And how does your heart feel today? There is so much horrible stuff going on right now in the greater world out there beyond the farmette lands, that it feels unreal that I should think, feel, and write about my life as a grandmother of three and soon to be four magnificent grandchildren. But I will do it anyway because this is where the good stuff happens. It's where joy and beauty reign.
Even though, I have to admit it, it's a tough day for Gogs. After five weeks of intense time with Snowdrop and Sparrow, where they have spent a significant part of every day here at the farmhouse, we have to now cut off those visits -- all those hugs, snuggles, games, meals -- all of that comes to an abrupt end. The sitters, who have been waiting patiently in the wings, have been promised a return to childcare duties starting tomorrow. And they are magnificent at their job and they are needed, because the young couple cannot maintain total isolation 100% of the time, especially if Snowdrop returns to in-person learning in a few weeks.
Thus today is my last day with the kids for, well, let's not speculate on how long. Let's hope for not terribly long. Because, well, because the farmette is waiting for them, already feeling the pain of the emptiness that comes with their absence.
We wake up early to a foggy day.
More prettiness out there! (But I do miss the sunshine.)
Half the cheepers -- the younger lot -- decide to finally venture out and test the winter waters. Or rather snow. Which they hate. Their claws are not clad in warm footwear.
The older girls, wiser by many years, stay in the barn.
Breakfast. I give Ed a break. No photo. He'll be my one human contact for a long time. May as well give him peace and quiet during today's morning meal.
And then the kids come over. It's hard not to think, and write, in terms of lasts. But it is a last. For a while.
Snowdrop knows that change is imminent. Her play is different today (and therefore so is his). She alternates between boisterousness, engaging Ed in a balloon game (with many rules!)...
And later, in a dress up talent show, with Sparrow, who is shy about it, but loses his timidity entirely when she coaxes him into laughter.
Then, in other moments, she just wants to snuggle and read passages of December's favorite books and explain to me the virtues of having a Barbie with purple hair...
Too, we settle in to draw a little, and definitely (at the request of both kids actually) watch a couple of episodes of Olivia (each one is only ten minutes long). You wouldn't guess it by looking at this photo of the captive audience, but Olivia is pretty funny.
Toward the end, I tell her that she should consider taking any toy that she may want to have at home. She pauses and thinks about the implications of it. I reassure her that we've done this before, that it will be fine. She accepts it, stopping only to write on the frost of the screen porch door as we leave. (Mine is the I love you. Hers is the rest, Sparrow works hard on adding an S, for Sparrow.)
How I do love my grandchildren! And yes, I know I am the lucky Gogs. I had them in my home for five weeks. I know that. It makes for an abrupt end, but I'll never forget how fortunate I was to be handed this month of Snowdrop and Sparrow (and not too infrequently -- their parents). Not being able to spend regular old hangout time with my Chicago younger daughter and her family is that more bitter side to the sweetness of this complicated month.
In the evening Ed and I ski. It's therapeutic. With so much going on, with the sudden end to an extraordinarily busy period in my life, I need to glide, to take in the winter loveliness, to feel at one with the world out there.
And I do.
Our evening friends -- the only friends we see regularly these days:
And home again.
I try not to look at all the things that remind me of the presence of kids here (everything!). I reheat leftovers and here's a novel thing: I take out a bag of frozen veggies and throw it into the mix. I decided to work through the bags of frozen produce I purchased in early March, unsure then about the future of our food supply, about the virus, about safe grocery shopping. A sign of hope: use up the freezer stuff. We wont be needing it. (Don't prove me wrong!)
I finish supper with Primrose in Chicago. A child's voice. Such a welcome thing!
And Snowdrop calls. Not because she needs to connect so soon, but because she has learned to use her mom's phone surreptitiously and to click on my number.
Evening quiet. We're used to that. It's the daytime quiet that will feel way off..
