all, thanks to Oxiclean, Margaret's hat is clean enough for her to wear again.

2007-08-25T16:36:00.002-07:00

2007-08-25T16:19:00.000-07:00

Buying and bargains

2007-08-21T15:06:00.000-07:00

I usually shy away from huge bargain stores. They overwhelm and exhaust me.
After coming home repeatedly with soap shaped like seashells and packs of odd-colored pantyhose, I vowed never to set foot in one again. But Kidsignments is different. It's a huge, bi-annual bargain sale of gently used second-hand items — everything for babies, children and expectant moms — housed in two exhibit buildings at the Gwinnett Fairgrounds.
The savings are so incredible, I put aside my fear of random purchases and decide to go shopping. There's only one of me, so I forgo the building with yard toys and larger items in favor of the one containing clothes, toys, furniture and books.
With two 23-month-old girls at home, I know spending less on clothes means having more money for essentials like diapers and baby wipes. Clara and Margaret are growing so fast, it seems that yesterday's cuffed pants are today's capris, so why spend a fortune on new?
Toting my trusty laundry basket, I head to the rack for 3T and 4T. So many clothes are jammed together, I could use an electric knife to part them. Another set of hands would be useful, and I again regret not inviting a friend to accompany me.
As my girls have gotten older, the clothes have become, well, not as cute. Which is good, from a financial standpoint.
Instead of cute, some of the clothes I manage to extract from the rack seem almost commercial. Comic book characters, Disney folks, Winnie-the-Pooh and other faces familiar to children on their way to becoming tiny consumers.
The simpler clothes are sandwiched between froufrou velour dresses and elaborate appliquéd sweaters with designer labels. One outfit has a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar and embroidery on the sleeves under a corduroy jumper with matching designs on the hem. It sells for $23, which is pricey when other items are going for $3. In a store, of course, this combo would go for twice that amount.
There are enough Halloween costumes to disguise a first-grade classroom — princesses, lions, Power Rangers, witches. Halloween seems far away, and our girls too little to understand it. I pass over the costumes and decide to peruse winter coats. A patient volunteer directs me to the correct rack. It's stuffed with jackets of all sorts and seems to run from Lawrenceville to Snellville.
After one touch of wool, I recoil. It feels hot. Winter? Who can look at a fleece pullover or a down coat when it's 100 degrees outside? Much less Santa-themed clothes and snow suits? Some veteran shoppers can do it, but I head instead to the Land of 10,000 Strollers.
People who haven't looked at strollers lately might be surprised to know banks have loans specifically for buying today's high-tech stroller. Made of alloys straight from NASA, with shocks more durable than those in most off-road pickups, these tiny vehicles can carry baby astronauts safely around the moon.
Or can carry any baby, toddler or skinny child across virtually any terrain on Earth. For $500 to $1,000, you can park a upscale baby transportation system next to your sedan.
Until today, the double baby running stroller was an item we had decided to forgo in favor of starting a college fund. A good one can cost anywhere from $400 to $700. But there it was, in perfect condition, for $85, a side-by-side stroller with the big wheels capable of negotiating any broken sidewalk, sandy beach or pothole.
I decided to buy the stroller. A friendly volunteer took it away and put a sold sign on it.
Checking out took more time than selecting the merchandise. But it was an interesting way to spend half an hour. The line inches by boxes filled with books of all kinds, puzzles, videos, toys and more books, so there is plenty to keep you occupied. And it's just fun to see other women filling laundry baskets and trashcans with things that will, I hope, continue to delight and entertain other children.
The exit process means letting one volunteer cut off the computerized tags on your items, waiting in another line and then making your way to those who tally up the bill. Today, I've gathered enough clothes to outfit two 2-year-olds for the next six to eight months, have found a few books to read to them and landed a fancy vehicle to cart them around, all for about $150.
And I make it out of the building with no seashell-shaped soap.

Wonder Night

2007-08-20T19:04:00.000-07:00

Because babies don't run on schedules, we left very late for the state park on Sunday. I thought I should feed the girls something before we left, thinking they would be too jacked up to eat much at the park. Stuart brought the entree, Gene and I made salads and we arrived at the park close to 8 p.m. This place has a sandy beach that's perfect for sitting and digging with a shovel and bucket. We don't have to hold Clara and Margaret the entire time as we do in a standard swimming pool. They have a bit more independence. The crescent moon was out a little while after we got there. Clara was sitting next to me in the water, busy with her bucket, when I pointed out the moon to her. She pointed up with one finger and said, "Moooo." Margaret made her "Aaaaa" sound at the moon as well. Gene took both girls out into the deep water and they loved that. Stu and Gene started a fire before Gene came down to the water. As it started getting dark, he went back to help Stu, with Clara following behind. One thing about those Crocs she loves: they're not any good in sand. Margaret and I played in the water until it was almost dark. We could see the moon shining on the water as we walked to the picnic table.
By now, we were the only people cooking in the park. Most people were leaving. It was so quiet and lovely. The light on the water was just beautiful. I can't remember the first time I saw fire or stayed outside in the dark instead of falling asleep in my bed as the darkness fell. But I think i will always remember when Clara and Margaret did both of these things.
After he and Stu cooked the meat and corn, Gene built up the fire in the grill so we could see, because by then it was pitch dark....and both girls were just transfixed by the flames. I was fussing and grabbing at them constantly. Just didn't want anything to happen. Imagine how many things I'm going to remember about their lives that they won't even know. I can't imagine how much my own mother knew about me, but I know she held what she knew close to her heart for her entire life, as I'm going to do. It's so precious to me, the life I have with Gene and my girls.

Worn To a Frazzle

2007-08-19T12:43:00.000-07:00

Clara and Margaret are now 23 months and two days old. Already they've learned the fine art of negotiation and the usefulness of domination. If Margaret has a toy Clara wants, she will offer Margaret another toy and then snatch away the desired object if Margaret seems the least bit interested. If not, Clara will sometimes bite Margaret and swipe the toy, which lands Clara in the crib for a time-out. I hate to think of Clara coming home from pre-school with a note that says, "Your child bit So-and-So today," or Margaret with one that says, "Your child was bitten today." I don't want Clara to be a biter.
Everything they do teaches them something. About the consistency of objects: If they drop a ball, it will bounce, but will it bounce every time? the only way to find out is to drop it. Again and again and again. Same thing with a light switch, a glass of water, a book, or a couch. They've taken to crawling up on the couch...it's okay when I'm there, but not by themselves.
Gene went to the movies last night, so I was handling both babies by myself. I gave them a bath, which is tricky with two toddlers. But I hauled Margaret out, dried her and her feet and then let her indulge in her favorite activity--running around the house naked. She skedaddles around, that's the only word for it. And usually, she's screaming with delight. I diapered Clara and then set her down from the changing table. She ran around chasing Margaret, screaming as well. It's just hilarious to me to see these two little girls running around like they're really getting away with something cool. Maybe they are.
I was singing to them last night while they were going to sleep. I had sung "Hush, Little Baby," about five times and then switched to "All the Pretty Little Horses." Clara piped up, "No, no, Mama," and kept saying "No, no," as I went through my standard night-night songs. She didn't stop protesting until i came back to "Hush, Little Baby." Now quite two, she's so opinionated.
We're going to a state park late this afternoon when it cools off a little. There's a lake with a sandy beach, so we're loading up our shovels and buckets and planning to splash around in the water. Gene and Stu will cook out. It has been too hot here to even venture outside, and the girls miss being outdoors. I'm going to take an umbrella so no one gets sunburned. I swan, going anywhere with them is like moving the Army of the Potomac, we have to pack so much stuff.