what a difference...

I have no routine. I may tomorrow, or the next week, or the next moth, but right now, we take each day as it develops.

You know we have regrading taking place on the lands all around us in preparation for a new development. The noise only gets worse each day. Ed agrees to eat breakfast outside, but the rumble is so loud, that all we can talk about is the effect of loud sound on personality disorders.






Soon after, I meet up with Snowdrop and her mom: we are attending an open house at the little one's school, oh, excuse me -- camp.






She has nothing but grins and smiles all morning long. Indeed, she is the very last one to leave the open house.






Her mom returns home to Sparrow, Snowdrop and I head out for a lunch out at a coffee shop we used to frequent oh so often when she was way younger.

No high chair today.






I time it so that just after 1pm, we are at her beloved community pool. We nearly lived here last year! She wasn't quite swimming, but she loved every minute of her splashes, jumps, games and water shenanigans.

I am so surprised that this year is different. This girl, who just spent an hour jumping gallantly off the steps at her school, is suddenly tentative and reserved.






The smile comes back only when we go (at her insistence) to the playground by the pool.





But the pool -- well, the girl's grown and she knows that life isn't always easy or kind. She holds back.

We have a summer of pool work ahead of us.


At the farm, she discovers the refreshed, scrubbed and ready toys and bouncy things that only a young infant could enjoy.

Well, a young infant and Snowdrop.






She is excited to show her brother all the "new" stuff, but the hour is late and her brother passes through only momentarily, in a car seat, like this:






Evening. Ed is biking, the young family has gone home. I walk the farmette lands, noting the strange alliances that exist here...






The flowers are getting ready for the big show -- summer. Right now, phlox is starting to puff out, as is the yarrow...






The air is summer lovely. Snowdrop had said, during our walk -- I love the smell right now! I agree. Every last whiff of fresh sweet air is total heaven. Winter cold seems years away.

calm is relative

In the early morning, the trucks, diggers and rollers were out again contouring the land around the farmette. The noise was so pronounced that Ed asked if I could forgo breakfast on the beloved porch.

We eat at the kitchen table.






I'm less irritated by the construction racket. Maybe it's because I think eventually something interesting will come of it. Or is it because the racket in my life comes now from other sources?

I am back to index cards. I have one for things (big and small) that require immediate attention. Then I have one for things I want to try out with Snowdrop. And I have one for food prep and a separate one for garden imperatives.

Were it my own world of silly projects and idle dreams, I'd be a bit more chill about it. But, grandkids aren't young and in need of your care for long and it isn't every day that your 94 year old mom is attempting a move across the country. So, there are the phone calls, and the plants to dig out, and the services to coordinate, and the sweet babes that look like they really really love that cuddle you so want to share with them...

(today's selfie with Sparrow)





I pick up Snowdrop in the afternoon and bring her to the farmhouse. I think she likes this quiet time here, where the only talk of babies comes from her as she plays with her Lego and Playmobil characters.






Eventually she comes back to her pretend play -- she is in a wedding, I am the brider (?!) and she is the bride.






You'll think from my posts that Snowdrop is completely drawn to traditional girl play. That is not so. In the course of the day, she can be all over the place in terms of her interests. (Here she is, studying the people who work at the CNC milling machine company -- Ed's work focus for the past dozen years. She asks about each worker and their job.)






Later, much later, I take her home. I am a bit reminded of a book I just read to her (Katie Morag Delivers the Mail). It's about a girl who lives on one of the islands of Scotland and she is asked to deliver packages on the island because her parents are dealing with a baby at home who requires some fortitude and attention. (Yep, my girls had that book when they were young -- I was a big fan of Katie Morag's spunkiness and of course of Scotland!) After spending an afternoon with grandma (there's a whole story in this too, but never mind that now), Katie comes back to a calm house where the parents are tickled to see her and her baby brother is all serenity and smiles for once. Sparrow can't smile just yet, but I'm sure he will be returning Snowdrop's big grins ever so soon -- they are very contagious!

As for garden work -- yes, I struggled with some replanting this morning.

And I admired the pinks this evening.






Much, much later, Ed steps out and finds a welcoming committee. They all want treats.





Ed never says no to those who depend on him for love and treats.

is it Monday?

Some of us are returning to old habits. Snowdrop, for example, slept for a solid twelve hours last night. She woke up playful and happy, without a trace of the foggy tiredness that follows a crazy, sleepless set of days.






