An ordinary Life

It's hotter here than it has been in a while, meaning in the 90s. I kind of like it. And would like it more if we didn't have the Asian Tiger Mosquitoes devouring us whenever we go outside in the daytime. I was accustomed to the summer mosquitoes that attack at dusk. Thanks to globalization, we get to swat in the day now as well.
Which means we have spray bottles of bug dope at every exit of the house. Like my brother Greg, Clara emits a chemical that attracts all the mosquitoes in the neighborhood to her. She can get 20 bites, while Margaret gets none. So spray, baby, spray is our summertime mantra.
This afternoon they were wanting to go swimming. I wanted to take them but cooking duties called. Gene was busy painting his studio. Finally, I got things underway and we headed outside to the sprinkler. Only it turned out to be water balloons instead of a sprinkler. I got soaked when Clara turned the hose on me, giggling. I ended up laughing like a hyena...it really was funny and I felt great. So we filled water balloons and threw them at each other for a while. Our friend Sarah, who had come to eat, sat on the porch stoop, laughing at us. Clara was delighted at being able to make Mama run away.
I have a job interview on Tuesday with the Georgia Sea Grant program. Nice people, hideous pay, but benefits. I am friends with the wife of one of the men who will interview me. Which is why I probably am being interviewed. I tell you, if I get it, that's great, if I don't, that's fine as well.
Why am I so sanguine? On Thursday, I felt a knot in my right breast, toward my back, and it hurt. I thought, oh, dear, and then headed to the doctor the next day to have it checked out. The knot hurt when he pressed on it, and he more or less ignored it. He was more interested in this itchy rash on the right side of my torso. When my doctor told me I may have shingles, I cheered. He looked at me as if I were nuts. He said the knot would probably go ahead as I started drugs for shingles, and it has.
When faced with the prospect of cancer, ordinary life becomes so precious. I thought to myself as I went into the doctor's office, ordinary is pretty extraordinary. Picking up the girls and tucking them in with songs. Reading together. Making pancakes together. Watching Margaret push her shopping cart behind me in the grocery store. Hearing Clara singing her song about fairies and Dora. I mean, God and the universe handed my little life back to me, intact, and for this, I am so grateful.

Good-bye to all that

This post isn't about Clara and Margaret directly, but it does affect them.
I just wrote an explanation of why our long-time babysitter has stopped working for us, but in truth, I really don't know why. It's an awful thing to have someone you know well and love not be honest with you. I mean, this woke me up through the night. For the past six months, Roxy hasn't been babysitting for us. No, she told me, she had been cleaning people's houses, earning more money than I could pay her. I understood; times are tough and I can't pay her $20 an hour to babysit my girls. Yesterday, another mom at the girls' school thanked me for "giving" her Roxy. I was puzzled. Is she cleaning your house? No, she's babysitting, the woman replied.
I almost threw up. Clara and Margaret fully expect Roxy to return and take care of them one day soon. I am going to visit Roxy at her house and find out what's going on. After four and a half years, of paying her when I really shouldn't have done so, of finding work for her sons and her father when he visit, I think I deserve some closure.

Coming to the end of school

This afternoon, the girls and I were lying on our bed. The ceiling fan was turning slowly, creating a slight wind that necessitated my getting both girls a blanket. And then I had to tell them witch stories. They love to be scared and entertained. Ghosts and witches abound in our house. They move dirty clothes, take dishes out of the sink and create all kinds of havoc. So says Clara. It was so pleasant lying on the bed with them both snuggling into my armpits, delighted to be scared just a little.
School ends for them on Wednesday with an ice cream sundae party. Margaret has made great progress on her social skills, thanks to a pre-school special education teacher sent by the school district. Come August, when school starts up, Margaret will be getting occupational therapy as well. It's so great that they come to the school. Clara is worried about her class breaking up and about not having the same beloved teacher next year. She can't get her head around the concept. She keeps telling me she wants to stay with Miss Bette.
Gene makes the girls read aloud to him before they can watch a video or swing in our new outdoor swing. Margaret is very motivated to do this because she loves the swing better than anything. Clara is balking about reading. She has been for the past few days. She wants me to swing her if Gene isn't home. No dice. Today, she told me that she had really truly done her reading. When I asked, who did you read to? she didn't miss a beat. "An octopus, Mama, really." When I said nothing, she confessed, "All right, it was really a fish." I'm not that easy to fool, but I loved her attempts to do so.
We went to our church picnic on Sunday out at a member's farm. There were bunnies to see and pet, so Margaret was in heaven. And horses to see running around. Plus, a swing set and even a trampoline. The old kind, with no net and no padding on the springs. The kind that sends kids into wheelchairs. I have found a safe trampoline, but it costs $600, so it won't be coming to live at our house anytime soon, believe me. Of course, now Clara and Tita want it.
The picnic was great, with a table of homemade foods, older kids to entertain the younger ones and nice people to talk to. In the late afternoon, I asked Clara to stay put and then I went to lead Margaret away from the trampoline and to the potty. When we returned, Clara wasn't to be seen. I didn't think anything bad had happened to her, but I was a bit panicked. After looking a little for Clara, I stopped Margaret from charming an unsuspecting daddy into putting her on the trampoline and deposited her with some friends so I could widen my search.
When I saw my Clara standing by our car, I felt tears in my eyes. She was smiling and almost crying, too. I scooped her up and kissed her and she said, in a slight scold, "Where were you, Mommy? I don't like to lose you, you remember that."

