Saturday, December 29, 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Miss Big
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.
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.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Taking it With You
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.
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.
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