wet Tuesday

Rain. Today, tomorrow, wet as can be. Not unlovely, I suppose. After all, rain makes what colors remain more pronounced.






Still, it's not outdoor weather. (The mice know this too well. We've trapped so many this year! We continue to release them. At the store, where we looked for new bait and release traps, the clerk was scornful: each one you let out will produce ten more, he admonished us. And he's not terribly off there. But the little critters are not quite as repugnant as mosquitoes, which we squish gladly and without trepidation. We just wish the mice would look for winter homes somewhere outside the farmhouse.)

Breakfast.






And then I'm off to be with Snowdrop.

She is, as always, radiant and chipper as can be when she gets up. She eats her breakfast enthusiastically and plays in her tub with energy and squeals of happiness. But then she gets serious. There are mornings like this -- where she is so intense in her explorations that her smiles are quick and elusive.






Of course, this is quite fine. You don't have to grin your way through the day to be satisfied with what you accomplish.






Navigating life's obstacles requires some serious thought.






But when she realizes that her favorite penguin is in her crib (she is, as of yesterday, permitted to sleep with a stuffed animal), she seems so crestfallen...






...that I decide it's time to bring out the giggles. And that's not hard at all. Just get her rollin' on the floor...











Our play is all indoors, of course...






And when she gets tired, she let's me do the fancy footwork while she settles in for many spirited dances (I bounce her around) in the living room. At which point I tell her it's time for a nap. I want to say -- grandma needs a rest, but that sounds too old, so i just tell her that I need a cup of chamomile tea which, I suppose, sounds equally old.



In the evening, at the farmhouse, Ed and I talk about getting a new (or old, if Ed had his way) couch. He is convinced he is allergic to the one we have and you may as well save your vocal chords rather than try to convince Ed that this is not likely. Four years ago, I caved to his fast held belief that my condo investment was a poor choice and that I should move to the farmhouse instead. Surely caving to his belief that my couch choice sucks is a small deal by comparison.

Of course, having agreed to look for an alternative is just the first step. I'm guessing it will take us two years to come across a couch that is cheap and acceptable to him and to me. But tonight we did that first (fruitless) search.

Wet days make you focus on what's taking place inside. Sometimes, that's a good thing.