Time Flies when you're Flying

This summer, we hae let the girls try many different things. They have been together in soccer camp (Clara loved it, Margaret did not, turning into Bartleby the Scrivner, who replied only 'I would prefer not to' to just about everything. They tried tennis (Clara excelled, Margaret put down her racket and told me she couldn't do it). And they tried dance class (the teacher told me Margaret freaked out when everyone starting tapping). Clara loves dance and will continue into the fall. She may sign up for soccer if it doesn't conflict with the dance.
This week, Clara is taking more tennis classes, and Margaret, well, she's at trapeze camp. We went to a "circus" performance at the trapeze studio in the winter, and it was all I could do to keep her from trying to get on the mat and on the bar. So she has been waking up shouting, "I"m going to trapeze!" I wonder now if she would have enjoyed the other activities if she had been alone? Who knows?
I don't want them over scheduled, not that we could afford all the things that are out there. I do want to figure out some way to get them into piano. They both love music. First thing is to find a piano!

Margaret rides to the rescue

Merry Christmas

Clara and Margaret were so confident that Santa was going to bring them what they wanted, they pointed to the doll strollers and said, "Look, Mama! There they are!" as if they were introducing old friends. Wonderful to have such faith, no? And then, that wily ol' Santa brought them other gifts they didn't even ask for! They were dunderstruck.
Margaret will be going to school again in the new year. She was asked to leave Emmanuel Day School. One of the meanest acts I have ever heard of. The principal called me in one Friday morning and said, "Margaret isn't coming back on Monday." Out of the blue, in fact. Turns out, it was just too darn disruptive for Margaret's support people, her special ed teacher and occupational therapist, to come into the classroom. Just too disruptive, even though the school was started to help special needs children. But that's all water under the bridge now. We are moving on to a public Pre-K program, with support in the class every day and the coolest playground you've ever seen. And, best of all, Margaret will get to ride a school bus to school! How cool is that! She is so excited, she can't stand it! Their elementary school is within walking distance, so she and Clara won't get to ride a bus when they start kindergarten next year. Clara would love to ride a bus, too, but she will continue at Emmanuel.
My job at Patch is going to be good. Right now, I am busy helping to build a directory of businesses, government agencies and non profits in town. The list is huge, but it's fun meeting people.
The other night, we were driving around, looking at lights. We passed a huge display of inflatables: Santa, reindeer, snowmen and other creatures. I drove to the next street to turn around and spotted a small Nativity scene. I said, "Hey, look at that!" and Gene said, "It doesn't have half the lights of the other one." And Clara chimed in, "Daddy, that's the whole reason we have Christmas. if we didn't have Baby Jesus, we wouldn't have Christmas at all, you silly Daddy." And then Margaret said, "Daddy, we love Baby Jesus." And I thought, thank you, Jesus, and thank you Emmanuel.

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.