Growing up

Last night, our friends Tanna and Stuart were over for Sunday supper, a usual event for the six of us. Clara was acting up and acting out and ended up in the uncooperative chair in the corner. Margaret soon followed her. As Margaret sat down, Clara yelled out, "Marg, call DFACS!" The Department of Family and Children's Services takes children from families when things aren't going well. The four adults tried not to laugh so that Clara could hear. I've told them about DFACS, mainly to explain why they have to accompany me out of their carseats when I stop someplace. Some days, I wish I could speed-dial DFACS and get them to take the girls away for just an hour or two. Or better, take me.

Margaret's evacuation problems seem to be resolved. She's worked hard. And for her reward, she received a small shopping cart, just her size. Which she now takes to Publix to shop with me, and to Earthfare, our neighborhood store. She now asks to "take a little walk" with the shopping cart. I have to say, it's very cute. Especially when she puts one of her dozen bunnies in the little seat. Margaret is a bunnyholic. This weekend, we were in Atlanta, at a friend's house, and she tried to convince the mom that the little baby owner of the coveted bunny didn't really need the bunny. And that she, Margaret, would take excellent care of the bunny. Didn't work. Neither did her attempt to talk our Aunt Lucy out of her stuffed bunny, promising to take really good care of said rabbit. So, when Margaret stops making "mad faces" at other children, a problem for which she is receiving special education help, she will get a new baby bunny, "just for me," she says.

Margaret and I go to occupational therapy every week at Miss Becky's house. Margaret loves it. It's like a cross between a classroom, a circus and a gymnastics facility. She swings and balances and picks up stuff and draws and just has a great time. So once, Clara came with us, and she loved it. The next time, she wanted to go, and Margaret didn't like this idea. To persuade her, Clara said, "Marg, you're going to be all involved with Miss Becky, and I'm going to be all involved with just myself." I loved that. Margaret was convinced and let Clara come along.

Since I've been so focused on Margaret's plumbing for months, I have noticed that Clara takes care of her needs at home. As do all the other children in their class. At home, Clara knows I don't usually accompany her into the potty unless she needs help with a more substantial matter. So she has taken to saying, "I need to poop." And in I go, ready to help. She and I both know she's not going to do what she says, she just wants me to come along to have me all to herself, if only for a few minutes. "Look, Mama," she will say, "I made ghost poop." Which is why I can't see it.

We have a lot of ghosts in our house, and they are very active. They take the clothes off of one doll and put them on a stuffed rabbit. They will take apart Clara's train and shove the pieces under their table. And they will eat food on the table that someone is saving for later. And sometimes, they walk around the house with towels or blankets on their heads, groaning and moaning and scaring everyone. Maybe I should get those ghosts to sit in the uncooperative chair, Clara says. Not a bad idea.

Ham on Stage

Today was Clara's first public performance. She was great.
She was the child in tune, in time and on track during a concert at the girls' school. Margaret shook her egg and streamer to beat the band, but sang nary a word. She knows the words to the songs because she sings them at home. But not at school, and certainly not on the school stage, in front of a large audience of parents and friends. Clara, however, was right at home. I'm telling you, the child is a ham. Can't imagine where she gets it. I'm thinking back to dance recitals, when I was nine and dancing with teenagers because I was so tall. I took a movie with my phone and will download it when I have a second.
The rest of the day was also great. We spent some time on one of the school playgrounds. Margaret is obsessed with a toy shopping cart, pushing it around and putting things in it. If she continues to be successful in her plumbing system, I will buy her a shopping cart she can use at home. This smaller playground is shaded, which is good, because we have two of the whitest white girls I've ever seen. Margaret has slightly red hair and the white white skin redheads have. Bring me sunscreen!
Afterward, we ate lunch at the tofu place, and they even ate tofu. At home, we played outside in the sprinkler, or they did, in the afternoon. The firemen from a nearby station walk around our block. Every time they passed us, Margaret would say, "Hello, firemen!" and then give them rose leaves. They were gracious enough to take the leaves and to thank Margaret, who would then run to me and say, "They took my leaves, Mama!"
We are enjoying beaucoups of strawberries. Margaret could easily eat two or three pounds all by herself, and so could Clara.
Clara has taken to wearing ear bobs, my mother's clip-on ear rings. I have a few pair of them. The jewelry adds about ten years to Clara. Nope, it's going to be a few years before she's sporting that, believe me. But I detect the jewelry gene already. I think it's attached to the ham gene.

