She Finds the Right Words

“Mama, I wasn’t aggressive today at school.”

This is usually the first thing Margaret tells me when she comes home from school, whether or not it’s true. She is in third grade, and she wants to believe what she says, so she presents it as true. I want to believe her, but I check her behavior sheets to be sure. The sheets come home everyday.

If they are filled with frowning faces, I know it’s been a rough school day, the teachers dealing with a child who refuses to do her work, refuses to cooperate or listen, who says rude things to her classmates, who sasses the teacher and who may make another child cry with cruel comments.

If the sheets have smiley faces, break out the champagne. I am grateful and relieved that another child isn’t telling her mother or daddy, “That blond girl Margaret slapped/kicked/pushed me today. Or made me cry. Or said I smelled because I have black skin.”

I don’t know why Margaret slaps other children or her teachers. It’s not a fist, and it doesn’t hurt, but touching another person isn’t allowed. Especially not in anger. She doesn’t know either, but we continue to try and coach her to use words, not her hands, to express her feelings. I know why she says mean things to African American boys, but she is working on seeing them for who they are on the inside, not for what they wear on the outside.

My very verbal daughter can’t find the right word to apologize? I find that difficult to believe. She loves new words. Ubiquitous. Marvelous. Exquisite. She repeats the words over and over, testing and tasting them. Repentance. Anguish. Sorrow. These don’t work as well for her.

I don’t understand Margaret’s reasoning abilities at all. When I tell her she hasn’t earned a trip to the library, but her sister has, why does she blame her sister for my decision? She once told me that Clara was the most powerful person in our house. Yes, a nine-year-old is calling the shots. How does she come up with these ideas?

But on some days, Margaret acts like the person I hope she will become. She is thoughtful, kind and insightful. And non-judgmental.

We had one of those days earlier this week. We had walked to our neighborhood grocery store to buy hamburger buns. A mom was pushing a stroller with a baby in the jump seat. A protective pad covered the seat, and there was a catheter snaking out of his short pants into a bag in the cart itself. He wore an oxygen necklace in his nose. His arms and legs were pencil thin and his fingers seemed to have spasticity. His face was so tense, he looked like he was counting out a difficult financial transaction.

Margaret didn’t see the toddler’s problems, didn’t see the fatigue on his mother’s face, the cautious way she looked at other people who were staring at her son. “Hey,” said my girl, “Cute baby. Did he drop this?” and she handed the mom a toy that had fallen from the cart. “Have a good day!” The mom smiled, then looked at me and smiled even wider.

Outside the store, I wiped away a few tears and gathered Margaret into my arms and hugged as tightly as I could, something she loves. “My darling girl,” I said. “You are perfect. I love you madly.”

“Oh, Mama. I love you, too,” she said.

End of the School Year

Next Friday, second grade will end for Clara and Margaret. It seems like just a few weeks ago that they were worrying about having to attend a new school, and now they are fretting a bit about having to leave it. Both girls love their classroom teachers--a huge difference for Clara, whose first grade teacher didn't "get" her. That poor woman came to her classroom in November and then drove those children like Sherman through Georgia to cover all the material they hadn't covered in the first three months. I understand why she did it, but those poor kids seemed to have no fun at all. This year, she is having fun and learning a lot. Thanks to her teacher and the media center director, Andy Plemmons. She loves him and all the cool things they do in the library.
Margaret may be understanding why good behavior is essential to doing well at school. Still not really sure if she gets it. But her behavior has been so much better the past few weeks. She will sometimes fall off the wagon--yesterday, for example, she kicked a kid instead of asking him to move out of the way--but by and large, she is much improved. She loves Kate Wright, which is a bonus. Margaret does well if she likes the person in charge. I guess we all do.
Being out of work means I have had the chance to spend time with both of them. They each wish the other person would just disappear so they could have me to themselves all the time. Sigh. I hear from other parents how badly their children treat each other but it doesn't make me feel better. All I want for Mother's Day is a day in which the girls treat each other as nicely as they do their friends. Is that really too much to ask?

