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....

Likes and Dislikes

Margaret and Clara are both developing preferences for....everything. I thought it would be fun to share a list of likes and dislikes before I forget.

Keys, bags, purses, Mama's shoes, lipstick and lip balm, nail polish, hair care products and camisoles. Dora undies. Going to the library. Max and Ruby. Little Bear. Madeline. Mama's side of the bed. Getting under the covers. Jumping on the bed. Walking through the grocery store aisle. Helping Daddy with any project, from finding ants to fixing the porch. Painting with a paint brush. Pencils. Drawing. Books, reading and re-reading. Drawing on the walls. Brushing teeth. Drinking milky coffee. Cooking. Wearing an apron. Stirring eggs. Helping Margaret. Root beer. Olives. All nuts, from pine nuts to pecans. Finding pecans. Hats of all sorts. All animals. Collecting leaves. Finding a great stick. Walking with a great stick. Watching bugs. Trains. Doing yoga with Mama. Waffle House. Being covered and tucked into her crib. These are Clara's big likes.

Here are Margaret's: looking at photographs. Reading alone and with Mama. Visiting other people's houses. Eating grilled cheese sandwiches at the neighborhood lunch counter. Finding a great stick. Sitting with Mama in church. Milky coffee. The crib, high chair and car seat, basically, any place removed from Clara. Being with Mama. Holding hands. Water. In the sink, the hose, the bathtub or a pool, lake or ocean. Cats and horses. Hair care products. Her kitty shirt (a shirt with a faded yawning kitten that is too small). Her pink pajamas. Watching Little Bear. Max and Ruby, specifically, Max. Reading anything by Rosemary Wells, like Voyage to the Bunny Planet. Lacing animals. Wearing Mama's shoes. Beating bushes with sticks. Swings and swinging. Acrobatics. Doing yoga with Mama. Walking to Earth Fare. Spinach risotto. Tofu. Rice of all sorts. Any kind of egg dish. All fruit except cherries. Broccoli. All kinds of soup. Popcorn. Stuart. Dancing and ring-a-round-the-rosey. Brushing her teeth. Waffle House, talking on the phone.

Their dislikes are similar: raised voices, Mama going to yoga or working in her office too much, strangers who touch them, wolves, having to hurry, Mr. McGregor, water in their eyes, the church nursery, being told "No," having Daddy fix their owies with Bedadine. The big one is being told no, being thwarted. Isn't that a drag for everyone?