a disagreeable Monday morning

You know that something is up when you wake to sunshine (after weeks and weeks of dull gray skies) and feel no excitement. (True, that sunny interval was scheduled to last only for two hours and it did just that, but I turned my back on it and refused to stir.)

Damn. I feel sick.

Well what a surprise. Snowdrop had her bout with this, her mommy had her bout with it as well. So now it seems only the men are spared. A gendered bug that hits right at the stomach.

But but -- it's not in the plan for this week or for today! I have to shop for my 17 people dinner party tomorrow!

You know how some 20% of the people engage in conversations with themselves? I engaged in one this morning:
I feel too spent to get up!
Yes, but this will pass. Snowdrop's bug passed quickly enough.
How can you invite people to your house if you have a bug that may zap them as well? If everyone gets sick the next day they'll think I poisoned them!
But I'll be fine tomorrow!
Maybe. I really have no idea.

This continued as I went in and out of that dozy state and by the time I fully roused myself I noted three things: the sun was gone, the hour for shopping had long passed, and finally -- yes, I was feeling a tad better. But doubts about tomorrow festered and so I withdrew my dinner hosting offer.

Damn these stupid bugs.

Breakfast is a modest affair. In the kitchen no less.






I do feel fine enough to look after Snowdrop (who nearly for sure was the source of this downturn) and so I tell her parents that I am up and ready to bring her to the farmhouse.

It's a cold and gray day (so two strikes against it), but she is happy to be out and about...






... even as I urge her at the farmette to hustle indoors. She may not feel cold, but I am in no mood to play outside.

At the farmhouse, she, rather predictably, goes straight for the tea set...






... and luckily, she picks up my quiet cues and spends a good bit of time drawing and then reading books. She'd found some old flap books from her younger years. She likes to remind herself how fun it was to be a wee one. With age come all those new responsibilities!






I add some new books to her repertoire and she likes those too...






Of course, Snowdrop also has her energetic side.






She can outrun me in the house even when I'm feeling peppy (and I am not feeling peppy today).






This is when I tell her we both need a nap.

She sleeps, I rest.

And then it is near evening. She eats just about her favorite (at the moment) snack -- corn. Ed comes from the sheep shed to join us. Here are three photos of our time at the kitchen table:

Ahah's coming!






Hi ahah...






Now let's play!






And then it's back to the tea game...
(She pours, she hands out cakes and tells us -- here you go, guys!)






Ed, as usual, searches her lunch bag for leftovers. Blueberries!






We finish off with a sip of "tea."






Me, I could use some real tea. I am happy that Snowdrop's back to being bouncy and strong. I'm a little less bouncy but much stronger. Most certainly, I'm looking forward to a less disagreeable Tuesday morning.

Sunday

The job of thoroughly spiffing up the farmhouse is never really enormous because the farmhouse isn't enormous. Two bedrooms, one bathroom. I mean, please. By American standards that's small.

But two things conspired to make me want to not miss a single dusty corner: I'd been away and so there is a backlog of cleaning that needs to be done, and secondly, I am hosting a rather big dinner crowd this coming Tuesday (Ed's work friends and visitors and partners and various sundry others) and so I may as well get things in order now.

So we cleaned the house. Typically I shoo Ed away from partnership in this endeavor but today I took all the help I could get. We worked our tails off. All morning long.

Breakfast. Very late. Very very late. (Ed, attempting to hide from the camera.)







Right after the noon hour, the following back and forth began:
do you want to go skiing?
Sure, just not right now.

(a bit later)

Are we ready to ski?
What do you think?
It's really gray outside.

(a bit later)

So should we go out or not?
So much ice! It wont be fun!
I agree.

We went round like this for several hours until finally, one of us, I can't remember which one, finally said -- let's go.


I can't say it was the best run we've ever had. It was gray. It was icy. And we followed one of our least favorite local trails (but one that we knew would have some snow).

Perhaps the loveliest moment came when a flock of geese took off from the unfrozen creek. (And I am not even a huge fan of all the geese that have set up year round residence in Madison. They're mean.)






Still, it was a well spent hour. I really hope it's not the last skiing moment we'll have this winter.


It's Sunday and so Snowdrop and her family eat dinner with us at the farmhouse. Oh, oops! Not "with us." Ed is away at a dinner with his week-long work visitors. So just with me.


Perhaps predictably, Snowdrop goes to her tea party table...






She wants us to play with her, but we're hanging in the kitchen. Solution: bring the tea party to the kitchen! Snowdrop is right on it!






