One surprise this morning is that there seems to be a lot to do outside. Picking spent lilies, I'm counting and the numbers seem high. (Total for today: 586.)
Never mind -- everything's so beautiful right now: the lilies are mingling with the rest and it is such a happy camaraderie!
(The cheepers always keep me company for all my morning tasks. Well, two of them do. Henny is still hiding out in the coop. Possibly she is terrified of Scotch, but, too, she is brooding, believing that becoming a mommy will do away with all her problems with acceptance and inclusion.)
(The Great Bed, still strong, even if it is the last day of July...)
(The front bed, dainty and playful...)
Breakfast.
View to the yard from our table on the porch...
And very quickly it's noon and I'm scurrying to the bakery to pick up croissants (for Snowdrop) and cookies (for Ed) and now I am at the little girl's school.
She wears that look of a girl who was let down by a friend. And she was. Oh, to you and me, it's a nonevent, right? Snowdrop walked out with a tiny, really tiny sticker of a bird with a big yellow beak. A classmate, leaving at the same time, reached over to try to pull the sticker from Snowdrop's hand. Snowdrop uttered several words of surprise, but the girl persisted. The mother finally suggested that it might be Snowdrop's turn to play with said sticker. The girl eventually gave up her grip, but the teeny sticker was damaged. Snowdrop's face here expresses her disappointment.
And now I remember what it's like to care deeply about the way kids treat each other out there on the playground of life. It's not that I think kids are born knowing how to do right by their friends. But if you witness something that you don't think is a good move on the part of your kid, why wouldn't you use this as a teaching opportunity? Why wouldn't you intervene and express dismay?
Oh, I know: it's just a (ripped now) sticker. I've heard the arguments: let the kids work it out. And they will. But I have to say, if I ever saw Snowdrop (or decades earlier my daughters) grab and destroy something precious belonging to another, I would be appalled.
I am so old school in this.
(Snowdrop, at the cafe, contemplating life...)
(She has a snack. She rebounds.)
Snowdrop has had a very busy weekend and she is visibly tired. But the pool gloriously revives her.
(She asks to wear her water shoes in the pool. Sure, little one!)
Her vim and vigor are restored.
Later, we drive back to the farmhouse. I tell the little one that the fields are now mostly harvested and stacked into bales of hay. I haven't seen any sandhill cranes this morning. Perhaps they've moved on?
Snowdrop doesn't buy it. Kids have eternal hope and this girl's no different.
And today, she is rewarded: at least two of the graceful birds have returned.
At the farmhouse. Snowdrop has had such a long day, but she is driven to her babies nonetheless. Ice cream for everyone!
(Feelings of mommy love...)
You rarely see that serious look of duty and responsibility on this two year old's face. I'm thinking -- it's so easy just to relish in Snowdrop smiles. But honestly, don't you want your charge to live through her woes and tribulations on your time, so that you can guide her to a better place? Out of deep waters and onto safer terrain?
And the summer sun keeps on shining and the flowers keep on blooming...