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.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
It's getting cold
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.
"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.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
November
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.
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.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
October in Athens
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?
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?
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The Amazing Threes
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..
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..
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Summer's Almost Gone
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.
"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.
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