Gaga, you sit there!






Ah, an evening with Snowdrop, being her lovely spunky self...






... An evening that turns colorful and bright. Like the twinkly lights outside, only better.

Saturday

I went out four times today.

The first time I was scantily dressed (I mean really scantily dressed: think undershirt and shorts). I had been on my way to the shower when I saw this:





For whatever chicken reason, the girls were braving the snow -- something they almost never do -- to come up to the garage and farmhouse. They deserved a reward for their bravery and so I ran out to give them some bread and to pour hot water into the bowl to melt the ice in it.

The second time out was immediately after (I at least got smart and threw on Ed's jacket). You'll note perhaps that only three of the cheepers were in the parade to the house. Java seemed frozen in her spot by the sheep shed. She could not, would not move. She so reminded me of the day I got stuck up in the Canadian Rockies, terrified of the slipping rocks beneath me and especially of the cliff from which I would surely tumble down if I lost my footing! I set out to rescue Java in much the same way Ed set out to rescue me up there on the mountain, only Java wasn't wearing a backpack.

She was very grateful.


It took me all of breakfast to shed the chill from being out and about.






It's not that it is especially cold. Upper 20sF (just below 0C). But we continue to forge ahead without sunshine and I am boycotting the great outdoors until I see some golden light again.


But then there was that third time out. We are low on our supply of my favorite after dinner chocolate (Ghirardelli's dark with blackberry essence) and only one place that I know of (a big box store) carries it. Time to restock.

As we step out into the mud room, I ask Ed -- what's that squawking noise? I think its just outside...
I don't know... a cheeper maybe?

Sure enough -- Java is in the garage groaning her head off at being left behind, as the other girls have long returned to the barn. (She just cannot handle the snow.)

I carry her sad and frightened chicken self back to the others.






As we drive home from the big box store, we stop to take a brief walk in our local county park. And here's a surprise -- even though the forests have more bare spots than snow, the fields and meadows surely have enough for a ski run! Wonderful news! Tomorrow we shall ski! (Unless the absence of sunshine again causes me to pout and hide.)





And the fourth venture out? That was driven by necessity (no planned farmhouse diner for tonight) and friendship (Ed's buddy invited us out).


It's tough to motivate yourself to step out of your comfort zone (home!), especially when the weather is hostile to those efforts. But rare is the time when you regret having made that effort. Venturing out into the world is rarely the greater evil. Hiding all day long in the depths of your sofa cushions -- now that's dangerous.


Tomorrow we're determined to ski. Will we do it? Maybe.

Friday

Ah, the "can do" attitude! I'm all for it in a child: to recognize that boundaries can be tested, rules waved, new ideas formed. Because with a child, there's always room for intervention, for guidance and for a redirection if you feel that she or he are placing themselves or others in danger. So go ahead, push for the unusual and free yourself to test the new!

Those were my thoughts today when caring for Snowdrop. But let me go back, as always, to the beginning of the day: Ed was getting ready to head out and in waiting for him for breakfast, I had a chance to set up the camera for a timed release. So -- breakfast in the sun room, without sun, the both of us.






And again he is more willing than usual to put up with my camera, so again I have this rather sweet photo of him from across the table. It's not every day that his t-shirt perfectly matches the flowers in the vase.






Alright: now for daily Snowdrop fare.

It's getting to be cold again, but not so cold that you'd want to avoid the outdoors. Just below freezing for January is actually pretty tame for us. And so I surprise Snowdrop by picking her up at school not by car, but with the stroller.

She is surprised.






But very pleased! (Even if it does mean that she has to don her cap and mitts.) During the past two winters I would routinely take her out for a walk even on colder days. The girl's used to this stuff. And she never complains, even when the wind picks up and her cheeks and nose turn rosy pink.






The walk to her home (where we spend the afternoon today) isn't long and I ask her if she wants to stay outdoors for a while longer. She does!






But my attempt at building a snowman are a failure. We've gone from mushy wet snow to icy frozen stuff. Never mind. We go for a strollerless walk.






Gaga, I want to go to the park!

Ah, but there are, in the end, limits to what you can do outside on a day like this. Parks are ice covered and closed.

We return to her home, where she spends a lovely hour playing inside her little play house.

Snowdrop, can you run in such a small space?
Yes I can!






Sometimes she invites me in, sometimes she ushers me out. It is her space. I oblige.







I need to wash my hands -- she tells me as she makes splashy noises in the play sink.






Can she open the real window from inside the play window?
She thinks she can.






