Snowdrop takes a rather sizeable clock to bed with her these days. She gets up when it plays a happy song. It was preset for 7:50 -- her weekend get out of bed time. This morning she comes looking for me, clutching her clock, explaining that it's not get up time yet and we should both wait for it to sing its wake up song. In her room. Since it is five minutes short of the magic hour, I agree -- okay, little one. I'll sleep in your room until it wakes us up!
The chipper little song is transformative: she is up, off and playing. (Only a child would find this to be a comfortable standing position.)
Eventually, I lure her to breakfast. Today she asks for "mouse pancakes." Don't ask. It has to do with a series of chapter books we've been reading about a mouse family.
(Decorating what's left of the pancake...)
Before we leave, I show her a picture that came in of her cousin, Primrose, running into Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus at some Minneapolis shopping venue.
She is tickled by the whole scene, especially since she herself is to go later in the day with her mom and friends in search of the elusive guy with the white beard. (I learn later on that she told him her name, but refused to divulge closely guarded secrets, like what she would like for Christmas. Smart girl. Telling mommy is a far better strategy.)
On our way to the car, I make a mistake: I let her chase after the chickens with the hope of landing another gentle little pat on their backs. As she considers her options, the cheepers gather around her. The thing is, they hadn't been fed yet and they clearly think she is bringing treats. When none are forthcoming, they reason they must search more closely. See how Tomato is arching her neck? Wondering if she is missing something?
Sure enough, one of them (I believe Cupcake) concludes incorrectly that the treat must reside on Snowdrop's dress. A peck at the bead on her sleeve takes Snowdrop by surprise. She never wants to pet or be near a chicken again. Ever.
This too will pass.
I spend the afternoon responding to emails. I am that behind in life!
And in the evening, the young family comes for dinner!
Just two pics -- a predinner moment and a post dinner exhale.
With a big smile.
The chipper little song is transformative: she is up, off and playing. (Only a child would find this to be a comfortable standing position.)
Eventually, I lure her to breakfast. Today she asks for "mouse pancakes." Don't ask. It has to do with a series of chapter books we've been reading about a mouse family.
(Decorating what's left of the pancake...)
Before we leave, I show her a picture that came in of her cousin, Primrose, running into Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus at some Minneapolis shopping venue.
She is tickled by the whole scene, especially since she herself is to go later in the day with her mom and friends in search of the elusive guy with the white beard. (I learn later on that she told him her name, but refused to divulge closely guarded secrets, like what she would like for Christmas. Smart girl. Telling mommy is a far better strategy.)
On our way to the car, I make a mistake: I let her chase after the chickens with the hope of landing another gentle little pat on their backs. As she considers her options, the cheepers gather around her. The thing is, they hadn't been fed yet and they clearly think she is bringing treats. When none are forthcoming, they reason they must search more closely. See how Tomato is arching her neck? Wondering if she is missing something?
Sure enough, one of them (I believe Cupcake) concludes incorrectly that the treat must reside on Snowdrop's dress. A peck at the bead on her sleeve takes Snowdrop by surprise. She never wants to pet or be near a chicken again. Ever.
This too will pass.
I spend the afternoon responding to emails. I am that behind in life!
And in the evening, the young family comes for dinner!
Just two pics -- a predinner moment and a post dinner exhale.
With a big smile.