Sunday

There will be a dab of sunshine and there will be a warm up today. Those good at reading the skies at sunrise would tell you so and they would be right.






Ed and I are up before the rest of our terrific house guests. And we eat an early breakfast, because we are such creatures of this habit -- or at least I am and Ed sweetly goes along.






But the larger breakfast is really a brunch, brought over by one couple to the home of Snowdrop. How many people will have eaten the same foods on this Sunday -- bagels and cream cheese and lox and scrambled eggs? Countless. But how many will have had a little Snowdrop to entertain them?


 


Ah, that's a rare treat indeed!






My girls' dad is here as well, along with his partner and so we are a larger group and little Snowdrop decides to basically chill this one out. This is just fine with everyone.






(The mom chills as well.)






Then the last precious minutes with little Snowdrop's aunt and uncle...






 ...and the young couple take off for Minneapolis -- a five hour drive from here, but one which they will repeat later this month.


I duck out for a while after that. There are the cheepers to welcome out into the warmer world (or at least the warmer barn...)


 


And, too, Ed and I want to test our skis for the first time this year -- nothing big, just a spin around the park up the road...






...but it is not to be. The snow seemed heavy on the roof when I shoveled it off, but it had blown and drifted through the park and so there are bare spots. Too many of them for a decent ski. And so we stroll. To the lake and back again.






In the late afternoon, I return to little Snowdrop's home. You'd have to have a hard heart not to be lulled into the warmth of a scene like this. (The book: Guess How Much I Love You.)






Evening. Little Snowdrop dozes. It's been one heck of a week for her. Still, she is one who is forward looking. She knows which end is up.






Her mom looks in on her. You'll see your aunt and uncle soon! And in the spring, we'll go to the market and we'll stop at Farmer John's cheese stand and...

family times

Those of you who have stayed with Ocean for a while now, know that there comes a time when family events crowd out the usual Ocean fare. Weddings, the birth of a child, a special holiday or weekend gathering -- to me, they belong in all their fullness here, because I am completely under their spell and if I gave them only a small space, then everything else would appear dishonest. How can I write about the every day if I'm to underplay these remarkable life events?

And yet, I know that I am just a shadow player in many of them. In June, it wasn't my wedding that so completely roped me in, it was my daughter's. The birth of little Snowdrop? Obviously that is something that belongs just to her and secondly to her parents. I am several steps removed and even though she will one day grow up and understand that she has a writing grandma (with all the benefits and burdens this bestows), I know she will never have to worry that I am telling stories that belong only to her. Yes, we overlap some, but mostly, her life is her own.

But I do love thinking and writing about being a grandma (and a mom to my girls, and something or other to Ed) and so I come back to these topics again and again, even if some of them receive more delicate treatment while others allow me to be more blunt. I know most of you know this, but I do occasionally feel compelled to repeat it -- especially as I flood Ocean with emotions about the birth of little Snowdrop.


Let me go back to what is so obviously a beautiful family weekend. My younger girl and her husband are with us at the farmhouse and more than once I have thanked the water pump for giving up the ship a solid week before they came and before the frost and snow took hold of farmette land.

And so there are four of us for breakfast today, though I surely think that my breakfast photo should focus on the guy who otherwise stays to the side at times of great family fusses, but who tracks and follows with a smile most every emotion that passes through this way. Hi Ed.






After, I spend time with my kids and little Snowdrop. Or, more accurately, I stick around for just a while, to say hi and to hug and hold...






... and to watch the bonds grow strong...












...but then I retreat to the farmhouse. Snowdrop has other family members passing through today as well and I think it would be most hoggish of me to be ever present. The grandma that never goes away.


It's warmer today (if you can call a high of 16F warm), but the skies are clouded over and this, of course, is the trade off in a Wisconsin winter: sun, or warmth ? Rarely both.

The cheepers don't even contemplate leaving the coop.

The snow cover is deep enough now to think about heading out into the forest, with a camera, with skis too,  and we will do that, but not this weekend. These days have been set aside for little Snowdrop and indeed, in the evening, I go back to her home to do what? Well, hug and hold and watch the bonds grow stronger...



the dance




ordering take out food



Oh! Caught in a group hug in the kitchen, in support of the sleep deprived ever wonderful young mom.






May it be a good night for her... for all of us, you included!

week's end

We reach a high of 3F and the winds remain strong. The country roads are so slick that this morning, at the last second I opt not to take a curve in the road. I go straight to avoid spinning out of control. Ufff!

And still, it is a brilliant day! The sun comes up to a clear blue sky...






... and the fresh snow adds the gentleness that was so missing in our farmette landscape.

We eat breakfast in the front room. [To the commenter who asked -- why is Ed so happy, well it's simple really: he's happy because I'm especially happy. The excitement is contagious, even if the whole baby project is something that he can not fully grasp.]





Looking outside, I note how the snow had piled up rather high on the porch glass roof. Last year, after we put the glass panels in, we kept them immaculately clean -- brushing off every leaf and snowflake so that we would be able to take in all the light they suddenly offered. This year? We shrug and say -- looks good anyway, why bother.

But today I do bother. Maybe it's that we're about to have weekend guests again. Or maybe I worried that too much snow would crack the glass (Ed laughed at that one). Or maybe it's just that being around a very young life is so energizing that you find yourself doing things like shoveling heavy snow off a rooftop and not thinking twice about it. Here's my view from the top:






Otherwise, it is a blur of a day. The aunt and uncle from Minneapolis (my youngest one and her husband) drove half the night to get here in good stead and so my grandma time was limited to a very early morning hour...






