Camp day five

Child worries are so tender and sweet! I'm thinking of the ones that are expressed, because the deeply buried ones can be, of course, troubling. But how precious is the anxious worry (furrowed brow, near tears) that your parents may not remember to bring a sister's swimsuit! So precious that I almost didn't mind that it came at 4 a.m. at night. After soothing the worrier, I was ready for bed again, but Millie chose that moment to throw up. No idea why. Probably just one of those dog things.

If yesterday was steady and predictable, this day is high on irregularity and shifting sands. Times, schedules change. I do not plan for more than the next hour. Maybe even the next ten minutes. But at least breakfast is very... normal.

 

 

 

Millie settles down to chew, I wait for the next update/instruction/adjustment.

 

And shortly after our morning meal, Sparrow arrives. 

And now we have a small window within which I have to drop off Millie at doggie daycare. 

(Do you promise not to get into trouble while I'm doing that?)

Only to come back and wait for Juniper to arrive from Chicago. She'll be joining Grandma Camp today.

Missing still is Snowdrop. 

 (In the car, the big kids read their story books, created a couple of days ago, to Juniper.)

 

 

We pick up Snowdrop and head for the mall. 

 

 

Remember when malls used to be crazy busy with shoppers? These days Madison's malls are crazy empty. 

 

 

 

The mall has been a camper's request -- to shop (on a budget!) at Claire's -- that overpriced junk emporium that is every preteen girl's dream castle. Sparrow doesn't mind looking, but rejects everything there. Smart boy.

Snowdrop asks -- can I get a second ear piercing? (Claire's is famous for this.) I tell her this is absolutely not my decision. She claims her mom already said okay a long time ago. I've heard these retellings before and they are often subject to interpretation. I tell her to text her dad. He calls back, we confer, she gets a "yes," shocking her, amusing me.

 

 

I figure as long as we're in this hell scape (I've never been a mall junkie), we may as well eat lunch at the food courts. 

(empty here too)

And now it's like this: Juniper has to nap. Oh, and I need to pick up Millie. Yesterday I almost forgot that component of the schedule. So, first drop off Juniper, then pick up Millie.

 (everyone loves holding the pup)

 

 

We go home, Juniper joins us after a brief snooze. But now we're out again, because the big two Madison kids have to be dropped off at the Shakespeare Players theater. Tonight is the opening night of Romeo and Juliet and Snowdrop is playing Lady Capulet. (Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me!) I wont see her then because I'm babysitting Primrose and Juniper while the parents have a night away. I hope it goes well for her!

And now I am home with just Juniper and Primrose. And Millie.

 

 

 

The little girl wants to do a book, just like the big kids, but the project proves to be a bit overwhelming. We'll get back to it tomorrow.

 

 

 

I fix them a favorite dish of pasta with tomatoes and shrimp.

 

 

So, a fine evening was had by all? Sort of. The girls were sweet and kind to each other, to me, to Millie. But I let them stay up too late. Always a mistake: you gain in popularity in the short run, you lose a calm good-night when you're all dead tired. Still, the two were ready to sleep eventually and sleep they did! Me? It will take a while. Camp counselors have to have a few hours to wind down. I wish I could look outside and see stars peeking through pine branches. No such luck. Cloudy, with a chance of rain. Oh, and no pine branches near Steffi's House. Just flowers.

with so much love... 

Camp day four

What's the best strategy for a foggy day? Do nothing and wait for the fog to lift. Of course, the "do nothing" is not always possible. Indeed, oftentimes, the demands on you are the greatest on the most shrouded in fog days.

I wake up to fog. I walk the pup in fog.

Yes, the kind that hides the wetlands and the farmette acres. The kind that makes for a very damp morning walk. The kind that wraps itself around your brain so that you have to go on autopilot and hope that the self-driving mechanism is going to get you through this month, this week, this hour. I do not have the luxury of waiting until the fog lifts. I move forward.

This day is slated to be the most challenging for Primrose because it has no cousins in it. It's like going to a real camp and being stuck in the infirmary for the day while your friends are elsewhere having fun. Okay, perhaps not quite that bad since I am not a nurse person who dishes out medicine, but still, it's a little too quiet after the happy chaos of yesterday. On the upside, for being a barky dog, Millie likes quiet.

Primrose and I eat breakfast and chat about the unfairnesses in life. I always like it when the grandkids weigh in on these because suddenly everything appears to be so much less complicated and easy to handle. In the adult world, some unfairnesses seem so great that they can overwhelm you, or so stupid that you just want to punch the person in the gut for daring to complain about them. In the kid world, it's all very logical and manageable. Yes, life is unfair, but here's what you might try, to make it more bearable.