It is possible that she and Ed were the only ones from our Madison bunch who slept well. Some of us take longer to reenter a Zen state of calm required for a good night's rest.

(Ed and Snowdrop inspect our experimental tomatoes, raised apart from the ones planted in the garden.)







(She, of course, wants to pick a flower...)






Breakfast: Snowdrop asks for eggs and toast. Ed helps her spread jam on the toast.
Ed! Do you put that much jam on your own toast?
No, I put more.






I get ambitious. (I'll slow down tomorrow or the next week.) I want to bake! (Many weeks have passed since I baked.) How about rhubarb almond muffins? There has to be a good use of all the rhubarb that grows here!






We're waiting to get the all clear from the young parents -- a text that tells us Sparrow is fine and they're heading home.

There are glitches. He needs this test. They have to wait for that okay.

Time to come up with some distractions.

Ed suggests an outing to the Public Library. A farmer has brought over some young farm animals for kids to meet and greet.






Snowdrop likes them all, but when asked to name a favorite...






... she passes on the chicks, bunnies, donkeys, sheep, goats, alpaca and says without hesitation -- the little pig!

Finally. In the mid afternoon, I take the girl home, where mommy, daddy and Sparrow are waiting for her.






(Did I mention that he is not a small baby?)






When a family grows, everyone needs to shift a little. In the case of Snowdrop, there is some trepidation, but right now, there is mainly the excitement of having a real baby at home. To feed (the boy needs supplemental feeds right now, he is that big). To rock, talk to, hold.

It can be a challenge to rein her in, though I'm fairly sure that her enthusiasm will taper off somewhat. Eventually. Maybe.





In the evening I go home.

It feels so quiet here. Not only because Snowdrop has left, but because no one is texting anxious updates, no one is calling, asking, speculating. All that's behind us. It's just a regular old... what day of the week is it anyway? I can't remember...

the next day

No one slept much last night. I expect Sparrow, just a few hours old, along with his mom and dad, kept everyone hopping all night long. At the farmhouse, Snowdrop went to bed some two or three hours past her bedtime. I got busy then with photos, posts, emails and texts. I dragged myself upstairs (three hours past my bedtime!) to the sound of thunder in the distance. Just as I reach over to turn out the light, I hear Snowdrop calling. This is a girl who will sleep through anything, any night. But not on this night.

It was a good hour before she is settled again.

Not for long. At 5:30, she is in our room asking -- gaga, is it morning yet?

It's hard to explain that it isn't, when the light so clearly states otherwise. It is June, after all. Sparrow was born in a month full of light. I stall Snowdrop some, but eventually and with a very big sigh, I'm up, she's up, and I'm sure everyone else in the family is up as well.


We settle into morning routines. Snowdrop still prefers to not shower and so we trudge to the sheep shed...

(Can I pick a flower? why do children love picking flowers? why do grandmas always say sure, just this once, when it's never just this once?)






(young chicks: do you have something for us? No? No??!)






...where she bathes in Ed's monstrously big tub.






And now we're back at the farmhouse, playing magnet dolls, castles and kings and queens, and eventually building a Lego house together.






Finally we settle down to a breakfast of pancakes and bacon, with beloved cherries on the side.






We're scheduled to be back at the hospital just before noon and if the little girl showed no great agitation over the whole new baby brother event during her morning play, she certainly becomes anxious to get going as the time draws near.

Finally! At her brother's side!






Sparrow is a calm baby thus far. He utters little chirpy noises, like a little bird trying out his voice, but is very content to lie on a combination Snowdrop-mommy lap...






... and the girl is thrilled to have him wrap his little fingers around her hand.






Happy family makes for a happy childhood. For both.






Time for a swaddle...






Dad, getting so good at multitasking as he talks on the phone and wraps little Sparrow and answers Snowdrop's innumerable questions.





Now is the time for a good old Snowdrop story and the little girl delivers, along with a burst of spontaneous song of her own creation about the coming of spring.






Oh, there is a moment for grandma to hold the little boy as well. Of course. He is my grandson.






And there will be the photo of my daughter and her now two children, with me hovering.






I leave the family then, which is a good thing, because I need that hour or two of rest. So does Snowdrop, but she has reserves of energy that are beyond incredible. After her sleepless night, napless days, she continues to play with every ounce of her usual charm.

By dinner, Ed swears her eyes are closing. But, she rallies, enjoys her meal with us...





And then begs for five books before bedtime.

It's not something I would say no to. Not today. Not on this lovely time of good family stories, conversations and cuddles.

