Monday

Three things -- I say to a groggy Ed, as I come back to the bedroom after letting the cheepers out.
I don't know if Isie boy liked the leftover fish I gave him. He's meowing outside, which means either that he wants more, or he hated it and wants something else.

What else? -- he's waking up now.
I pulled some weeds on the path to your shed and got tangled in that damn prickly plant and now I have a thousand seeds in my hair and each one has to be individually removed.

And?
You know that label on the can of paint I used on the walls yesterday? You know how we didn't understand why I had scribbled over it "upstairs trim?" Well that's because it's glossy and we used it on the baseboards. The touch ups that I just did on the walls all over the farmhouse? It looks like someone spit on the walls.

So I guess the painting project isn't quite finished. There is a P.S. to it -- cover up the cover ups.

On the upside (and the day is one with endless upsides), the purple asters are dazzling, the gaura ("whirling butterflies")  is still going strong...











... and breakfast in the front room is splendid.






And it's Monday and so Snowdrop comes to the farmhouse, this time for an unusually long visit, as her parents have an evening event to attend. She arrives just as I'm about to dump my fruit and kefir on the oatmeal. We're tickled to have her company for breakfast (she herself has just woken up and has yet to be bathed, clothed and fed)!



what'you guys doin'?




I want what she's having!




the berry's fine, but I think I like my stuff better than kefir... (it's an acquired taste, little one!)



She is such a patient little girl. Finally -- we are done, she is bathed, fed and dressed and ready for play.






Oh, there are the usual favorite toys, but our time together here always includes dancing...






... and Ed play. It still surprises me no end how quick he is to want to poke her, hurl her, laugh with her...






... and she just laps it up.






I tell her, too, that we must give bread to the chickens. You need a sweater, little Scottish lassie. It's cool outside. (In fact, only the sweater is from Scotland.)






Here we are -- favorite scene, favorite routines, favorite cheepers...






And now is the time for quiet play. Indoors. Looking at favorite books, including the unwieldy Richard Scarry tome.











The farmhouse hours go by so quickly. More play, more music, more food (oh-oh, does she need a haircut?)!

We take a walk, she and I, while Ed goes over to help the young couple with a house issue. It's different here, on the rural roads, isn't it, Snowdrop?






Different, but equally lovely. She lets me know that she is happy.






Ed comes home at the same time that we return from our walk.
Hi to you!
Hi to you too!





Our evening is again full of play, full of music. She helps me toss the salad and the three of us munch on raw carrots (she lack a set of top teeth to make this a very successful enterprise). She assists in piecing together an extension to her play floor and she uses every item of furniture to hoist herself up on her two feet.

Snowdrop is nine months old today. Remarkable. Was it just a few months ago that I was wondering when she'd be able to hold up her head?