Okay little girl. Maybe we should change venues.

She discovers her toy globe (which happens to play little ditties if you press buttons strategically positioned all over the world). Can you dance while sitting down?
She can!






Sweet child, it's really time for your nap!
She has other ideas. She finds my scarf and goes for a run with penguin...






I want to put on jacket and go outside!

Like I said, a child can be easily redirected. Sense prevails. Peace sets in. How lovely is that!

Evening. Her mom is back from work. We exhale after a tumultuous week of sickness, storms and too much news watching.






Snowdrop's mom starts fixing supper and I go home to the farmhouse to do the same.

The kitchen is warm. The aromas are heavenly. All is calm.

Thursday

If Snowdrop were a boy, I'd be proud of the wealth of play experiences here, at the farmhouse for him. There are the trains and trucks and building blocks, but there are the kitchen toys and Duplo characters as well. There is a baby doll. Crayons for art projects, music at the press of a button, books, puzzles -- in other words a range of stuff that crosses traditional gender lines in any direction.

But Snowdrop is not a boy. And every time I see her delight in something that has been traditionally regarded as girl's play (a baby doll, or the characters that she endlessly arranges in some imaginative story formation) I feel that I'm feeding a stereotype. You can give a boy a hammer and feel pride in seeing him pound away at a board, but putting a girl into a homemaking role feels to me like I'm telling her to stay home and fix dinner for the family while her partner goes out to build spaceships and save the world.

Sure, I raised two daughters to be smart, independent women. At the time, the horror for me was in the Barbie doll and I tried to have our home remain a Barbie-free zone. That worked until my girls went to school and made friends and so one way or another that horrid skinny piece of plastic made it to our house. I like to believe that Barbies did not warp their minds in any way, but still, I profoundly disliked having her and her sassy friends be part of the girls' play loot.

As for Snowdrop, well, I know it's in my head and yes, yes, Snowdrop has lots of rockets and blocks and, too, a vast array of ahah's tools to admire (and admire them she does!) but still, it took me a very long while to give her something that I knew she'd love, but that somehow felt too girlish to indulge. But given her love of pretend food play I finally broke down today and gave her a tea set. Hey, she has watched me make tea for myself since she was an infant! Having her pour fake tea into tiny tea cups is no different than giving her fake pizza to slice or fake tools to pound, right?

Maybe. But I know what draws her in is the visual appeal of the "tea party." Here, I set it up for her before she came over:






Perhaps a boy would love this too, but I have the uncomfortable feeling that Snowdrop will love it more.


Breakfast. In the sun room. No, there is no sun. Not even a pretense of sun, but maybe if you will it then it shall come.







(And one more photo of Ed, because it is rare that he lets me take a decent photo of him and today he let me.)






(The landscape, on my way to shop for groceries...)







When I pick Snowdrop up, I see that she is all dressed for the great outdoors. And still, I am too willing to given in to her insistence that she dress for comfort rather than warmth. She's okay with the snow pants. She is mostly okay with a cap. But mittens? Forget it. They don't give her the dexterity she craves and so she will have none of them!

It's just at freezing. She is in fact happy to stay outside for a while, insisting on helping with snow clearing.






I have a hard time convincing her that her services are not really required. She finally puts down the heavy shovel, but the broom stays with her for a while.

Ed joins us and we walk down to the barn to visit with the hens.






(Helping to get past the slippery spots...)






Butter is laying again but she is the only one. Useless hens!






And then we come back to the farmhouse and she sees the tea set and toy cakes and oh so predictably, she is enchanted.






Totally enchanted, though it takes her a while to share some of this stuff with gaga or penguin. Eventually she parts with a cup and a cake, but she eyes it with great care lest I run with it and never come back.






Oh happy girl! But then, Snowdrop smiles her way through many hours of the day.






And yes, we do eventually move away from the tea party. She even gives a truck a push and then settles into the more serious affair of writing post-it notes.







Dusk. She wakes up from her nap all smiles: I want to go downstairs to the tea party! -- she tells me in that half sleepy voice. Oh boy. Or -- oh, girl!?

I divert her again with a puzzle. Note the theme of it!






And we return to drawing. And coloring. And she so wants ahah to color with us. And he does. Eiffel Tower!






But the tea set comes back to close our evening. She was apprehensive about sharing initially. Not anymore. Ahah gets the full tea and cake presentation.






And I ask him -- have you ever played with a tea set before?

Will it surprise you that the answer is "yes?" When he was a little boy (the youngest of three sons), he had both a little stove and a tea set...