School and Swimming

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

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

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

What Matters

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

Being Mama

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

Practice for School

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