Today I was reminded that you can wake up to cold, wet November days in many places -- not only in Warsaw. It is dark and gloomy when we sit down to breakfast, which again is an early affair, as Ed has another day of attending to stuff at work.
He glances over at little red riding hood, Snowdrop's doll from Poland.
So they have that character there too?
Obsessively so. Only she seems to be good friends with wolf in this modern incarnation.
Even on a dark November day, our big old crab apple looks magnificent. There isn't a season when this tree isn't absolutely stunning!
When I pick up Snowdrop, it's raining again. She's equipped with a slicker and some pretty slick boots and she isn't too concerned about getting wet. Indeed, as we come to the farmhouse, she spots the broom and gets right down to work.
... even if the broom is a tad too tall for her.
She is undismayed.
I remind her that I want to get a batch of cookies into the oven. I suppose that seems like a bribe to get her inside, but honestly, the cookies have been on my to do list for a while.
I'm impressed how well she remembers the baking routine. It's been several weeks, after all, since we've done it together. But she knows what to do: which chair to bring to which counter, how to position it, what to mix, what to lick, what to eat (raisins!).
As the cookies bake, she loses herself in play.
Her love for her stuffies knows no bounds. You can always get a grin out of her by reminding her of, say, cow. Or penguin. Or in this case -- black cat.
(I know, I know -- she's sort of all over the place with her attire today. If it were up to her, she'd play in short sleeves, but it really is a chilly day...)
When I put on an over-shirt, she's hoping this means she can go outside.
No, little one. Nap first.
But after her rest, I cannot (or at least I do not want to) hold her back. We do many things outdoors: take a walk, have her work the balance log, collect seed pods. And she does her dance with the cheepers. They spin circles around each other -- they, in the hope of a treat, Snowdrop -- because she wants to believe that they're her friends, which, at some level, they are.
At the farmhouse again. Warming up. Reading the weather book once more.
They say the rains are moving on and out of here. They say there will be sunshine soon. I'm happy about that. And yet, I can't say that Snowdrop and I were worse off today, frolicking in the half drizzle.
Kids force you to take another look at weather: what's poor in your view may be quite fine in theirs and before you know it, it's fine, indeed grand, in yours as well.
He glances over at little red riding hood, Snowdrop's doll from Poland.
So they have that character there too?
Obsessively so. Only she seems to be good friends with wolf in this modern incarnation.
Even on a dark November day, our big old crab apple looks magnificent. There isn't a season when this tree isn't absolutely stunning!
When I pick up Snowdrop, it's raining again. She's equipped with a slicker and some pretty slick boots and she isn't too concerned about getting wet. Indeed, as we come to the farmhouse, she spots the broom and gets right down to work.
... even if the broom is a tad too tall for her.
She is undismayed.
I remind her that I want to get a batch of cookies into the oven. I suppose that seems like a bribe to get her inside, but honestly, the cookies have been on my to do list for a while.
I'm impressed how well she remembers the baking routine. It's been several weeks, after all, since we've done it together. But she knows what to do: which chair to bring to which counter, how to position it, what to mix, what to lick, what to eat (raisins!).
As the cookies bake, she loses herself in play.
Her love for her stuffies knows no bounds. You can always get a grin out of her by reminding her of, say, cow. Or penguin. Or in this case -- black cat.
(I know, I know -- she's sort of all over the place with her attire today. If it were up to her, she'd play in short sleeves, but it really is a chilly day...)
When I put on an over-shirt, she's hoping this means she can go outside.
No, little one. Nap first.
But after her rest, I cannot (or at least I do not want to) hold her back. We do many things outdoors: take a walk, have her work the balance log, collect seed pods. And she does her dance with the cheepers. They spin circles around each other -- they, in the hope of a treat, Snowdrop -- because she wants to believe that they're her friends, which, at some level, they are.
At the farmhouse again. Warming up. Reading the weather book once more.
They say the rains are moving on and out of here. They say there will be sunshine soon. I'm happy about that. And yet, I can't say that Snowdrop and I were worse off today, frolicking in the half drizzle.
Kids force you to take another look at weather: what's poor in your view may be quite fine in theirs and before you know it, it's fine, indeed grand, in yours as well.