Patience is a virtue

We learned today that Athens Clarke County likes in line far more than online when it comes to registering for county recreation department programs. Clara and Margaret and I started standing in line at 9:15 this morning, and finally left at 2:45 p.m., having secured one of three summer classes we were interested in. They didn't get into a puppet making session at the art center, nor an animal-centered one. But we did make a gymnastics program that Margaret will enjoy far more than Clara, I believe. M isn't as coordinated as Clara, but she enjoys being upside down and bouncing and spinning around.
The girls were great while we were waiting. Not any whining or complaining. We did manage to go to the potty twice, traveling there by elevator and then returning by the coolest of all, an escalator. Both girls knew what an escalator is from the book Corduroy, but had never been on one until today. It was so exciting for both of them. Clara insisted I hold both their hands, which I was happy to do. And this particular escalator was really really long.
A couple of times today, as the line crawled along, Clara lost sight of me. She panics when that happens, whereas Margaret is happy just to find a new friend and be on her way. I am torn between making them paranoid and having them be too friendly. I don't want them to be afraid of people, but I do want them to be cautious. To speak to my friends and acquaintances, but no one else. I'm not sure how to do this. In familiar places, like Publix, they expect everyone they meet to be kind and friendly. For the most part, other customers and those who work there are kind and friendly. But I have read and written stories about children being snatched from grocery stores.
WWPD? What would Peg do?

Being a Mama

So there we are, me in the driver's seat, Clara and Margaret in their car seats. I am spaced out a bit, but alert enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. When they play, sometimes Margaret is "Mother," and Clara is "Baby."
This afternoon, Margaret says, "Baby, I really am your mama."
Clara: "Mother, you can't be my mama. Real mamas have big feet, and your feet are little. And real mamas sit in the driver's seat and drive. Look at you, you're in a car seat like me. Mama is the real mama."
I laughed and laughed. So, that's all one needs, big feet. They are fixated on my feet, and my shoes. No matter what kind I've been wearing, they pounce on them and clomp around. Luckily, none of the heels are too high.
Yesterday was one of the most difficult days I've had with Clara. I don't know what was going on with her. She gets so excited and/or angry and then lashes out, sometimes at Margaret, sometimes at me. They had been playing in the sprinkler in the front yard, spraying each other and screaming with delight. Yup, it was 88 degrees here on April 5th!) When they came in to get washed off--they had grass in their hair--Clara was miffed about having to stop spraying. After being rinsed off and toweled dry, she was pressed up against my thigh and I was drying her hair. She bit me in the leg, and it really hurt. To the uncooperative chair she went, with restrictions about playing with Harper, our lovely next-door neighbor. In the course of the evening, Clara also kicked and hit me when things didn't go her way.
She told me later that she does these things when she doesn't think. So I encouraged her to start thinking, or she will never see her friends again. It takes a lot of self control on my part not to hit her back when she hurts me, but you know what? I'm way bigger than Clara is, and I could really hurt her.
Whenever I put her in the uncooperative chair, Margaret starts calling, "Dee Facts! Dee Facts!" The Department of Family and Children's Services, or DFACS, takes children away from mean parents, they both know. So Margaret calls them to rescue Clara.
Where was DFACS on Sunday? We went to a church-sponsored egg hunt after church. Some well-intended parents had scattered about 400 eggs around a playground, without hiding them. These are little plastic eggs filled with candy or toys. We were the first to the playground, because the girls wanted to play, and had to wait about 20 minutes before things got underway. Other children and parents arrived and crowded on the stairway leading to the playground. We moved into the shade to wait and let the others go into the playground first. About a minute after the gate had opened, all the eggs were gone. Clara found one, Margaret found none, while some children walked away with thirty or forty eggs. One dad and his son were high-fiving. I didn't like this event; it wasn't a hunt, it was a free-for-all, competitive candy grab. I may stage an egg hunt at home myself next year and actually hide the eggs. That's what Clara and Margaret like, finding things.
Candy isn't the primary reward, discovery is. Besides, they know I'm going to dole out their candy. Because that's what big-footed mamas do.