Camp schedule (we are talking about Grandma Camp, here at the farmette) takes some getting used to. The funny thing is that because camp is relatively short in duration, by the time you click into this new routine, we pack up the bags and the kids return home.
Morning. I need to be up before the kids of course. Cats to feed, stuff to prepare. No time for garden stuff this week. One look, just after sunrise, to make sure it's still there...
That's it.
It took some coaxing to get the girls to stay in bed until 7. New place, new bed situation, closed doors, movements downstairs -- like I said, it takes getting used to.
Finally. Up and going! Primrose has fond memories of baking blueberry muffins with me and so this is what we do. Some scant breakfast, followed by baking.
Oh-oh, the little one discovered where I stash the baby tomatoes. Sungolds are her favorite. I have sungolds!
And because it is Sunday, I'm not yet fully in charge. The parents of the two girls come over and we all make our way to the local young family's house for brunch. With the cousins and aunts and uncles and moms and dads.
Just before noon, Snowdrop has to break away as her Girl Scout troop is taking part in the town's Good Neighbor parade. We all head out to watch, thinking it to be some small deal with local kids having fun. Turns out it's a big deal. With firetrucks and tractors and marching bands and acrobatics and local businesses sponsoring floats. And here's something I hadn't realized. Most of the parade participants hand out candy to the parade viewers.
I mean, lots of candy!
(Here's our Girl Scout!)
By the time all the floats and marchers and twirlers and scouts have marched by, the curbside kids had collected an enormous amount of candy.
(makes you want to break into a dance!)
The parade's over. The Chicago parents, along with Juniper (who is too young for a week away at camp) drive back to Chicago and I am left with the three big ones (Snowdrop, Primrose and Sparrow) to make something of this day. Well, Snowdrop is still caught up with her parade obligations so it's just me and the two dancers. They have an inspired idea that we should fill a pinada with all their collected candies. I give this some thought. I mean, why stuff a pinada with candy that's already in their sweaty little hands (did I tell you it's beastly hot today?)?
On the other hand, they are so enthused by the idea that I give in. We shop for a pinada, and I insist, too, that w stop at a Starbucks counter so that I can spark up my energies with a tall cup of coffee. Here, too, I get roped into a treat.
Because it is so very very hot, once we are reunited with the rest of the local young family, we decide to head straight for the neighborhood pool (where again I am told that they will all absolutely starve unless I let them have a treat)...
I do get a chance to exhale for a few minutes. The pool has a good lifeguard staff at all times and so I can sit back while the kids do their thing. And they, of course, work up an appetite, which is good, because it really is just about dinnertime.
We go downtown along with parents and Sandpiper for a supper at Butterbird. This is a new place in Madison run by the chef couple who own and manage Harvey House -- a place so posh that I have yet to set foot in it. Butterbird is all about family informality. And chicken. And fantastic veggie salads. And the Claw. And a photo booth.
I liked everything about it...
... except for the Claw. You know what that is, right? One of those machines which swallows your dollar and you get to navigate a big claw and guide it to a stuffie = your prize. Except that the thing never wraps its slippery fist around anything at all and you always walk away thinking -- well now, this is a rip off! No one ever wins at the Claw.
But the food is yummy and the kids finished off their supper here, at the bar, waiting for...
... no, not their alcoholic beverages, but for their softserve ice cream cones.
At the farmhouse again, Primrose, alone now, opts to play for a while, and we do also stuff the pinada, before she and I dive down into some serious pre-bedtime reading.
Tomorrow, two things of note happen. Ed takes off at dawn for his sailing adventure, at the same time that Grandma Camp swings into its full schedule of activities. It's a strange time where at once the farmhouse will be so full of children's voices and yet, I'll know it to be very empty here. Ed may be gone not long at all, or he may be gone quite a while, depending. It is so rare to be here without him. He and I are not tied at the hip. I'm away on my own a good five or six or seven weeks out of the year, when travel pulls me in all corners of the world. Ed, on the other hand, can go for many years with spending not a single night away. So when he does leave, the place is like a shell of its robust pulsating self. Cross your fingers that nothing breaks in his absence because guess what -- I wont know how to fix it!
Good night on this hot Sunday!
with love...
