spring is coming....eventually!

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?

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

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

Shoes, Halloween and Fall

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

Halloween and Fall

Margaret at four

Waffle House hat