Monday

Suddenly the emails piled up. An unbelievable number of back and forths over an unbelievable number of unrelated issues. I feel like I've just returned to the office after a long vacation. 

But you know, it is a pleasant morning nonetheless. Cloudy, sure, but not too cold (not too warm either!). The kind of weather that makes you realize that spring never just barrels in and takes charge. It creeps up, in small steps, testing the landscape, hesitating, retreating when it feels it's not ready. Only in May does it explode with a full blown lushness that is yours for keeps. So, we are just beginning the transition and it is a slow one and I will be patient.

I have bakery treats from Chicago's Floriole for breakfast. This is a welcome change from the usual stuff,  for Ed. For me as well.

And then I lose myself in email responses, and Ed and I do our usual back and forth on articles we may have read in the paper, and I am once again grateful that I live with someone who is flexible in his thinking, and not quick to jump on a bandwagon, on any bandwagon, just because someone somewhere said a few appealing things that fit into one's mental image of the world.

In the early afternoon, we take apart and unclog slow drains in the bathroom. It probably isn't the world's most disgusting job, but it ranks up there, especially when you have two people with bad knees working at it and failing dismally at first, second and third attempts. Still, I have to say, any project with Ed is deeply satisfying. He's just so methodical in his approach, and though he isn't a funny guy, still, he can make me laugh. with his deadpan waggish tone. (After the third try, where we used sticks, snakes and our own fingers to take out all that does not belong in a pipe, he looks at the pool of water in the sink, then at me and says -- I don't think we succeeded, gorgeous. Indeed.)

And in the late afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. 

I'm steering the car up the farmette driveway very slowly. The chickens have chosen this time to scratch in the mud here. One of them has just laid an egg in a nearby box and I pick it up (it's a green one!) to bring it inside. Snowdrop asks me if there's a chance that it has the beginnings of a chick. 

Nope. We don't have a rooster. It's not fertilized.

Are you getting a rooster?

Yes, probably. In June.

And he can fertilize the eggs? How does he do it? With his sperm? Does he have sex with the chickens? How? Just like people?

Ha! Is this the sex education that's being taken out of the school curriculum in many states? Including in Wisconsin? Well I'm not school.

Yes, just like people. He fertilizes the egg with his sperm, and he does this by having sex with the chickens. I then give her some idea of how this takes place.

Okay, take my picture in the tree!

Kids never hang on to a random interest for long.

Inside, as always, I remind her to wash her hands and brush her hair. 

Her hair is getting really long and she never wants to tie it or push it back. By the time her school day is done, her hair... needs a few brush strokes. 

Every child on the planet will have a fantasy about how they want to appear to the world. Tall, fancy, ragged, whatever.  Hers -- to have hair long enough that it touches the floor! -- is whimsical and not realistic. But on the other hand, is there a reason to cut off some inches, when she loves this idea of very long hair so much? That's between her and her parents of course. Me, I'm just always handing her a hairbrush and telling her to comb it out. Under threat of a haircut appointment!

Evening. I cook, Ed rests his knee. He's sure tomorrow it will be all fine. Ever the health optimist. And that's such a good thing!