weekend at the farmhouse: the last day

Probably the best things you will do in your life are the ones that will have required your full energies and dedicated passion. Maybe a book you wrote or... maybe a weekend with a visiting grandchild? 

Primrose was here until this afternoon and at three, she is an easy child to care for. She'll let you squeak by with not a huge amount of effort. But why go that route? Why not put your mind and soul into the project? Even if it leaves you tossing at night just to review the possibilities for the next day and the one after. You can make up for the sleep later. You can't make up for a weekend with a three year old. They turn four and then five and then six very quickly.

 

This morning is gorgeous. Splendid sunshine and those pre-fall temperatures we love so much: cool mornings and glowing afternoons. As every morning here, Primrose wakes at 7:10. it's as if she has an internal clock that tells her this is it! Never mind that she went to bed more than an hour past her bedtime! 

Grandma! -- I hear her call, I answer, but I am downstairs finishing small chores so I wait to enter her room. And when I do, she shoos me away. I'm not done reading my books! -- she tells me.

Oh, I see. Haven't gotten to the Steinbeck yet. I step back, but she shuts her book abruptly and announces -- "I'm done!" We go downstairs.

And eat breakfast. At first she wants it on the porch, but either the cool air or the presence of Dance causes her to change her vote.

And then comes art. She is really serious about her art. This is when you can leave her alone, because she'll tell you when she is working hard at something that she "needs her space." (Here, she is painting a fireworks show...)

But mostly, she wants you there and will rope you easily into her pretend games. School figures high on her list. 

As usual, I like to play the rebellious child or the bossy teacher. I'm not sure she would have cast me in those roles, but hey, posing mini challenges along her play path to see how she handles them is part of what being a grandma is all about.

Though once again she is reluctant to play outside (all the good stuff is indoors!), she is quite happy to be offered the wading pool. I'd brought it onto the porch (bug free!) and filled it with lukewarm water. Yes, she stays in it, but what she likes most is to step out and carry the water elsewhere. In a watering can to a plant, in a tea cup (and another and another and another) to me.

And we eat lunch -- a hodgepodge of foods she appears to love. And read books. Always the books...

And too soon after the parents arrive. She is overjoyed to see them. Excited perhaps by the fact that yes, she survived! Reporting on everything. And as we step out -- she to face the trip back to Chicago, me, for a meetup with the older family by the lake -- she throws out one more missive: grandma, the blueberry muffins are flying up above! Her parents look at me quizzically. And inside joke, I tell them. When you spend three days and nights together, these kinds of special moments stand out.

(This pic is snapped by my younger girl, just at the time of leaving...)

 

 

The rest of my afternoon is spent on a big yellow duck. 

My older girl had promised her kids that she would someday take them for a ride on the paddle boat at Lake Wingra. This paddle boat:

I was invited to paddle along. It's a terrific activity for early fall! The wind is not too strong (try paddling against a hefty breeze), the kids are easily enchanted. 

I can now proudly say that I have in my life ridden in a yellow duck. As have they:

Ice cream follows.

There is a long line at the nearby Chocolate Shoppe, seeming to be all the longer because people are (appropriately) socially distancing. It gives you time to study the flavors. (Why are there so many flavors??)

And of course, in the end, the kids just want chocolate.

Evening at the farmhouse: weirdly quiet. Dance, the cat comes in and pesters me incessantly to pet her, as in wanting that confirmation that, despite being locked out of my life for the weekend she still matters. I complain to Ed that she is insatiable, that I have things to do. 

You could pet her 70% of the time and work on your stuff 30%, he suggests. Dance takes up way less of your time than your grandkids do.

Well that's true! They set my days and oftentimes they enter my thinking space at night. And isn't that just grand!