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.
