Let's talk numbers.
I wake up this morning to a big chill. High of 9F (-13C). And it's not going to get any higher than that. Stuck at 9. Which is 20 degrees warmer than tonight's temps: we'll be going down to -11F (-24C) tonight. Which is cold, even for Madison. Add to it a gusty wind and we're talking a windchill of -30F (-35C). That's painful. I mean, we've been there before. This is no record for us. Still, no one likes to tread down that frigid path.
The cats are wise. All eight spend the night in the sheep shed. Yes, eight. Six sheep shed cats plus the two little ones. The young newcomers are still unsure of what's what. When I come in to feed them this morning, they leap up and out the cat door. I imagine they'll get used to our coming and goings.
Breakfast.
On my (mental) list for the grocery store, I have listed the usual flowers. I buy some every week -- whatever is cheap and lovely. Of course, picking up anything the day before Valentine's Day is a challenge -- not for want of bouquets, but because everything is suddenly not cheap. Nonetheless, Ed will have wanted me to get a bunch of something nice and the grocery store's nicest selection is in the roses.
They are charging $19 for two dozen. This I view as an unnecessary extravagance. I'm sure it's targeting the guy shopper who wants to appear over the top generous to his girlfriend/spouse/partner (forgive the gendered pigeon holing here -- I'm just making guesses now). Me, I can't fit 24 roses into my little pitcher. I would prefer to spend $12 (of Ed's money -- remember, it's his gift) for 12. But, I live in a land where less is most often not viewed as more.
(twelve roses fit perfectly!)
In the afternoon, I pick up the kids in my usual way -- first Sparrow, then up the steep stairs to get Snowdrop. On Thursdays, I always run into the grandparents of the girl's classmate, their to pick up their four year old granddaughter. They always ask me the same thing: "you look after both?" and "every day??" I know they feel like they ought to do more than just Thursdays. And their grandkids are way past the age where you have to carry them up and down flights of stairs. I tell them bluntly -- I'm 66. I can do this still. (Though I admit, the stairs are tough.) They smile with relief. We're 72, they tell me, as they make their way into the classroom.
Here's how well these two bandits know the lay of the land. As we enter the farmhouse kitchen, I hustle to put stuff in their proper place: jackets here, boots there, backpacks over there. My own jacket - hung here, purse in the corner, phone out. In the two minutes it takes me to do this, Snowdrop raids the cabinet for her beloved bag of potato chips...
... and Sparrow opens the closet where he finds his preferred bag of Annie's cheese puffs.
Yes, they do get healthier snack offerings. But this is their secret indulgence. Their big treat of the day.
Today is dance day. The story? I have no idea. All that I notice is the sweet smile. Snowdrop is the dancer who never forgets to dance with joy.
I wake up this morning to a big chill. High of 9F (-13C). And it's not going to get any higher than that. Stuck at 9. Which is 20 degrees warmer than tonight's temps: we'll be going down to -11F (-24C) tonight. Which is cold, even for Madison. Add to it a gusty wind and we're talking a windchill of -30F (-35C). That's painful. I mean, we've been there before. This is no record for us. Still, no one likes to tread down that frigid path.
The cats are wise. All eight spend the night in the sheep shed. Yes, eight. Six sheep shed cats plus the two little ones. The young newcomers are still unsure of what's what. When I come in to feed them this morning, they leap up and out the cat door. I imagine they'll get used to our coming and goings.
Breakfast.
On my (mental) list for the grocery store, I have listed the usual flowers. I buy some every week -- whatever is cheap and lovely. Of course, picking up anything the day before Valentine's Day is a challenge -- not for want of bouquets, but because everything is suddenly not cheap. Nonetheless, Ed will have wanted me to get a bunch of something nice and the grocery store's nicest selection is in the roses.
They are charging $19 for two dozen. This I view as an unnecessary extravagance. I'm sure it's targeting the guy shopper who wants to appear over the top generous to his girlfriend/spouse/partner (forgive the gendered pigeon holing here -- I'm just making guesses now). Me, I can't fit 24 roses into my little pitcher. I would prefer to spend $12 (of Ed's money -- remember, it's his gift) for 12. But, I live in a land where less is most often not viewed as more.
(twelve roses fit perfectly!)
In the afternoon, I pick up the kids in my usual way -- first Sparrow, then up the steep stairs to get Snowdrop. On Thursdays, I always run into the grandparents of the girl's classmate, their to pick up their four year old granddaughter. They always ask me the same thing: "you look after both?" and "every day??" I know they feel like they ought to do more than just Thursdays. And their grandkids are way past the age where you have to carry them up and down flights of stairs. I tell them bluntly -- I'm 66. I can do this still. (Though I admit, the stairs are tough.) They smile with relief. We're 72, they tell me, as they make their way into the classroom.
Here's how well these two bandits know the lay of the land. As we enter the farmhouse kitchen, I hustle to put stuff in their proper place: jackets here, boots there, backpacks over there. My own jacket - hung here, purse in the corner, phone out. In the two minutes it takes me to do this, Snowdrop raids the cabinet for her beloved bag of potato chips...
... and Sparrow opens the closet where he finds his preferred bag of Annie's cheese puffs.
Yes, they do get healthier snack offerings. But this is their secret indulgence. Their big treat of the day.
Today is dance day. The story? I have no idea. All that I notice is the sweet smile. Snowdrop is the dancer who never forgets to dance with joy.