After, little Snowdrop was delivered to her aunt's arms -- even before the young couple had time to shed their coats and scarves.






It was a beautiful meeting of two youngest ones! Sitting back, watching, listening to the chatter, I felt about as lucky as one could possibly feel in life.






Errands, more errands, even more errands. And finally, back at the farmette, I tried to take great care with the cheepers, who ventured out into the barn against all odds, then huddled in the thin strip of sunlight.






And then we spent an evening with Snowdrop and the parents, aunt, uncle. Ed came as well. Here are some of the men in Snowdrop's life:



uncle




dad





Ed


We ate Laotian take-out and there was always a pair of hands to hold little Snowdrop.






As we were leaving, Ed made sure that the baby scale was put to good use.





For some reason, Goldie the cat did not protest.

The last of the cold nights tonight. I can't say that I noticed.

then came the snow

Yes, today the cold was supplemented with periods of snow. Not the beautiful kind where you look out and say -- oh, what a winter wonderland! -- but the cold, blowing kind that you cannot shovel away because it just blows right back at you, mocking your efforts.

The continued bitter cold (two more days of this!) left ice crystals on the sun room windows. The plants there seemed to be shivering!






Ed and I had a rushed kitchen breakfast...






I had a scheduled Snowdrop engagement, which included getting her in and out of a car seat (a first for me!) where she just basically looked adorable (according to me and possibly the world, if they would only see her through my eyes).






Since little Snowdrop still refuses to call night "night," I offered to give her wonderful parents a rest and so Snowdrop and I hung out. Virgil, their cat, peeked in to check on her: 






Unlike me, he showed callous indifference to Snowdrop's greatness and went off to skirmish with the other cats.

Little Snowdrop and I spent a good many hours like this:






Well, too, we danced some to Italian music on my laptop. I got my daughters addicted to the stuff at an equally early age. Little Snowdrop looked at peace as Fiorella Mannoia crooned about the one and only love and red hair and black eyes.

And the snows and winds did their wintry thing outside and I wondered how old Snowdrop had to be before Ed and I could take her cross county skiing...

colder than cold

And still the temperatures fall. We never went above 0F today (that would be -18C, during the warmest hour of the day). The cheepers hid in the roost most of the time. Smart cheepers.

Me, I could not hide.

After a most cheerful breakfast...






I went shopping. Groceries, yes, the weekly food acquisition, but, too, I have decided to provide space in the farmhouse for Snowdrop and any future Snowdrops or Rosebuds or Cornflowers that pass this way and so with great pleasure I swiped my card at Target, and reveled in the imaginative crib sheets, towels and what nots now available for the wee ones (or their caregivers, since most likely a baby doesn't care what's underneath her bottom, even as the person changing the crib sheet again and again surely does).

Even though it was bittier cold, we were saved greatly by the sun. Leaving in the morning, I watched  it cast a radiance over the farmette that surely deserves a pause, despite the fierce bite in the air.






And coming back after the shopping, toward evening, I really feel that the day has delivered not a modest amount of beauty.






And still, my day is not over. In the late evening, I go to help with the relocation of Snowdrop and her parents. Finally, they can be home. Her home, their home.  Their kitties' home. Their family home.

Wait! Not so fast! A dead car battery. Snowdrop calmly waits, in her hospital knitted cap.







Alright. Car issues resolved, the young family goes home. I'm there with food and moral support.

Little Snowdrop is just fine. Except ...when she isn't just fine.






To a grandma, even the fiercest wail is nothing more than a lovely vocal articulation. But then, grandmas, I'm learning, always see their littlest ones like this:





Angelic, beautiful, filled with love, displaying nothing but goodness.                                                  

And I'm no different. Snowdrop is all that.

the second day

The moon gave us a winter white night. Long shadows, blue snow.

I know all this because I have developed sympathy new-parent-sleeping-habits. Two hours into the cycle I am wide awake, thinking baby thoughts. There are no baby noises at the farmhouse, but I imagine what they must be like and I lie there listening.

I'm sure the new parents are exhausted. And I'm exhausted for them!


We are entering a two day period of intense cold. A wind is buffeting the already freezing air and we have warnings popping up everywhere telling us to stay inside.

I go to the barn to visit with the cheepers. They huddle, but they find a sunny spot and try to take in some of the sun's warmth.






As I throw them bits of bread, I notice Butter is off to the side, staring at the tractor-mower. Ah! There is a barn mouse right by the little wheel... see it?





Butter glares at the mouse. The little critter is feeling brave, wanting to join the feeding party. No way! Butter pounces at it. The mouse barely gets away.

We have a mouser-cheeper!

I leave the brood to their devices and head over to the hospital.

Day two of little Snowdrop's life.

How she has changed already!






Her parents as well. I sit back and admire the scene. It's as if they've been doing this stuff for years!












Time with little Snowdrop is precious. Very precious. A parent is overwhelmed with responsibilities. A grandparent sees only the beauty of every move, every yawn, burp, scrunched face.






It's dark when I pull into the long farmette drive. The cheepers are locked in their coop, Isis is eating cheese and crackers with Ed, both waiting to see what supper ideas I had for them.






We pick up our evening routines. I cook supper, we watch some documentaries.

Someday, snowdrop will quiet down in the evenings. Someday. Probably not today. Not just yet.