Saturday: last day at grandmas's

And again came the blue skies, the warm air, the early sound of Snowdrop playing in her crib.

Her gurgles grow more animated and I am guessing she isn't about to put herself back to sleep. I come down to be greeted, as always, with a radiant smile.





I change the diaper, re-swaddle her and cross my fingers.

I leave the window open, listening for her shouts, murmurs or cries and go outside, seeking out the flower of the day.  I'll show you ones that are just at the cusp of a full bloom: the gentle, affable Baptista (blue wild indigo) and, of course, an iris:
















Indoors again. Snowdrop is still moving, dozing, articulating, eyes closed, open, closed. It's not even 9, but I decide to get our breakfast together now. Ever so quietly.

The morning meal would have been on the porch, even if I wasn't trying for the impossible -- keeping Ed quiet while the baby (I hope) dozes. It is that warm of a morning. I set the table, put out the fruits, honeys, flowers and listen. All quiet inside. Ed and I sit down to eat.






Not for long. Through the open window I hear her chatter. It's strong and lovely and insistent. She's not sleeping. She wants to be up.



(by Ed)





(by Ed)


As I sit there and she grins with utter joy (Ed: why is she so happy?), I think about how adaptable children are. As the stand-in caretaker, I try to replicate to the letter the rhythm and routine of Snowdrop's life at home. But the rhythms of the farmhouse are beginning to seep in. I can't really name the factors that gently swayed her in our direction: is it that the light comes in strong and loud here, begging all those inside to come out and enjoy the day? Is it that our energy is lower in the evening and so she starts to wind down along with us, far earlier than she would at home? For any number of reasons, she has slowly moved closer to a farmette life (and I'm sure, within a day will ease back to her habits at home).

I bathe her in the kitchen sink again. This time she knows the tub and understands that here, too, she can play.






After breakfast? Oh, you know. The sitting up (which she has grandly mastered... except when she topples!):





The romping and twisting and playing and laughing.
















Too, we feed the cheepers. Oreo rewards us with many loud vocalizations. (Yes, grandma, at the farmette, a rooster crows!)






But the day begs for a bigger adventure. It's my last big fling with the little one! Oh sure, there are the daily encounters, but once or twice a year I get to really know her in this special way. She has no choice -- I am the recipient of her moods, her pouts, her laughter, her triumphs and mishaps. And every bit of it is, for me, thrilling. Somehow, we must finish grandly.

I tell Ed that perhaps an outing to the Olbricht Gardens might be lovely. He asks to come along and so the three of us set out to this sixteen acre treasure trove of plantings.

It's getting quite warm -- hot, in fact. I know Snowdrop prefers cooler air even as we're in the thick of a heat spell. Keeping her out of the sun isn't too hard -- the stroller has an awning and, too, there are plenty of shady trees in the gardens.





The last time I was here with Ed, I was disappointed. I felt more could be done in this showcase of perennial beds, bushes and trees. But this time, I am enthralled. It's Snowdrop's fault!



(by Ed)


This is wedding season and so a section of the garden is closed off for ceremonial purposes, but there's plenty left for us to see -- including the Thai pavilion which looks especially splendid and regal from the perspective of what I gather is the naturalizing bulb fields.






On a shady path, between birches and forget-me-nots and hostas, I take Snowdrop out (again? -- asks Ed, who thinks I should just let her sit back and chill...) to see if she is willing to stand up and take a step or two.



(by Ed)


And she is! As if overnight, her legs have gotten stronger and she can support herself without me having to take the weight of her increasingly tall frame.


There were many milestones for me in the four days that she was here. So many of them showed off her strength and determination that it seems fitting that I should end with the hug that I could share with her after this brief little "walk" in the gardens.



(by Ed)


In the evening the  deliriously happy parents come to pick her up and take her home.

After supper, Ed and I go out to weed the veggie patch. In pulling up one root after the next until it is too dark to see much of anything, I think back to my four days with my granddaughter. What was the biggest challenge? Keeping Ed quiet in the morning and, too, keeping her relaxed and content in the evening. The greatest joy? Oh, you know -- all of it. The package. The fullness of each day, each minute. The smiles.

Friday: third day at grandma's

We are to have a repeat of yesterday's glorious weather. It's wonderful to know this in advance -- to have the weather forecast in front of you telling you what you already guessed from looking outside: sunshine and pleasantly warm breezes -- a weather pattern I could live with for a long time!

Patterns are, of course, made to be broken. While the weather is keeping to its lovely predictability, my darling granddaughter decides to buck her run of perfectly late wake ups and begin her cooing noises closer to 7:30, rather than the 10-ish we're used to seeing.

She's up, Ed tells me, as if I can't hear her vocalizations myself.
No she's not. She's between sleep cycles. Shhh! Don't wake her!
But she's awake!
As if to demonstrate this, he goes down and stands by her crib and booms back up to me -- she's awake! And smiling!