Those Labels are Heavy to Carry

It is an eye-opening experience to have a child in public school with a special education label. I have one. My other child does not carry such a label. Margaret's problems are mostly of her own making, but are exacerbated by a system that doesn't address the underlying reasons for her behavior, whatever they might be. She sometimes misbehaves, by lying on the floor, refusing to do work she is more than capable of doing, calling other students "cheater" or "liar" or "copycatter." On one occasion, she pinched the special ed teacher.
I think some of the adults at her school expect her to misbehave. And she lives up to every expectation.
When she refuses to cooperate, the teacher takes her to the assistant principal. This is the woman who has already suspended her. For doing something that is on her IEP, individualized education plan, and for which she should not be punished. The regional director backed up the assistant's decision, but legal evidence does not. Without the funds to hire an attorney and remove this from Margaret's record, I know it will follow her throughout elementary school like a vicious dog. What was this assistant principal thinking? Did she think that would teach anything to Margaret, who loves to be home?
As a special ed student, she is expected to do poorly at various tasks. Math is one such task.
Margaret just can't add. She can't subtract. She just can't do it. This is what we are told.
So Gene decided to get involved. Armed with flash cards and a pointer, he drilled into Margaret's sticky little brain a bunch of math facts and families of numbers. 1 + 2 = 3, 1 + 4 + 5, and so on, all the way to 9 + 8 +17. She has gone from hating math and refusing to do it to viewing "math with Daddy" as a reward. She can do it now because she thinks she can do it. And she wants to.
She reels off the answers to equations without even thinking about them.
The next frontier is handwriting. Stay tuned.

Losing baby teeth

Margaret's two front teeth were getting bucked out by the new permanent pushing on them. I wondered if I should take her to the dentist. Instead, I encouraged her to wiggle those teeth. She wiggled like crazy. We were eating corn on the cob and Margaret came up with one of her teeth gone. She had swallowed it, as she has all the other teeth she has lost. The next morning, we were headed to Margaret's occupational therapist. I told Margaret to wiggle and she grabbed her tooth and twisted it around and Boink! It came out in her hand. I felt a little lightheaded, but it didn't seem to bother her one bit. Last night, she got her first ever money from the tooth fairy. She held up her dough and said, "Now I can buy everything!" Would that that were so.

Clara's teeth are almost in. Thank goodness, both girls have Gene's teeth. No cavities and no problems. The new comes are coming in straight. Unlike me, who had three teeth in one space and who had to wear a space maintainer to push apart my teeth to make room for my permanent teeth, which traveled from my spine to my mouth all during elementary school. Glad Clara and Margaret won't have that problem.

Where has the school year gone? In the afternoons of seeing the school bus stop at the end of our sidewalk, in the mornings when I woke the girls before light to bowls of oatmeal and helped them pull on their blue or white polo shirts and navy skirts or pants. I tried to quit or at least pause work in the afternoons when they arrived at 3 so we could play or walk to the nearby business district and get ice cream at a neighborhood drugstore. The owners knows their names and knows that Margaret likes vanilla and Clara likes chocolate.
Here in the post No Child Left Behind (and no testing corporation either) World, I despair a little for public education. There are no toys in kindergarten. It's time for sight words, math word problems and reading. Clara is already oriented towards numbers, probably because we like that she can count and add, but there are kids in her class who can't count or read--and yet, they are being told to do word problems. What happened to learning through play? And learning to get along?
Margaret has been in special ed for her fine motor delays, and she can now write. Slowly, and not very well, but she can write nevertheless. We will work on this with her this summer.
She is ready to join her swim team. Hold on to your hats for that.
When the girls get home from school today, we will leave for Texas, where we will stay with my wonderful cousin Peggy and her husband David, loved by women of all ages and stages. But we will go in stages, first to Alabama to see cousins and nieces and their families, then to New Orleans and finally Houston. GTT, as the 19th century Georgians used to write on their doors when they fled the aftermath of the Civil War. Wish us well, it's a long drive.
I thought I knew what it was to miss my mother. But I had no idea how much I would long for her, for someone who would love my children as much as I do. And for Daddy, who wanted to have only girl children and who ended up with three sons. How my parents would have loved Clara and Margaret!
Well, back to work, which is relentless, endless and mind-numbing. Love y'all.

Last Day of School

The First Day

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

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

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

Merry Christmas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?