How I love this long day of endless light! I look forward to it, I relish it, I would write poems about it were I talented enough to do so.
But every once in a while, this theoretically very long day plays tricks on us. Take today: in the late afternoon, I say to Snowdrop: hurry up! I have to take you home now. Put on your shoes and lets go! It's raining a bit. We'll make a run for it.
She asks -- grandma, can I wear my jacket and summer scarf?
Summer scarf? Oh, that one! (I smile: I bought it across the ocean in a place where people do indeed wear scarves even during the summer.)
And can I wear my cap? The one with pink hearts?
When we go out, she looks like this:
Ah, the first day of summer!!
It's not that it's exactly cold outside. (But nor is it warm.) There is just something about the constancy of clouds and rain that makes you want to hide in the safety of a jacket and a cap. And here's the irony behind Snowdrop's choice: in the winter, she always insists on taking off all outerwear when in the car seat. But Snowdrop, the car is still cold ! -- I'll say. But, she wants to be free and unencumbered.
Don't you want to take it all off? -- I ask her on this June day, as I slide her into her car seat.
No -- she says, simply, emphatically. No.
Welcome to the summer season.
I suppose all this dampness doesn't really matter. I am so terribly busy these days that weather thoughts slip to the sidelines. Sure, it would be a lot more pleasant if our morning breakfast had streaks of sunshine coming in from the eastern corner, but on the other hand, the poor weather keeps the construction crews away and so we enjoy a quiet meal outside today.
(The garden is waiting. It's tough to find bursts of color. Most plant buds are shut tight, holding out for the sun's warm rays. Here's an exception.)
Immediately after breakfast the rush to get things done today begins. We're at Walmart. Ed needs shorts. I need toothpicks (for an art project). My mom needs chairs. We could always use some more Klarbrunn (sparkling water). Done!
My mom's move details come next. Doctor choices, furniture issues, dates, priorities. Okay, done (for now)!
I'm off to a friend's house then. I actually haven't seen her (correct me if I'm wrong, said friend) in a dozen years, but the dear soul read about my chaotic search for a cheap double stroller on Ocean and offered me hers. (Thank you!) So I pick it up. And while I'm doing this, I stand there thinking -- why are we all so damn busy all the time?
And then comes a moment of quiet: I go for my visit with Sparrow, who is, during the day (thus far), a very very chill baby. (Baby stripes on mommy stripes!)
The parents run errands, he and I listen to music, just in case he really does want to become a conductor later in life (see yesterday's post).
Or maybe a yoddler?
I'm off again: to the bakery to pick up pains au chocolat for a Snowdrop snack and now, finally, I am at her school where I find her engrossed in rolling out pink play doh with her best school pal... who is, unsurprisingly, very reluctant to see her friend take off (the girl's day at "camp" is longer than Snowdrop's). There are many hugs before I feel I can take a very tired Snowdrop out of the classroom.
And now here's a big admission on my part: even though I promised Snowdrop that there would be an art project all set and ready for her -- one that we talked about for a while now, where we make stick people out of pine cones and toothpicks -- I know this about myself: I am horrible at executing kid crafts. Oh, I have plenty of ideas, but the final product is always rather pained.
And sure enough, our pinecone family ends us having just one member and she should be thankful for her arms and legs because it wasn't a given that they would stay attached for more than ten seconds.
I am so happy when Snowdrop is ready to move on to something else.
Summer solstice. A playful day, a ridiculously merry day, a summer's day. Welcome, summer.
But every once in a while, this theoretically very long day plays tricks on us. Take today: in the late afternoon, I say to Snowdrop: hurry up! I have to take you home now. Put on your shoes and lets go! It's raining a bit. We'll make a run for it.
She asks -- grandma, can I wear my jacket and summer scarf?
Summer scarf? Oh, that one! (I smile: I bought it across the ocean in a place where people do indeed wear scarves even during the summer.)
And can I wear my cap? The one with pink hearts?
When we go out, she looks like this:
Ah, the first day of summer!!
It's not that it's exactly cold outside. (But nor is it warm.) There is just something about the constancy of clouds and rain that makes you want to hide in the safety of a jacket and a cap. And here's the irony behind Snowdrop's choice: in the winter, she always insists on taking off all outerwear when in the car seat. But Snowdrop, the car is still cold ! -- I'll say. But, she wants to be free and unencumbered.
Don't you want to take it all off? -- I ask her on this June day, as I slide her into her car seat.
No -- she says, simply, emphatically. No.
Welcome to the summer season.
I suppose all this dampness doesn't really matter. I am so terribly busy these days that weather thoughts slip to the sidelines. Sure, it would be a lot more pleasant if our morning breakfast had streaks of sunshine coming in from the eastern corner, but on the other hand, the poor weather keeps the construction crews away and so we enjoy a quiet meal outside today.
(The garden is waiting. It's tough to find bursts of color. Most plant buds are shut tight, holding out for the sun's warm rays. Here's an exception.)
Immediately after breakfast the rush to get things done today begins. We're at Walmart. Ed needs shorts. I need toothpicks (for an art project). My mom needs chairs. We could always use some more Klarbrunn (sparkling water). Done!
My mom's move details come next. Doctor choices, furniture issues, dates, priorities. Okay, done (for now)!
I'm off to a friend's house then. I actually haven't seen her (correct me if I'm wrong, said friend) in a dozen years, but the dear soul read about my chaotic search for a cheap double stroller on Ocean and offered me hers. (Thank you!) So I pick it up. And while I'm doing this, I stand there thinking -- why are we all so damn busy all the time?
And then comes a moment of quiet: I go for my visit with Sparrow, who is, during the day (thus far), a very very chill baby. (Baby stripes on mommy stripes!)
The parents run errands, he and I listen to music, just in case he really does want to become a conductor later in life (see yesterday's post).
Or maybe a yoddler?
I'm off again: to the bakery to pick up pains au chocolat for a Snowdrop snack and now, finally, I am at her school where I find her engrossed in rolling out pink play doh with her best school pal... who is, unsurprisingly, very reluctant to see her friend take off (the girl's day at "camp" is longer than Snowdrop's). There are many hugs before I feel I can take a very tired Snowdrop out of the classroom.
And now here's a big admission on my part: even though I promised Snowdrop that there would be an art project all set and ready for her -- one that we talked about for a while now, where we make stick people out of pine cones and toothpicks -- I know this about myself: I am horrible at executing kid crafts. Oh, I have plenty of ideas, but the final product is always rather pained.
And sure enough, our pinecone family ends us having just one member and she should be thankful for her arms and legs because it wasn't a given that they would stay attached for more than ten seconds.
I am so happy when Snowdrop is ready to move on to something else.
Summer solstice. A playful day, a ridiculously merry day, a summer's day. Welcome, summer.
