My daughter's babe isn't due for another week, but everyone says the birth will be ahead of schedule and so we are all tidying up the last details in an attempt to be ready. For me, this means doing anything and everything that needs to be done before Snowdrop arrives for an extended visit.
(the Big Bed)
I work out some kinks in the garden. You cannot tell how the height of some of the plants will affect its neighbors until they're fully grown, at which point you realize the error of your planting and you replant the poor shaded flowers.
(the Lily Bed, which, as you can see, is framed by flowers that are not lilies)
And then the rain comes down and I retreat inside. Breakfast is in the kitchen, It suddenly feels a bit cool outside.
Afterwards, I go over to the sheep shed and start in with good cleansers and a sponge. Why? It's because of the bath tub. The sheep shed is the only place here that has a tub and Snowdrop is not always happy to take a shower. So I scrub Ed's old tub until it sparkles, remembering the last time I did this years ago, on some visit or other when I got it into my head that his work space ought to be as neat and clean as I can make it. I was showing off my scrubbing skills. I did not understand then that Ed really did not care if his shed was in great order. But, I scrubbed then, unnecessarily, for him, and I scrub now, with somewhat greater urgency, for Snowdrop.
(busy bees, inside and out!)
And now comes my Snowdrop pick up. It's cloudy. A storm passed through. I'm wearing a sweater. I know the little girl has been intensely excited since morning about repeating our beach adventure. She even insisted on taking a swimsuit to school, so we wouldn't be without swimming necessities.
She greets me with a big smile, suit in hand. I comment on the weather. Her teacher says -- I tried to tell her...
Snowdrop's face crumbles. The disappointment is profound.
I know these life lessons are important. You cannot have it all. Dreams and wishes are not promises. They're aspirational. Life is full of disappointments. Etc.
But this wish was so small, so full of anticipation and belief that it could happen, because, well, it's the season for it. And I do know that the weather may improve as the day progresses. I think the teacher is waiting for the "life is full of disappointments" speech, but I do not give it. Instead, I snuggle her and tell her -- let's wait a little. Maybe play outside? Let's see what happens.
I'm thinking that with time, she'll appreciate that it really isn't in our hands. That this decision belongs to nature.
She is consoled. We go outside and she plays with her bud: they both swing pretend friends on the playground swings...
And as they play and I chat with the boy's mom, magically, truly magically, the sun comes out. In ten minutes, we climb from 68F (20C) to 73F (23C). Good enough! Snowdrop, the weather gods love you! We're on!
I have no more worries about the quality of the water.
And the little girl is thrilled! A public beach, a little water. Bliss.
I am amused and not all that surprised that once I give her the green light for water play, she doesn't really stay glued to the lake. Her story telling takes her everywhere.
Here's life guard Snwodrop!
Gaga, I'm not a life guard!
Sorry...
We end with the swing. She's getting really good at pumping. I'm not surprised.
At the farmette, Ed shows us the day's pickings: three eggs. We speculate what the color may be for the future eggs of the young chicks.
Maybe pink?
Evening. Ed is biking. I sit on the porch and admire the play of light on the still mostly green flower beds. Can I say it yet again? It's so beautiful!
You can be ready for something and then the unexpected (bad weather?) comes to pass, or you can be ready and the desired event (a birth) drags its little feet. Life is funny that way: it offers its own lovely surprises.
(the Big Bed)
I work out some kinks in the garden. You cannot tell how the height of some of the plants will affect its neighbors until they're fully grown, at which point you realize the error of your planting and you replant the poor shaded flowers.
(the Lily Bed, which, as you can see, is framed by flowers that are not lilies)
And then the rain comes down and I retreat inside. Breakfast is in the kitchen, It suddenly feels a bit cool outside.
Afterwards, I go over to the sheep shed and start in with good cleansers and a sponge. Why? It's because of the bath tub. The sheep shed is the only place here that has a tub and Snowdrop is not always happy to take a shower. So I scrub Ed's old tub until it sparkles, remembering the last time I did this years ago, on some visit or other when I got it into my head that his work space ought to be as neat and clean as I can make it. I was showing off my scrubbing skills. I did not understand then that Ed really did not care if his shed was in great order. But, I scrubbed then, unnecessarily, for him, and I scrub now, with somewhat greater urgency, for Snowdrop.
(busy bees, inside and out!)
And now comes my Snowdrop pick up. It's cloudy. A storm passed through. I'm wearing a sweater. I know the little girl has been intensely excited since morning about repeating our beach adventure. She even insisted on taking a swimsuit to school, so we wouldn't be without swimming necessities.
She greets me with a big smile, suit in hand. I comment on the weather. Her teacher says -- I tried to tell her...
Snowdrop's face crumbles. The disappointment is profound.
I know these life lessons are important. You cannot have it all. Dreams and wishes are not promises. They're aspirational. Life is full of disappointments. Etc.
But this wish was so small, so full of anticipation and belief that it could happen, because, well, it's the season for it. And I do know that the weather may improve as the day progresses. I think the teacher is waiting for the "life is full of disappointments" speech, but I do not give it. Instead, I snuggle her and tell her -- let's wait a little. Maybe play outside? Let's see what happens.
I'm thinking that with time, she'll appreciate that it really isn't in our hands. That this decision belongs to nature.
She is consoled. We go outside and she plays with her bud: they both swing pretend friends on the playground swings...
And as they play and I chat with the boy's mom, magically, truly magically, the sun comes out. In ten minutes, we climb from 68F (20C) to 73F (23C). Good enough! Snowdrop, the weather gods love you! We're on!
I have no more worries about the quality of the water.
And the little girl is thrilled! A public beach, a little water. Bliss.
I am amused and not all that surprised that once I give her the green light for water play, she doesn't really stay glued to the lake. Her story telling takes her everywhere.
Here's life guard Snwodrop!
Gaga, I'm not a life guard!
Sorry...
We end with the swing. She's getting really good at pumping. I'm not surprised.
At the farmette, Ed shows us the day's pickings: three eggs. We speculate what the color may be for the future eggs of the young chicks.
Maybe pink?
Evening. Ed is biking. I sit on the porch and admire the play of light on the still mostly green flower beds. Can I say it yet again? It's so beautiful!
You can be ready for something and then the unexpected (bad weather?) comes to pass, or you can be ready and the desired event (a birth) drags its little feet. Life is funny that way: it offers its own lovely surprises.