Tomorrow, everyone will be home again. Or home for the first time, in the case of Sparrow.

My kids have families and big smiles on their faces. We are one happy, lucky lot!

June Sparrow

I didn't plan this day well. They said storms would pass through. Okay, that places limits on our options. But I look outside and I see a hazy sunshine. It feels warm.

(The baby threesome, hoping I'd come out already!)






(Stop Sign, hinting that he'd like a can of cat food. Salmon pate is fine. So is turkey and giblets. Just put it out already.)






(no matter how much support you're going to give peonies, come a heavy rain and they will droop. It is in their nature.)






(The beauty of the garden is still in the mix of annuals and perennials.)






Breakfast, on the porch. We linger for a long, long time. Without the noise of the grading machinery, it feels so blissful to be outside!






We talk about mosquitoes. They have definitely subsided. They aren't completely gone, but nor do they pester you much. You could work in the garden for several hours and maybe chase away a couple. The big question is the unanswerable one for us: is it that Ed's mosquito fans are working? Are we depleting the female population?


(Peach, our old hen, always wants what someone else is having. Thank goodness Stop Sign is used to her pesky ways.)






I'm still uncertain if Snowdrop will be with us this weekend and so I keep my activities low key. Within the orbit of the farmette. But I do in fact hop on Rosie for run to the farmers market. Snowdrop likes cheese curds. I'll get her some cheese curds. (And while there, could you resist the pea shoots? The baby bok choy? The last of the asparagus? The blooms, the freshness of everything? I could not.)

(You could say no to this girl selling bunches of flowers? Really? You're made of tougher stuff than I am.)





Rosie's basket is pretty full by the time I moped my way home.

Ed had commented earlier -- so your gardening is basically done for this year? It's an understandable question. I've written about this before: the bulk of the work is behind me. Nonetheless, we spend several hours cutting, trimming, moving, weeding. It can't be "done" if we're still working hard at keeping things in order!


In the late afternoon I check in once more with my older girl. She's been having some contractions, but feels she hasn't the classic regularity that signals labor. Her due date isn't until June 14. Still, everyone says she'll be early.

By around five, I ask if I should go ahead and fix dinner for Ed and myself, or should we wait in case Snowdrop comes over.
Go ahead and eat. We're all going to have pizza at home.
I start in on a huge pot of lentil soup. It's perfect for the days when you don't know how much time you'll have for cooking later in the week.
Halfway into this, I get another text: hold off on your dinner. We may drop her off after all. And then: we aren't waiting another minute! We're on our way!

All this was too much for Snowdrop. Her mommy is clearly not well. There is a rush to get the girl to the farm and mommy to the hospital. I get a sobbing child who would very much like to make sense of what just happened.

It's not tough to deal with the little one at times like this. She is very aware of her feelings and she is great at asking the questions that churn inside her head. We talk about why her mommy was in pain and why she was in a hurry. Snowdrop settles into gentle sobs. She asks if she can sleep in the big bed tonight.
Which big bed? The one in your room?
No, the one in your room. With you. Then she remembers that Ed sleeps there too. Ahah likes to sleep on the couch sometimes, doesn't he?
I have to smile at that. We'll cross that bridge later. Right now, she is cheered and ready to play.






The three of us eat pizza on the porch...






... followed by frozen yogurt, with chocolate sprinkles. She takes seriously the task of getting those sprinkles out!






As I clean up, she asks Ed to play Swan Lake for her. We dance until I can dance no more...





It hasn't even been two hours since her parents were here dropping Snowdrop off, when the message comes: Sparrow (as he will be known here, on Ocean) was born just before 8 p.m., five days ahead of schedule, but still coming in at 9lbs 6oz!

He is one handsome boy!

The parents ask me if I want to bring Snowdrop over to the hospital. It's past her bedtime, but how many times does one add a sibling to one's everyday? We're on our way!

I leave you with two pictures from our brief visit. One of the family...






And then one of the two little ones, with their mom.






Snowdrop is both dazzled and overwhelmed. Tired and bouncy. Happy, playful and full of stories spinning in her head. Even after we return to the farmhouse, it is a long long while before she is finally settled in bed.

As for Sparrow -- what can I say: he is completely different from Snowdrop, from Primrose. He is his own boy, What that means and how he'll grow -- well, that's surely a bit of a mystery now. But, oh, how happy we all are to be his family -- his parents, sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles and one special little cousin, all there to give him the snuggles and help that he'll need, at least initially, as he navigates the path ahead of him.