We all have images of what is a perfect weather day. Snowdrop still claims that a snowy winter day is her idea of heaven. Me, I like this day. It feels a little like spring, or maybe early autumn: partly cloudy and mild. A cool night, a lightly warm day. Somewhere in the 70s F (low 20s C). Really, just exactly right.
The morning work in the garden is less taxing now. Fewer lilies to snip. Fewer weeds invading the flower beds.
Breakfast is, therefore, more leisurely.
We've stopped thinking big thoughts about the garden, concentrating, instead on little goals, like hunting down cheeper eggs (two of the girls for sure are hiding their eggs), or thinking of ways to keep the deer from our tomato patch (not too successful there either: the minute a tomato shows signs of ripening, the deer bite into it). The flowers are still on my mind, but I'm less concerned about their performance. They've done their bit to make our summer happier. If they show signs of retreat, so be it.
The kids, come as always, charged with enthusiastic energy.
Ed takes us on an egg hunt, even as we know this is getting to be a futile endeavor. But of course, I like it anyway: we're walking farmette lands on a beautiful day. What could be better?!
Inside, we do some art.
Snowdrop is once more hyper critical of her work product. She doesn't like the shirt she drew. Nor the cow. She crumbles the paper and pronounces that she does not know how to draw. It's no use telling her otherwise. She has learned to distrust Gaga's positivity, even when it's of the type you're supposed to dish out -- "I like the way you added a bright color to that shirt." She tunes it out.
Nonetheless, there is something that she still loves to do: climb on my lap and join in (and eventually seize control over) my own doodles, making improvements, filling in designs and colors, adding a story line. It's a good moment to do a timed-release selfie!
Just before supper, Ed nudges me to get active: want to go out for a bike ride? Just in the neighborhood...
It's a great idea. A half hour loop -- past prairies, through woodland, past a pig farm and fields of corn and soy and finally through the development that has sprung up so quickly next to us. No camera. No iPhone. Nothing but the wind, against my back, then in my face.
And after supper? A visit with Primrose!
She is back in school now -- a small, carefully monitored setting. I ask her mom if she feels relief in regaining work time. She laughs: four and a half months of juggling has left its mark. When is it really going to feel normal for parents? For anyone? Not one event will accomplish that. Time. It will take time.
Evening. Our quiet moment. Popcorn. Glass of wine, a show, fighting sleep, resisting the compulsion to read one more thing, to reach for the ice cream, to do all those indulgent things that one does at the end of a day. Windows are wide open, breezes are so cool! Remarkable! So much trouble out there and yet, on a most perfect summer evening, you can almost pretend that these are the best of times. Almost.
The morning work in the garden is less taxing now. Fewer lilies to snip. Fewer weeds invading the flower beds.
Breakfast is, therefore, more leisurely.
We've stopped thinking big thoughts about the garden, concentrating, instead on little goals, like hunting down cheeper eggs (two of the girls for sure are hiding their eggs), or thinking of ways to keep the deer from our tomato patch (not too successful there either: the minute a tomato shows signs of ripening, the deer bite into it). The flowers are still on my mind, but I'm less concerned about their performance. They've done their bit to make our summer happier. If they show signs of retreat, so be it.
The kids, come as always, charged with enthusiastic energy.
Ed takes us on an egg hunt, even as we know this is getting to be a futile endeavor. But of course, I like it anyway: we're walking farmette lands on a beautiful day. What could be better?!
Inside, we do some art.
Snowdrop is once more hyper critical of her work product. She doesn't like the shirt she drew. Nor the cow. She crumbles the paper and pronounces that she does not know how to draw. It's no use telling her otherwise. She has learned to distrust Gaga's positivity, even when it's of the type you're supposed to dish out -- "I like the way you added a bright color to that shirt." She tunes it out.
Nonetheless, there is something that she still loves to do: climb on my lap and join in (and eventually seize control over) my own doodles, making improvements, filling in designs and colors, adding a story line. It's a good moment to do a timed-release selfie!
Just before supper, Ed nudges me to get active: want to go out for a bike ride? Just in the neighborhood...
It's a great idea. A half hour loop -- past prairies, through woodland, past a pig farm and fields of corn and soy and finally through the development that has sprung up so quickly next to us. No camera. No iPhone. Nothing but the wind, against my back, then in my face.
And after supper? A visit with Primrose!
She is back in school now -- a small, carefully monitored setting. I ask her mom if she feels relief in regaining work time. She laughs: four and a half months of juggling has left its mark. When is it really going to feel normal for parents? For anyone? Not one event will accomplish that. Time. It will take time.
Evening. Our quiet moment. Popcorn. Glass of wine, a show, fighting sleep, resisting the compulsion to read one more thing, to reach for the ice cream, to do all those indulgent things that one does at the end of a day. Windows are wide open, breezes are so cool! Remarkable! So much trouble out there and yet, on a most perfect summer evening, you can almost pretend that these are the best of times. Almost.
