I'm in my best on-time-departure behavior: I get up earlier than I need to so that there will be no chance that I should be late or even tightly on schedule, causing unnecessary worry for the young parents. It's an early morning for all of us.
Of course, I'm used to it. Not so much keeping time, but being up with the sun. I do my rounds: admiring the golden colors of autumn...
(one day lily still continues to bloom)
... feeding Isie boy, letting the cheepers out, cleaning their coop, refreshing their food and water, watching the younger girls, to make sure they're enthusiastic about life...
... then and only then returning to the farmhouse...
... where I remind Ed that I need to be out and on my way earlier on Thursdays and so if he is to eat breakfast with me, it has to be now. (If he looks grumpy in the photo below, let me assure you, he's not. Just a saint for coming down, half asleep, not really sure of his bearings, not wanting to disappoint me either.)
Snowdrop wakes up just as I arrive at her house. A bit early for her, but I know she hears the rush outside her room. That's okay -- we have an enchanting, longer morning of play.
The sun comes into her living room differently at this earlier hour and she is taken in by the patterns it makes on the furniture.
Still not fully dry after her bath, she is, nevertheless, ready to plunge into more active play.
Later in the morning, my daughter texts me asking what we've been up to and I tell her, truthfully, everything!
In that early time frame, Snowdrop jumps, crawls, bounces, stands, reads, chews, pounces, crawls some more, listens, bangs, explores nearly everything in her path. Me, I hover and guide and quickly grab to avoid impending crashes and run-ins with furniture, cats, and pretty much everything else that somehow manages to get in the way of her explorations.
(standing on her own; I hover)
There is in there a quiet reading moment (this book, about a hen of all things, is her favorite today)...
... but for the most part, her energy level is too high to allow her to sit still for long.
It is tempting of course, to photograph her constantly, all day long, especially on these days when I am with her all day long. But I refrain from doing that. Ocean, as you well know, isn't a baby blog: it does not chart all her ups and downs, but instead, gives a handful of snapshots documenting, more than anything, how I see her and how she and I navigate our days together.
Still, when the sunlight catches her hair, so that it really does look more strawberry than light brown, I reach for the camera.
When she flashes me a gentle, dimpled smile, I reach for the camera.
And of course, when we go out for a walk and she gives me that look, I reach for the camera.
I ride Rosie the moped home, thinking how beautiful the days are now. Next to us, the farmers are picking flowers for the markets. As always, they offer me some, but I settle for just a photo...
In the evening, I'm with Snowdrop again, this time at the farmhouse. Not for long, but long enough so that when she climbs all over Ed, I reach for the camera.
The day ends late for me. I'm tired, but in a good away. I know Snowdrop was a happy girl today. That really can make a grandma's heart swell.
Of course, I'm used to it. Not so much keeping time, but being up with the sun. I do my rounds: admiring the golden colors of autumn...
(one day lily still continues to bloom)
... feeding Isie boy, letting the cheepers out, cleaning their coop, refreshing their food and water, watching the younger girls, to make sure they're enthusiastic about life...
... then and only then returning to the farmhouse...
... where I remind Ed that I need to be out and on my way earlier on Thursdays and so if he is to eat breakfast with me, it has to be now. (If he looks grumpy in the photo below, let me assure you, he's not. Just a saint for coming down, half asleep, not really sure of his bearings, not wanting to disappoint me either.)
Snowdrop wakes up just as I arrive at her house. A bit early for her, but I know she hears the rush outside her room. That's okay -- we have an enchanting, longer morning of play.
The sun comes into her living room differently at this earlier hour and she is taken in by the patterns it makes on the furniture.
Still not fully dry after her bath, she is, nevertheless, ready to plunge into more active play.
Later in the morning, my daughter texts me asking what we've been up to and I tell her, truthfully, everything!
In that early time frame, Snowdrop jumps, crawls, bounces, stands, reads, chews, pounces, crawls some more, listens, bangs, explores nearly everything in her path. Me, I hover and guide and quickly grab to avoid impending crashes and run-ins with furniture, cats, and pretty much everything else that somehow manages to get in the way of her explorations.
(standing on her own; I hover)
There is in there a quiet reading moment (this book, about a hen of all things, is her favorite today)...
... but for the most part, her energy level is too high to allow her to sit still for long.
It is tempting of course, to photograph her constantly, all day long, especially on these days when I am with her all day long. But I refrain from doing that. Ocean, as you well know, isn't a baby blog: it does not chart all her ups and downs, but instead, gives a handful of snapshots documenting, more than anything, how I see her and how she and I navigate our days together.
Still, when the sunlight catches her hair, so that it really does look more strawberry than light brown, I reach for the camera.
When she flashes me a gentle, dimpled smile, I reach for the camera.
And of course, when we go out for a walk and she gives me that look, I reach for the camera.
I ride Rosie the moped home, thinking how beautiful the days are now. Next to us, the farmers are picking flowers for the markets. As always, they offer me some, but I settle for just a photo...
In the evening, I'm with Snowdrop again, this time at the farmhouse. Not for long, but long enough so that when she climbs all over Ed, I reach for the camera.
The day ends late for me. I'm tired, but in a good away. I know Snowdrop was a happy girl today. That really can make a grandma's heart swell.
The photo of Snowdrop examining the patterns of light and shadow on the couch is one of the best you've taken of her - shows both her unique personality and the general wonderful way that babies are so incredibly fascinated by things. (Hopefully a fascination that isn't altogether lost as one gets older.)
ReplyDeleteLove the exploratory Snowdrop pictures... I think that exploratory nature will stay with her!
ReplyDeleteSide note: That hen book Snowdrop is enjoying is one her dad was into too, though he was somewhat older so he could take in both sides of the story... he was sympathetic to the fox :^)
Well said by the commenter above. That was the photo that was most interesting to me. And is illustrates another reason children should not be bombarded with toys, bright beeping flashing toys!!
ReplyDeleteNoticing shifting patterns of light and shadow, ambient sounds, the way the water sloshes in the bathtub, the way it smells outside.... what a wonderful world.
It's one of those rare times where I have to disagree, at least in part: I think it's completely irrelevant whether kids are surrounded with plastic. Or wood. Or metal. Or furniture. Or toys, books, pots, flowers. Whatever makes the parent or caregiver give her all, to interact to the best of her ability is fine. Wonderful. The problem is not with the artifact, it's with the person who uses or misuses that artifact.
DeleteI'll give you an example of useful plastic: Snowdrop loves the jumparoo. (Which, BTW, makes all sorts of noises if you let it and she loves them all.) She has one now in both homes -- her own and the farmhouse. When I need to recoup my energies, I put her in it and she jumps and I sing along, and clap my hands and we laugh, but physically, I'm recovering. After a jumparoo session, where I am basically not having to chase her and keep her out of harms way, I can sit her on the couch and she can study the sunlight. Or the cats. Or my nose. Or Mickey Mouse from Disneyland that her aunt and uncle brought for her. Or an LA Dodgers logo thingie that she loves to chew. All fair game.
Oh, Nina :) We don't need to always agree!
ReplyDeleteMy Mother had a saying: "A happy mother makes a happy home". or caregiver. Whatever is good for you is good for S., pretty much.
A variation on Mom's saying that makes me laugh: "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" Redneck t-shirt slogan-ish, but true enough.
...though in this case, I think we're saying the same thing in different ways! :)
DeleteThe saying about mama is very true. Or, more often true than not true. But what I noticed when my kids were young was this unfortunate other truth: if mama is happy, it doesn't necessarily pass on to those around her. Meaning, mama happiness is a prerequisite, but it's not enough... So much pressure on poor mama!