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

Ouch!

There we were, in Target, looking for an alarm clock for me. Even while, unbeknownst to me, Gene was at home repairing an ancient one that now works fine. Clara decided she and Margaret both needed alarm clocks, "just in case." In case of what? I asked. "You know," she said. When I said, we would think about it, Clara started doing The Dance of Desperation, hopping up and down and moving her arms a little. I leaned over to look at a clock and suddenly saw stars and felt such pain I yelled out. And grabbed my nose and collapsed on a bottom shelf. I was dripping blood.
I think Clara's titanium head connected with my nose, which means she can now hop fairly high. Gene is a master at protecting his face and other parts from them, but I am, obviously, more lax. Anyway, I sat there, crying with my eyes closed and groping in my pocketbook for a Kleenex or napkin. I found one and pressed it to my nose.
"Mama, what happened?" asked Margaret. "Mama, stop crying," said Clara.
I peeked at them and saw nearby shoppers casting sideways glances at me. By now, the napkin was also dripping blood. I felt the top of my nose and it didn't feel broken. "Girls, it's okay, Mama's nose hurts. Clara's head hit my nose."
"Are you okay?" A woman I didn't know touched my shoulder. She turned to Margaret, who looked like she might cry, and explained to her that Mama had gotten hurt and that was why she was crying. She asked them if they cried when they were hurt, and Margaret said, yes, and Clara announced, with her arms folded across her chest, "I never cry!" Which made me smile.
This woman was so kind, she gave me a Kleenex and talked to Clara and Margaret while I stood up and dried my tears. Even as oblivious UGA students pushed past us.
In the parking lot, we ran into Miss Ani, one of the girls' teachers. It was as if they had seen the heavenly host descending. They both started to wiggle with joy. Imagine! Miss Ani! How wonderful! If they had their way, they would go to school seven days a week. They are so into it. The whole day is one big love fest for the class and the teachers. It's costing us a good bit of money for them to go there, but it's so worth it. To start off loving school will keep them going forever, I hope.
Clara has gotten to be the line leader and Margaret has been the caboose. They have helped carry lunches to the refrigerator (I think our lunches in elementary school just got hot, didn't they?) and wipe the tables before they eat. And they are learning to clean up not only their little lunch messes, but their neighbors. On Wednesdays, they go to chapel and see our beloved Father Robert. It's all just great.
This morning, my nose is swollen and the tip of it is bruised. But the alarm clock, it works fine.

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.