Well, now she is...

Rather than disturb the patterns Snowdrop's parents have set in place for her (late bedtime, late wake up, like a rock star -- a friend commented!), I try to believe that she will go back to sleep still. I change her diaper, swaddle her again, then listen as she coos and gurgles in her crib. I let her do this for a while, hoping she'll revert to her old pattern.

She does. She flips her swaddled self this way and that and finally, the gurgles stop and she drifts off to sleep again.


I go outside, expecting nothing but that rich abundance of pre-summer growth -- deeply green, ready for a grand performance. Immediately something else catches my eye -- the most recently planted pot, the one with the pretty dahlia, the snapdragons, the alyssum is completely dug out. The plants lay scattered and broken. I try as best as I can to repair the damage, saving the dahlia flower for the breakfast table. Oh, animals!

But in truth, this year there is (thus far) little damage to the yard. Of course, once the blooms come, the chipmunks or rabbits pick and choose their salad fixings, but with established fields, for the most part, you would not notice their chomping. For now, I'm grateful that most of the pots remain vibrant and without a trace of animal damage.

My photo for today (two actually) is a bit of a cheat -- it's of a Gaura (beeblossoms) and of Heuchera (coral bells), but these are recent additions and so their bloom is earlier than that of its established cousins. Still, it's a promise of things to come throughout the fields.











By 8:30, I begin to wonder if Snowdrop will sleep long enough for us to have breakfast. I hustle Ed along, taking a photo before he even sits down, just in case I have to get right up again.






But, the little girl snoozes on, as if aware of the significance of this quiet, gentle meal for me. (You'll notice now the beginnings of the tearing out of the big window, as Ed prepares for the construction project.)






Finally, the girl wakes for real.





And yes, I have the new tub to try out: it's built to fit perfectly over a double kitchen sink, though I almost don't follow this suggestion because, unlike my own grandma, who always had to bathe me in the kitchen at the village house (right by the coal stove where she kept pots of water warm), I have it in my head that a bathroom is so much more fitting for the simple routine of bathing a baby. It seems odd to position her right next to the rack where the dishes are drying. Still, it is so convenient and such a perfect fit that, with the (Polish) wooden chef and his missus looking on, I place Snowdrop right there, as if she were a pot ready for a scrub down. A very happy pot!






Ed comes in now and takes over the camera...



(by Ed)


It is a delightful time: she has plenty of water to swoosh and splash.

The routines continue: I dress her, she eats and then announces in her own sweet way -- I'm ready for play!






Lots of play, grandma (after a good chomp on Sophie, the giraffe)!






Later, I cannot resist the brilliance outside and so she and I go out --  first to feed bread to the cheepers (yes, grandma, a rooster crows! I know that now!)...






... then to the great willow -- the one where my younger daughter got married last June. It's a blissful place of mixed grasses and dandelion puffs and clover leaves.





A moment that if I could, I would stretch to last a long long time.


And later, in the afternoon, Snowdrop and I have another adventure: we hit State Street -- that long set of blocks that links the university to the Capitol. I put her in her stroller and off we go, new shoes and all!






On a day like this, the Union Terrace, possibly Madison's finest outdoor space, is an obvious destination. It's time she experienced that burst of color by the lake waters!



(by a stranger)


What she also experiences is the burst of bright sunshine. To her chagrin. She prefers shade. Possibly all babies prefer shade. I oblige and steer the stroller toward the beautiful lake shore path -- one I used to bike daily to work when I lived in the condo.






She immediately dozes off in total bliss and does not wake up again until we're back on State Street, where I'm sure to keep her on the shady side of things.






This was a trip full of new elements to it and you know how it is after an adventure -- you're so happy to be home! Farmhouse isn't really home, but it's good enough! The girl is bouncy and chipper as can be -- ready to take on the world! And this is the time when I really hear her explosive laughter -- as if my silly words are the funniest thing she'd ever heard! Ever!





We come quickly to the evening -- typically her most tired time, where everything seems too big to take on. But, this is a girl who grows in leaps and bounds. Tonight, she sits in her bouncy chair right next to us and considers along with us whether the entrepreneurs on Shark Tank are deserving of investor support. Her demeanor says it all -- give it up, people. Move on to a new idea.





I  wake her, feed and swaddle her and put her down for her last night at the farmhouse.

Thursday: second day at grandma's

This is the kind of day you look forward to. It's spring's best and in fact, you could argue that it's the year's best -- a promise of sunshine, not too cool but not too warm and, unlike summer or even fall -- without the irritating bugs that make outside play or work less enjoyable.

Snowdrop was a tad clingy in the last minutes of her first day here, but as is her habit, she put herself to sleep beautifully once tucked and swaddled (just after 10).