 

Primrose is doing some activity on her tablet while I get the house organized and get Ed to pick-axe one more hole. 

I like to think that someday I will finish putting in the four remaining roses and the holes will be ready when that moment comes. 

And here's a good outcome: Millie is a relaxed pup today. When I let her out in the backyard, she and Primrose play a rousing game of fetch and it is quite grand to see my pup with the zoomies again...

And to see Primrose laughing at Millie's antics.

 

And while they are doing this, I put in a rose! This is so therapeutic for me! Total satisfaction. Only three more to go!

 

In the late morning we take Millie to doggie daycare, just to give us freedom to come and go, since Millie's "stay home alone" training has been put on hold this week. Daycare is without surprises for her. The stability is invaluable right now.

I offer several options for Primrose, none of them spectacular. It's drizzling on and off so outdoor activities are not doable. We mull this over during lunch at Barriques -- a coffee shop I so often stopped at during my grandkid school pickups. 

She wants to save everything from when the cousins rejoin us.

We go home, She paints. 

Maybe I should paint. It looks so relaxing. 

I watch her and wonder what's on the agenda for me for next school year. Right now  I truly am in a fog about what's what. In other words, I have no idea what I'll be doing tomorrow, Saturday, Sunday, to say nothing of August, September, October.  This isn't me being flighty. This is not knowing what lies beyond the fog. I have stabilized here in Steffi's House. Unfortunately, that's me, that's not the rest of the world. I have stopped my dizzying moves and boom! My friend gets sick and everything changes. Funny how that works.

The good thing is that I am okay at being two people at once. A foggy brain doesn't mean I cannot move away from that and become someone else. To the kids, I am as always. I am sure they see no difference in me at all. The fogged up cluttered me makes no appearances. It comes out once everyone is tucked in in bed. 

 

Primrose and I do Culver's takeout. That's pretty low, I know, but I'll be cooking later in the week so we may as well indulge her craving for food from this very Wisconsin chain. Besides, I have to pick up Millie before 6. It's too early to fit in a meal before that.

Evening: the girl's last one alone with me. Tomorrow her sister joins her here. Primrose will love having her company, of that I am sure.

with so much love... 

Camp day three

This perhaps is the most "normal" of this year's camp days, in that I have three kids for the full day and the fourth added for supper and an evening movie. So, full day, or to put it differently -- a day full of kids.

The start to the day is normal as well. Millie is at her best behavior. This may be temporary as she is still assessing the situation -- does it mean that the household composition has changed? Do I still fit in as before? Once she totally relaxes, I'm sure she'll be my sweet wild girl once again. 

Breakfast is now set as well. New routines very quickly become like new wallpaper: you can't even remember what had been there before, once it's up. 

I'm even back to playing my classical playlists. Primrose doesn't mind. She's a musical kid. [Did you read that piece in the paper (maybe NYT, maybe the Economist -- cant remember)  where the author tells us that people who listen to music are slower to develop dementia? I need to pass that one on to Ed who never listens to music. Just podcasts. I dont think those count.]

We were to pick up the big two and drop off Millie at Happy Dogz -- all normal enough, though there is a mix up of communications and the big two are dropped off at Steffi's House just as I'm getting Millie out the car door for daycare. [Primrose is starting to recognize Millie's sounds as we approach doggie daycare. We don't know if they signal joy or apprehension, as in "am I going somewhere strange? Will it be alright?" -- but she always grunts and squeals in the blocks before we arrive there.]

We hurry home to the waiting twosome and then they all pile in the car for our joint errand run. 

To Madison Sourdough for croissants.

To Stoneman's Farm for corn.

To the jungled farmette. 

They've missed it, but this day was a good reminder of the issues we all faced there: after the rain, the mosquitoes came out. Not full force, but enough to leave their mark even after a short walk.

(our last remaining chicken, going after my compost corncobs...)

 

 

And finally toward home again. I say "toward" because on the short drive, they talk me into stopping at Tati's for boba tea. Sparrow doesn't like it and they no longer sell ice cream cones there (our past standard), but he is mollified by a promise of a pup cup (!). Primrose never laughed so hard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 I drive back home, they walk.

 

 

 

 We eat lunch. Croissant turkey sandwiches. The pescatarian makes do with croissants and milk. Of course, fruit is a big chunk of lunch. Always.

