change is gonna come

We've had a lot of changes in the last few weeks. For one, I am now the Athens editor of Patch. com, a news site owned by AOL. They are starting hundreds of them across the country. I get to work at home, I have a budget for freelancers and I am basically the captain of my ship, if not my soul. So that's all good. Except Clara insists my "real" job is taking care of her and Margaret. Which is true.
Clara is flourishing at school, learning to write, playing with other kids, enjoying the many science experiments they do in her preschool class. Margaret is a different story. She wakes up happy every day; she loves going to school, loves her Hello, Kitty lunchbox and her coat. She loves her teachers. But today, Margaret was tossed out of school. From out of nowhere, the principal told me the school could no longer meet Margaret's needs. It was such a shock because we had a meeting about three weeks ago during which they told us Margaret was much improved. She is engaging other children in social situations and being friendly to them. A specialist from the public school system comes to work with Margaret twice a week in her classroom. An occupational therapist comes once every other week.
But all of that about progress and doing well was just hot air, I reckon. Today I heard reports of a disruptive child who doesn't engage socially with other kids, who doesn't understand basic concepts. When I asked the specialist about this, she was floored. And very angry. No one ever mentioned any problems to her. No one ever suggested they work on specific issues with Margaret. She was caught off guard as much as we were.
I spoke not a word while the principal was talking. it was clear to me that the fix was in, so to speak.
So now we are scrambling to figure out what to do with Margaret. To keep her moving forward and learning things. We will be able to visit her occupational therapist twice a week so she can work on developing her fine motor skills. And the specialists will continue to serve her twice a week.
It's too late to get into a pre-K class or another preschool. They fill up in Athens very very fast.
I was crying over this today, because neither Margaret nor Clara understands what's going on. I'm not sure I do. I am putting a positive spin on it for Tita's sake. I don't want her to feel weird about herself.
I guess I will continue to make her a lunch and pack it in her Hello, Kitty lunchbox. At least that doesn't have to change for her.

Summer's End

On Sunday, we had a big rainstorm, a true toad strangler. In the gutter across the street, the water tends to back up because of bad drainage problems from a nearby sorority. Lots of dirt, leaves and sticks get washed down the gutter, plugging the stormwater drain. If things back up too much, the water will overflow across the street and wash down our driveway, taking much of it along for the ride.
So, during a lull in the rain, Clara, Margaret and I ventured out. They in their rain coats and rain boots, me in my sandals, shorts and running jacket. I had a flatblade shovel, they had their hands. Clara, alas, was wearing her white church dress. I explained to them what we needed to do. I scraped the gutter with the shovel and threw the mud onto the grass of the yards next door and across the streets. We used our hands to pick out the leaves, grass and sticks from around the drain. The water began to flow faster and stronger, and finally, the little girls couldn't stand it. They abandoned their posts and began making mud cakes, mud pies and mud sandwiches, all for my consumption. I ate a few, paying them with hand slaps.
Across the street, I found even deeper mud. As I began cleaning it out of the gutter, the girls suddenly went wild. They flopped into the shallow, muddy water. Muck and water got into their boots, in their hair and, dern, all over Clara's white dress (which is now oxycleaned and bleached white again). They were just cackling and going nuts. Clara began patting mud around my ankles. It started to rain, which wasn't a problem, but when it started to thunder, I called a halt to the riot. We walked to the back door, they stripped down, I toweled them off and marched them into the tub.
All in all, it was great fun. There's something wonderful about mud. Which must be why people will pay $$$ for a mud bath, no?
The rain has brought cooler weather. Which means sweaters in the morning when they go to school.
We had to separate them. Clara is now in a different pre-school class from Margaret. Because of her fine motor skills delays, Margaret gets special education services and occupational services from the local school district. Free. Her special ed teacher noticed that Clara was far too invested in Margaret and her outcomes. I was concerned because when I would ask Clara about school, her response always centered on what Margaret had done that day. Not what she had done. Clara seems to have skipped across the hall with no problems. Margaret, on the other hand, is back to her former pooping problems. I think now it's in reaction to Clara leaving her. Every day, she asks if she can go into Clara's classroom, and I have to say no. Margaret's classroom is much more structured than Clara's. I am hoping things straighten out, because we seemed to be over the hump with Tita and her problems. I don't want to go back.
On Saturday, I am going to Chicago for more than a week. Wish Gene luck!

School is starting

School starts for Clara and Margaret on Monday. Because their birthday falls on September 16, they are four on August 31, the cutoff day for school grade placement. Georgia has a state lottery funded pre-K program, but they didn't get in.here are only a few spots for hundreds of applicants. So they will return to their Episcopal school, which is fine with me.
My concern is that it's hotter than blue blazes. Soon, I'm sure, school will be year-round. When i was little, it started in early September, and when i finished high school, it was late late August. The school calendar keeps getting longer and longer. Why don't they extend the year in June, when the heat index isn't 110 degrees? Well, nobody asked for my opinion.
The teachers on Friday told me the girls will learn everything the pre-K students do...only this school and curriculum are play based, not paper based. So they will learn about counting by playing store and using cash registers. And they will--Praise Jesus!!--bake the goodies for their own parties, relieving parents of that responsibility! And there is pizza every Friday, which means one less lunch for me to make.
We took a couple of little trips this summer, to Gene's sister's house on the Savannah River, and to the mountains. Rather, the three of them went up there so I could write at home. It's strange to have a silent house. I do kind of like it. For a while. But I do enjoy hearing about the trip and what all they did on it.
Whenever I pick up a pencil or pen, Margaret asks me to write her name. In cursive writing. She assures me her name is "Margaret, just Margaret," so of course I am now calling her Just Margaret. Her occupational therapist is working with her on learning to write her name. It's going to be a long haul, I fear. But she tries.
We are teaching the girls not to blurt out whatever comes in their heads, but it's hard. Gene took them to see a beloved, lovely neighbor the other night. This woman isn't the tidiest creature on the planet. As they were leaving, she said, "Come back soon," and Clara said, sotto voce, "Next time, I'm bringing a mop," while Margaret chimed me, shaking her head, 'I don't think so." I later had to assure the neighbor that we all still loved her.
Both girls can swim now, alone, though we hover nearby. We had to make a run to Target to buy swim suits, which seem to wear out at an alarming rate. It's worth it. When they like their suits, they swim better, Clara told me. Will it work for me?

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.