At times, it seems like you've been through this day before. (Which, by the way, is not necessarily a bad thing!)
A wake up to a cold day (I would improve on this if I could).
I let the cheepers out and thank Butter profusely for laying an egg before my eyes. If you don't pick it up soon after it pops out, it freezes. Ed claims it's delicious anyway, but I wont use it (for one thing the shell cracks).
I walk back to the farmhouse...
... but with a detour to the car to check on the mouse situation. Okay. The trap is untouched -- peanut butter still inside. That means for sure that the mouse exited when we left the door open yesterday. Satisfied, I retreat into the warmth of our kitchen.
I rush to get breakfast ready. Ed still sleeps -- who can blame him. We had one of our late night discussions about work, play, apartments. They're wonderful conversations, but honestly, I'm way too sleep deprived right now and reviewing life as we know it at 3 a.m. is probably not the cleverest of ideas. Never mind. I'll catch up tomorrow. Surely I've been down this sleepy path before.
In the kitchen, as I throw away an empty container of something or other, I notice the tell tale sign of a chewed garbage bag.
Really??
It appears that the mouse left the car and came right back into the warm house (smart creature), going straight for the garbage can again. This time the mouse remembered that how you get in is also how you get out.
How many times will this repeat itself? How does a pea brained mouse have such a good memory?
Fortunately, I do find the problem: the garbage can has a hole in the back for picking it up and moving it around. Obviously an entry point. Blocking it will be easy (I hope). Catching the mouse? Well, this is what you do when you live in a hundred year old farmhouse: you have to keep at it all winter long. This year we've been lucky because until now, the occasional critter has kept mostly to the basement. But cold nights breed desperation. We'll be reloading all the traps tonight.
We eat a rushed breakfast. Just in the kitchen.
And then I'm at Snowdrop's.
She is just waking up and I go through her morning routines with her; Breakfast, bath time, the usual stuff. And then she plunges into play.
It's a good time to be with her -- she is full of energy and fun.
And she can amuse herself enough now...
... that I have no trouble calling her great aunt (my sister) in Warsaw to discuss the what ifs in terms of the apartment purchase. I'm hoping that we'll have a beautiful end to the negotiations tomorrow, but of course, I've been down this path before too. Things can unravel. Though this time I know I wont be the one unraveling the strings of an agreement.
Upstairs, she is back to being Christophera Robin again...
It's repetition, but with twists and turns. (And spins and rolls.)
..Because little kids do not ever do the same thing in completely the same fashion as the time before.
And then, because I have a dinner out with friends from law school work days, I don't return to the farmhouse. I go to a coffee shop where I do not buy coffee but a glass of wine and I give myself time to think. Not about the apartment. Not about Snowdrop this time either, but about another little one -- my younger daughter -- who turns 31 today.
(Here she is at two and a half. I always thought Snowdrop has a bit of her in appearance. I keep this photo, which actually in its entirety is of both daughters, in Snowdrop's playroom. Snowdrop looks up at it constantly, as if she sees her mom and her aunt in it and mentally reels them back to her own age and station in life.)
My daughter is, of course, in Minneapolis and I am here. Not too far away by American standards, but far enough that I can't go up to give her a birthday hug. But I spend these few minutes thinking about her and they're good minutes, beautiful minutes.
Oh, I do hope she has a happy day!
Back at the farmhouse now. It's cold, but we're in for a warming trend. By Sunday, we may jump above the freezing point. All this is enough to make me smile and smile.
A wake up to a cold day (I would improve on this if I could).
I let the cheepers out and thank Butter profusely for laying an egg before my eyes. If you don't pick it up soon after it pops out, it freezes. Ed claims it's delicious anyway, but I wont use it (for one thing the shell cracks).
I walk back to the farmhouse...
... but with a detour to the car to check on the mouse situation. Okay. The trap is untouched -- peanut butter still inside. That means for sure that the mouse exited when we left the door open yesterday. Satisfied, I retreat into the warmth of our kitchen.
I rush to get breakfast ready. Ed still sleeps -- who can blame him. We had one of our late night discussions about work, play, apartments. They're wonderful conversations, but honestly, I'm way too sleep deprived right now and reviewing life as we know it at 3 a.m. is probably not the cleverest of ideas. Never mind. I'll catch up tomorrow. Surely I've been down this sleepy path before.
In the kitchen, as I throw away an empty container of something or other, I notice the tell tale sign of a chewed garbage bag.
Really??
It appears that the mouse left the car and came right back into the warm house (smart creature), going straight for the garbage can again. This time the mouse remembered that how you get in is also how you get out.
How many times will this repeat itself? How does a pea brained mouse have such a good memory?
Fortunately, I do find the problem: the garbage can has a hole in the back for picking it up and moving it around. Obviously an entry point. Blocking it will be easy (I hope). Catching the mouse? Well, this is what you do when you live in a hundred year old farmhouse: you have to keep at it all winter long. This year we've been lucky because until now, the occasional critter has kept mostly to the basement. But cold nights breed desperation. We'll be reloading all the traps tonight.
We eat a rushed breakfast. Just in the kitchen.
And then I'm at Snowdrop's.
She is just waking up and I go through her morning routines with her; Breakfast, bath time, the usual stuff. And then she plunges into play.
It's a good time to be with her -- she is full of energy and fun.
And she can amuse herself enough now...
... that I have no trouble calling her great aunt (my sister) in Warsaw to discuss the what ifs in terms of the apartment purchase. I'm hoping that we'll have a beautiful end to the negotiations tomorrow, but of course, I've been down this path before too. Things can unravel. Though this time I know I wont be the one unraveling the strings of an agreement.
Upstairs, she is back to being Christophera Robin again...
It's repetition, but with twists and turns. (And spins and rolls.)
..Because little kids do not ever do the same thing in completely the same fashion as the time before.
And then, because I have a dinner out with friends from law school work days, I don't return to the farmhouse. I go to a coffee shop where I do not buy coffee but a glass of wine and I give myself time to think. Not about the apartment. Not about Snowdrop this time either, but about another little one -- my younger daughter -- who turns 31 today.
(Here she is at two and a half. I always thought Snowdrop has a bit of her in appearance. I keep this photo, which actually in its entirety is of both daughters, in Snowdrop's playroom. Snowdrop looks up at it constantly, as if she sees her mom and her aunt in it and mentally reels them back to her own age and station in life.)
My daughter is, of course, in Minneapolis and I am here. Not too far away by American standards, but far enough that I can't go up to give her a birthday hug. But I spend these few minutes thinking about her and they're good minutes, beautiful minutes.
Oh, I do hope she has a happy day!
Back at the farmhouse now. It's cold, but we're in for a warming trend. By Sunday, we may jump above the freezing point. All this is enough to make me smile and smile.