I've picked this day for the movies. The best option seems to be Toy Story 5. I'm thinking -- maybe I'll doze...I could use a good dozing session. No dozing for the kids though!

We talk about how expensive movies have become (they brought it up). One of them comments -- but they are so much more comfortable and with better amenities now.  Yes, but at what price? Every kid used to go to the movies regularly when I was growing up. Even in postwar Poland -- hardly an example of a wealthy country. How many can afford an afternoon film jaunt now, where even without the snacks, the tab is $48 for a weekday afternoon, where one is a senior discount and three are kids? (Dont even ask how much one candy bar and one small pop corn for each kid totaled to. Okay, I'll tell you: $49. They agreed to drink water from the water cooler. Three tall cups of water would have added $30. Shocking prices!  [I laughed out loud when the theater advertised special passes for people who come to the movies at least four times a week. If you're that rich, you probably have your own cinema screen at home.]

 

We pick up Millie.

 

 

 

We go home.

I thought I'd have a moment to dig a hole and plant a rose. It was not to be. Millie was a little overwhelmed. She needed attention. One of the older kids needed help picking out school supplies. Two of them were fine, but when the littlest brother came over, the level of noise grew (they were lively though in a happy way) and I quickly pivoted toward a pizza delivery. 

The movie at home (yes, each evening has a movie for them) is Mamma Mia, chosen by them because the three cousins here had never seen it. The music was loud, the kids bounced, some sang -- it was definitely a success, although Millie would not agree with that assessment. The kids dont scare her, but sudden noises and movements do. There were a lot of sudden noises and movements. She survived! The house survived! I survived!

with so much love... 

Camp day two

Every day is a story in itself. Even seemingly dull days open up pages of new stuff. Today is completely different from all other days that came before. Even if some things do repeat themselves. 

But breakfast is definitely not a repeat of the same old. Primrose and I eat alone, in the house, because the weather today is not right for porch meals. Nor is it really easy for a kid to munch away at cereal at the wee table there. So, indoors.

With these two roses from the garden (one belongs to the category of totally edible):

 

 

Now, the next thing to do is to vote. Wisconsin's gubernatorial primaries are today. But who should I pick? The most electable person? How do you decide that? I can't tell who will sway voters and in which direction. So the person with the best platform? With the most experience? I've never been an undecided voter. Today I am an undecided voter. So much so that I almost stay home. Still, I have never skipped voting before and 73 seems too old to go in that direction. So, voting is on the agenda.

As is doggie day care, and grocery shopping, and farmette flowers run, and then finally home again for the girl and me. We sort of get through all that but with hiccups.

Millie drop off? Great. The girl runs in! Grocery shopping? Fabulous. I have a helper.

But then I get a text that the cousins have arrived (and we are not there) so everything else is tossed aside and we rush home.

They play, eat lunch...

And then things get slightly nutty. First, I find out that Snowdrop is actually supposed to be at her Shakespeare rehearsal. Sparrow begs to stay home with Primrose while I drop her there. It's only a few minute drive and they are creating houses on her on her tablet. I know that Sparrow has stayed home for brief moments while a parent ran a quick one, but I ask Primrose -- have your parents ever left you home alone? She answers truthfully -- no... but they talked about how they're going to! Well yeah, I imagine by her age 20, they'll probably stop with the babysitters. Still, it is a short roundtrip, and I just read the article in the NYTimes about kid independence in this country, and I do believe these kids are good at just sitting on the couch and doing their game, so I drill on what should happen if 1. one of them tripped and fell or got hurt  (I tell them which neighbor to go to) 2. what would happen if I didn't come home within a certain amount of time (they're on her tablet, she can reach her mom who can reach his parents), 3. someone knocked on the door (obviously do nothing; maybe hide in the garage!). So, with all bases covered I run Snowdrop over to her play.

This is when I start getting messages from people I know -- what's going on? Strange letters have appeared, apparently from me. Oh no! I've been hacked? I pull over, shut down messaging on my phone and consider if I should change my pass code then and there. I best do that from home. I hurry. And run upstairs to the two happy kids. Did any of you use my computer downstairs? From Sparrow, with big eyes that are only slightly twitching with a suggestion of a smile. Yes, we're really sorry...

I should have added a 4th instruction: 4. do not touch my computer! Maybe I should have also added 5. and do not move from your sitting position, and most of all, do not do anything that you think might trigger a reaction from me!  

(the co-conspirators) 

 

We pick up Snowdrop toward evening, then we all go to get Millie because these kids just adore my dog so much!

