Ode to Megsy

Clara Margaret (aka Meg, Meggy, Megsy, or simply Princess Margaret, as the sovereign herself occasionally requests) surprised me one morning with the fact that she could read. After some lengthy errands we were hunting for a suitable place to eat lunch.
Clara: “Why don’t we go to ‘Open’ for lunch?” (Pronounced ah-pen.)
“Open?” I said. “Where’s that?”
“Oh, they’re all over the place. There’s one there, and there…” pointing to stores as we passed. As I looked I realized they were all over the place: the car wash was open, the video store was open, the bank was open, etc. We finally decided on an Open that was associated with food.

I admire this little girl. She is a true tomboy, sweetly defined once as “she can rough and tumble with the best of them but wears a sundress like it's second nature.” One of my favorite stories is actually sort of creepy. I was napping one day, along with the rest of the family. I was in a half-sleep stupor when through the daze I heard clip, then a little raspy feminine voice murmur, “Oh, Mommy. You look soooo pretty…” Clip. I practically jumped from my bed to find a wide-eyed Princess Margaret sitting on my pillow with some large scissors and a small pile of long dark hair in her lap. Thankfully my hair was pretty layered then and Michael swore he couldn’t see any holes, that he wasn’t just preserving the life of his only daughter.Meg is the only child I’ve ever had a clear and obvious spiritual prompting on behalf of. I’ve had impressions with the others, to ask a question or to say something, or give someone a hug instead of time-out, etc., but with this one it was obvious. I was stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce for dinner one warm evening in Texas when I had a picture in my mind of Clara falling off the top of our shed roof (15-20 ft. high, concrete below). Interesting, I thought, since she’s in there watching football with Michael and the boys. Thought I’d check anyhow. Of course, she wasn’t watching football, so I ran outside to find little naked, diapered 2 yr. old Meg scaling the fence with one precarious foot on the roof of the shed. Close call. All sets of this girl’s guardian angels are in full swing all the time I’m fairly sure.
Once I called Clara "Muffin" (Michael’s nickname for her). “Um, Mom, could you please not call me that?”
“Why not? Your daddy does.”
“Yes,” she explained patiently, “but he doesn’t make me think he wants to eat me.” I guess one must have a certain degree of instinctual self-preservation when they live in a little pink cream puff body, with honey hair, strawberry lips and blueberry ice eyes. I had to laugh. (And Michael’s still the only one allowed to call her Muffin.)
It suffices to say, I love this daughter of mine. She causes me fits sometimes, and it was clear from minute three after her birth she was going to be our hardest child (this premonition has proven true). But she creates equal parts joy in our family. I hope I can help her decide to be a strong, intelligent, virtuous woman someday. Someday, but today we’ll play with her pet frogs. Below, at swimming lessons just after her 2nd birthday in TX. Watching her was sort of like watching ducklings jump out of their treetop nest. Have you seen that? Well, there's a taste of Clara Margaret!