It was utterly freezing this morning. We'd expected an Arctic snap, but I still felt whipped by the cold when I stepped outside to feed the animals. Plenty of sunshine, but bitter cold.
It's odd how inconsistent these January days are. Mild, then biting cold, then mild again, but only for a day. And still no snow.
(breakfast)
My mornings are equally inconsistent. Lots of family, then lots of mom, then today, where I put it all aside and spend the entire morning losing myself in a book. Even as tomorrow I have lots of mom stuff, then the day after -- lots of family, and then back to mom. It's as if I can't really pace myself. I do not control my time. Not on most mornings. Just this morning.
Predictability comes in the afternoon, with me picking up the kids -- first Sparrow, who always rushes over with a grin and with his racoon, shouting out bye to everyone, except that it sounds like "guy," but it's all so cute that we all just smile and smile. Then he and I climb the stairs to get Snowdrop and the little guy is feeling so stable these days that he no longer looks terrified when she runs over to hug him and pull him along to wherever she'd been working or drawing.
At the farmhouse, Sparrow still puts up with endless chapters from her book of the moment. Right now, we're plowing through the Just Grace books, which are lively and fun (though I would edit their punctuation: not enough of it for a smooth read out loud!). What grandmother would not like Grace, whose "small super power" is that she feels empathy?
We interrupt these with occasional Maisy books for the little guy, who appears to seamlessly bounce between listening to elementary school books and ones that are barely toddler material. For that matter, so does Snowdrop, who puts up with these Maisy interruptions without protest.
During these reading sessions, Snowdrop always eats a bowlful of fruit and Sparrow eats none of it. It's Graham Crackers all the way for him. If he's feeling open minded, he'll accept cheddar bunnies. Once, yesterday, he took two slices of mandarin, but I'm sure it was more for show than for any pleasure the fruit may have given him. His resistance to fresh and honest is becoming legendary.
It's an off day where Snowdrop does not tell a story. She is on a "super power pig" wave, ever since she sketched flyers to keep a pig toy I threatened to give to Goodwill because I thought it was useless for us. (She disagreed.) The other day she asked me to describe a pig tail and when I told her it was curly, she took that to the highest level by drawing the most adorable pigs with tails that curl all the way up to the clouds. The girl always imagines on the large scale.
Play time today is affectionate...
("Sparrow, hugging from the back isn't always the most comfortable...")
("let's try this instead...")
... though ultimately each kid gravitates to her or his own: he navigates a train of his creation, she struggles with a rubiks cube type game with penguins.
The kids leave a little earlier today and you wont be surprised to learn that I merely slide back into my own book reading. It's not the story line that grabs me, it's the author's use of language to shape characters. I can't get enough of it.
Which means our supper is going to be a low effort thing tonight. CSA spinach, Henny eggs (she's the only one laying), a slice of smoked salmon and a half a yam each. And a quilt, on the couch.
It's odd how inconsistent these January days are. Mild, then biting cold, then mild again, but only for a day. And still no snow.
(breakfast)
My mornings are equally inconsistent. Lots of family, then lots of mom, then today, where I put it all aside and spend the entire morning losing myself in a book. Even as tomorrow I have lots of mom stuff, then the day after -- lots of family, and then back to mom. It's as if I can't really pace myself. I do not control my time. Not on most mornings. Just this morning.
Predictability comes in the afternoon, with me picking up the kids -- first Sparrow, who always rushes over with a grin and with his racoon, shouting out bye to everyone, except that it sounds like "guy," but it's all so cute that we all just smile and smile. Then he and I climb the stairs to get Snowdrop and the little guy is feeling so stable these days that he no longer looks terrified when she runs over to hug him and pull him along to wherever she'd been working or drawing.
At the farmhouse, Sparrow still puts up with endless chapters from her book of the moment. Right now, we're plowing through the Just Grace books, which are lively and fun (though I would edit their punctuation: not enough of it for a smooth read out loud!). What grandmother would not like Grace, whose "small super power" is that she feels empathy?
We interrupt these with occasional Maisy books for the little guy, who appears to seamlessly bounce between listening to elementary school books and ones that are barely toddler material. For that matter, so does Snowdrop, who puts up with these Maisy interruptions without protest.
During these reading sessions, Snowdrop always eats a bowlful of fruit and Sparrow eats none of it. It's Graham Crackers all the way for him. If he's feeling open minded, he'll accept cheddar bunnies. Once, yesterday, he took two slices of mandarin, but I'm sure it was more for show than for any pleasure the fruit may have given him. His resistance to fresh and honest is becoming legendary.
It's an off day where Snowdrop does not tell a story. She is on a "super power pig" wave, ever since she sketched flyers to keep a pig toy I threatened to give to Goodwill because I thought it was useless for us. (She disagreed.) The other day she asked me to describe a pig tail and when I told her it was curly, she took that to the highest level by drawing the most adorable pigs with tails that curl all the way up to the clouds. The girl always imagines on the large scale.
Play time today is affectionate...
("Sparrow, hugging from the back isn't always the most comfortable...")
("let's try this instead...")
... though ultimately each kid gravitates to her or his own: he navigates a train of his creation, she struggles with a rubiks cube type game with penguins.
The kids leave a little earlier today and you wont be surprised to learn that I merely slide back into my own book reading. It's not the story line that grabs me, it's the author's use of language to shape characters. I can't get enough of it.
Which means our supper is going to be a low effort thing tonight. CSA spinach, Henny eggs (she's the only one laying), a slice of smoked salmon and a half a yam each. And a quilt, on the couch.