(the greeting committee)

 

The two local kids go home. Primrose, Millie and I drive back to Steffi's House where Ed joins us for a supper of beans and tomatoes and cheese.  

And he babysits both Primrose and Millie while I moped over to vote. By evening I had made up my mind and I cast my ballot minutes before the polling station closed. 

Ordinary enough for you? Perhaps on the retell it sounds routine. But for me, for Primrose, for Millie as well, it was all quite out of the ordinary. With wonderful high points, but reeling still from the recent developments with my sick friend, and of course, moments of plain calm. Without that calm, I would be a mess. And when the grandma at Grandma Camp is a mess, well, then the tent collapses.

 

 

with so much love... 

Camp starts today

If you step out of the shower in a hotel room, reach for your comb to fix up your freshly washed hair and find that you forgot to pack it, you do the following: 1. call guest services and ask how come they dont provide those cheap little combs in bathrooms like they used to (even though you know that this was a wasteful practice and few guests were dumb enough not to pack, of all things, a comb); 2. quickly get dressed and hop over to a nearby Walgreens where there are plenty of combs for your purchasing pleasure; 3. shrug your shoulders and get on with the day, believing that a rat's nest on your head isn't going to make the slightest difference to your day. If you picked number 1 you are a rational human being, ready to fight for your rights in life. If you picked number 2 you are a wimp that will spend any amount of money rather than ask politely for help. If you picked number 3 you are like me -- indifferent to the small stuff. Weightier issues fill your head and you're not going to be bothered about a rat's nest.

*     *     *

Looking out my hotel room window. I'm on the 14th floor (that is an upgrade for no reason I can think of except maybe that the hotel is not very full). It boggles my mind that the apartments on the top floors of these buildings (see photo) go for millions. Who would want to live that high? And I say this having grown up in Manhattan, though never living higher than the 18th floor. (The building hiding toward the back of the tower here is the John Hancock, well, officially no longer called that, though unofficially, it's the John.)

*     *     * 

I walk over to Eataly for breakfast. I could simply Uber back to my daughter's house and eat there, but I know that once I get there, I should quickly whisk away Primrose and allow my daughter to get on with her work and honestly, I need a few more minutes to process the events of this past week.

I had a wonderfully soothing conversation with my girl, with her husband too last night, but perhaps you know this from your own experience: crises, especially ones that have sizeable medical components to them, are like wrecking balls. They swing left and right and destroy everything in sight and you have to find ways to guard against that (if you can). Talking helps, but so does thinking and worrying and processing. I'm no shrink, but I have to think it's better to acknowledge your fears than sweep them under the rug. 

Besides, I like Eataly.

(empty at this early hour)

 

 

(capitalism, telling us what our home really needs, making you feel the anger of not affording it even as others can)

 

 

(urban mirrors: I always look for them in Paris, never in Wisconsin...)

 

 

(my hotel's art: I think it's for the soccer tournament and for America's birthday)

 

 

*     *     * 

And now it's time to hit the road for Grandma Camp, listening to Primrose's playlist all the way. Primrose is 8 years old and there's a lot of Taylor Swift on it. I tell my grandgirl that I so admire Swift to have managed at her young age the business aspects of her career so well. Primrose responds -- grandma, she is in her thirties!  Oh, oops. Really ancient! 

We pick up the two older cousins and go to Culver's for lunch. Their choice.

I let them set the activities for rest of the day, which indeed may be a mistake. What do 8 and 11 year olds know about structure and mood adjustments? In the past I've always just insisted on my framework. Camp is camp. But I want them to have a looser rein and so we try it. They reject water activities in favor of going back to Steffi's House and taking a look at the art loot I amassed thinking that I may just have Primrose for the week. And eventually they do settle upstairs and get to work. Something about notebooks and stories.

Oh I see. Three plays were written. And then acted out for me and Millie.

 

 

 

*     *     * 

Sandpiper comes over after his school day ends and joins the three older kids for a dinner of crunchy chicken and corn and pasta. And a movie (they all love my very favorite-cant-live-without-them wheat crackers).

And then quiet settles over Steffi's house. Well, except for the occasional woof.

So where was Millie in all this? Well, for much of the afternoon she hid in her crate. Last time she came back from Julie's (her loyal babysitter), I had moved. This time? A troop of kids invaded the normally quiet house.  If I were her, I'd think Julie was some kind of a witchy person who transformed the world as we know it. Or maybe that Julie was her savior as the planet spun out of control behind her back.

(At Millie's pickup)

 

 

We will see how the night goes. For Primrose, For Millie. For my friend. For me.

with so much love...