Monday

Chicago is reeling from a blizzard. Over a foot of snow! Primrose and her parents made it home from Minnesota yesterday just by the skin of their teeth. In Madison, just a little over 100 miles to the northwest of Chicago, the day was cold and dry. Quiet.

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You know the phrase plus ça change? A short cut to saying -- the more things change, the more they stay the same? Said with a tone of exasperation, or at the very least -- resignation? I thought of it when I heard the story of Snowdrop's encounter with the Claus duo yesterday. Snowdrop was with two boys (friends) and the younger one had asked the Clauses for a baby doll. Mrs. Claus shook her head on that one, suggesting that he may prefer toy trucks.

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If I lived in Washington D.C. I would surely make my way to the Smithsonian to see the exhibition of the winning nature photographs for the year 2018. 60 selected, from 59 countries (tens of thousands had been entered). It seems to me that the best ones were taken by photographers that had at least three things going for them: talent, patience and luck. But I also think that if you're riding with just two of those in your pack, you'll still do very very well. As a museum spokesperson said, with digital photography, most anyone can be a photographer, documenting a slice of life for all to see.


I thought about all this when Sparrow came to the farmhouse early today.

(Sitting down to breakfast, photo by Ed)






The little guy is nearly 6 months old: able to do so much, though not necessarily consistently! Here he is, sitting, yes, easily, no problem! Except that maybe this time he'll take that dive to the floor.






Sparrow is the typical second child in that he has had to work around his older sister's schedule. But recently, his parents have really zeroed in on his own need for predictability: they've enforced regular naps (if at all possible) and as a result, this typically happy little boy is even happier (especially when it comes time to pick up his sister at school!).






(Snowdrop herself is delighted to be coming in for a large snack and a good amount of time for play.)






(Ed chats to her about her day in school...)






(Sibling love)






Eventually Snowdrop works her way up to story number three. There's a moon and an ocean in it and some tragic fate befalls someone, but I am only half listening: I am intent on warning her for the hundredth time not to play on the stairs. She loves their elevation, I fret constantly about their slippery, steep incline. We finally compromise: play all you want to. On the first two steps. She gives a quick thought to bargaining for more, then decides against it. Tragic tale continues to unfold, I breathe a sigh of relief.






And now it's very very late. Everyone is long gone. Dinner dishes are washed and stacked. I'm about to finish my post, but in my tiredness I erase the whole thing.

Don't you just hate it when you do something that stupid, at a very very late hour? Ah well -- the day was charmed in so many ways. We can forgive the trivial mishaps, when so much good comes our way.