We had not a drop of rain yesterday (on what was to be a stormy day). Nor is there rain in sight for the foreseeable future. Spring was wet, Autumn is dry.
As expected, it is cool. Pleasantly so, I suppose, but we waver about breakfast, deciding in the end on the porch only because we're feeling mighty brave.
When I pick up Snowdrop, I smile approvingly at her sweater. (Yesterday, when I mentioned to her that we would be cooling off, she told me with great glee that she could then keep her sweater on all day long! Kids are made happy in very simple ways.)
But at the park, Snowdrop just wants to swing. And swing. And swing. Snowdrop, I'm cold! We are by the lake; they say it's 59F, or 15C (a huge drop from this past week), but it is also windy and I am very sorry we are not wearing jackets. Still, the little girl must think I'm nuts: yesterday I'm complaining of the heat, today I'm grousing about the cold. And she just wants to swing, regardless of it all.
We leave the park eventually -- it isn't easy! -- and as we walk the neighborhood blocks, Snowdrop, trotting along besides me, launches into one of her stories, which then continues for a long while, even after we've reached the car.
I have the same set of thoughts each time she does this: Snowdrop loves her toys at the farmhouse and plays well with them all. But she is equally superb when she has no toys at all, as is the case in the car, where she makes up every detail of her story and, as she moves nimbly between the front seat and the back, she creates a world of fiction with which no toy could ever compete.
At the farmette, Ed is finishing the task of sawing down fallen trees. She's curious. She wants to see.
Someday, I see her as helping him haul timber.
Today, I lure her away with play in the farmhouse.
As we come inside, I see that my internet purchase of new glasses has been delivered. She wants to try them on. Of course, they feel terrible! I remind her that she has her own glasses -- sunglasses that I purchased for her on an impulse in Paris, ones that she picked out herself and then rejected all summer long. Today, she decides to love them to death. Good timing, little one!
Snowdrop, you have to leave them at home for the Open House!
The girl's school is open this evening for the kids and their families. The goal is to introduce everyone to each other and for the kids to show off what they're working on.
Snowdrop is just one huge smile bag of happiness.
She shows her work, she joins the group sing, she is at her most joyous and I am so honored to be invited to witness it all.
A good day? No, a great day.
As expected, it is cool. Pleasantly so, I suppose, but we waver about breakfast, deciding in the end on the porch only because we're feeling mighty brave.
When I pick up Snowdrop, I smile approvingly at her sweater. (Yesterday, when I mentioned to her that we would be cooling off, she told me with great glee that she could then keep her sweater on all day long! Kids are made happy in very simple ways.)
But at the park, Snowdrop just wants to swing. And swing. And swing. Snowdrop, I'm cold! We are by the lake; they say it's 59F, or 15C (a huge drop from this past week), but it is also windy and I am very sorry we are not wearing jackets. Still, the little girl must think I'm nuts: yesterday I'm complaining of the heat, today I'm grousing about the cold. And she just wants to swing, regardless of it all.
We leave the park eventually -- it isn't easy! -- and as we walk the neighborhood blocks, Snowdrop, trotting along besides me, launches into one of her stories, which then continues for a long while, even after we've reached the car.
I have the same set of thoughts each time she does this: Snowdrop loves her toys at the farmhouse and plays well with them all. But she is equally superb when she has no toys at all, as is the case in the car, where she makes up every detail of her story and, as she moves nimbly between the front seat and the back, she creates a world of fiction with which no toy could ever compete.
At the farmette, Ed is finishing the task of sawing down fallen trees. She's curious. She wants to see.
Someday, I see her as helping him haul timber.
Today, I lure her away with play in the farmhouse.
As we come inside, I see that my internet purchase of new glasses has been delivered. She wants to try them on. Of course, they feel terrible! I remind her that she has her own glasses -- sunglasses that I purchased for her on an impulse in Paris, ones that she picked out herself and then rejected all summer long. Today, she decides to love them to death. Good timing, little one!
Snowdrop, you have to leave them at home for the Open House!
The girl's school is open this evening for the kids and their families. The goal is to introduce everyone to each other and for the kids to show off what they're working on.
Snowdrop is just one huge smile bag of happiness.
She shows her work, she joins the group sing, she is at her most joyous and I am so honored to be invited to witness it all.
A good day? No, a great day.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.