It was a quiet night -- so much so that again I had to wonder if the baby sound monitor was working. It was.

In the morning, I am up before she is. By many hours. Now is the time to get my house and my thoughts in order. And to take a morning flower photo: the common iris today. I call it "common," because it came with the farmhouse, though I have since divided it many times so that it has a spot in most of the farmette flower fields.






By 8:30, Ed and I are ready for breakfast. Snowdrop is stirring, but not quite awake. He finds it impossible to move with the stealth that I demand so that she doesn't fully wake before we eat our morning meal (shh! not so loud! shhhhh!) and so we go out to the porch, keeping the window cracked to listen for her in case she wakens. It is a cool 52F outside, but the prospect of a sunny day warms the soul and a sweater easily takes away the chill.






As we eat, we talk about the porch door project. Ed doesn't want to move ahead with the work of the person I identified for the job. Too expensive, he says. He'd rather do the job himself.

I protest. He has far more interesting things that command his attention right now. Too, it would take him a while to study up on the techniques and ways of putting in something into such an old house. He agrees, but says (and I believe this) -- at least it will be done right. I promise to look at his selected door on Sunday and we'll decide then who should do the installation.


In the meantime, Snowdrop is now stirring. As I clean up in the kitchen, she is cooing to herself in her crib, keeping an ear to the kitchen noises. This so reminds me of my childhood, when I had the room off the kitchen in the Polish village house where my grandparents lived! I would listen to the kitchen sounds as my grandma stoked the fire and started in on the meals for the day. These were my favorite moments and I luxuriated in them every single morning. I hope Snowdrop is luxuriating as well!

When I finally approach the crib at just after 9 (yep, the babe sleeps a solid 11 hours every night... knock on wood), she is radiantly happy (if somehow magically unswaddled)!






May she always be so full of smiles in life...


There is the bathroom sink morning bath again and now she is ready to eat.






...and after --  play.



(by Ed)


...and play some more.






...and read (about that boisterous grandma who uses all sorts off crazy ways of travel to get to her Snowdrop, I mean grandchild).



(by Ed)


...and take baby steps (looking more like she's ready to soar!).



(by Ed)


...and practice scooting, while the sloth applauds.






...and finally, she sits next to Ed, right on top of his porch door quotes, as he studies installation guides. Perhaps finally he has someone here who will take an interest in learning how to do home projects.






The morning flies. The energy in the farmhouse is palpable. How is it that a beautiful sky and a good night's rest can spark up the day this much?(Or maybe it's Snowdrop who sparks the day?)


We go out to take stock, she and I. The cheepers demand their bread and I try to feed them holding onto her as well as the water gun. Oreo crows incessantly and if there is one thing she learned today, it is that roosters crow.

Satisfied, the cheepers wander away and I spread out a play mat for the two of us. Except we don't play. We lie down and look up at the willow and the crab -- the branches, each different, swaying overhead against a blue sky.



(by Ed)


I think I could have stayed there for a long long time.



(by Ed)


(Though Snowdrop is always happy to return to her quilt and engage her surroundings -- in this instance, Ed.)






In the afternoon, I pack up the stroller and return with Snowdrop to the neighborhood we drove through yesterday. I want to do a quick exchange at Wild Child. After, we walk the neighborhood -- a change from our usual stroll around her own home.











We happen to be close to the zoo and so we poke in (it's free in Madison). Many would be tempted to see the new arctic exhibit which just opened yesterday, but I'm saving that for a trip with her mommy. Today, we just look at the giraffes.

And actually, what really gets her attention is the presence of many children. It strikes me that she doesn't see young ones in the course of her day. She is a winter baby and with school still in session, there aren't many kids out in the street when we take our walks. At the zoo, she gawks at them with the same curiosity that she has for the giraffes.






(She is particularly spellbound by these two boys with their grandmas.)






Still later, we come back to the farmhouse in time for me to water the flower pots. I do this holding her and the hose, too, is a source of wonder. Water? For something other than the bathroom sink at bath-time? Really??

And now the afternoon is running away from us. I pause to feed the little one and then pack her in the car again. Our local farmers market is a must -- for the cheese curds and these days, the asparagus. It's a small market and most of the vendors recognize us by now. My toting Snowdrop comes as a delightful surprise especially to those who themselves are grandmas. Like this flower vendor. And another, older grandma who just makes Snowdrop smile and smile!





Evening. This is, I think, the toughest time for most infants and most parents of infants. But Snowdrop is that much older and that much easier to soothe and entertain. There will come a time when all those saved books will come off the shelf and we will spend the hours going from one story to the next. For now, there is music and the gentle sway of a grandma's shoulder. In the alternative, Sophie the giraffe will sooth sore gums.






On come the jammies, the swaddle.
'night, Snowdrop. Sleep well, okay?