Thursday

It's interesting to be with someone who doesn't own a cell phone (do you even know people like that in these times??). You cannot check in with him. If something happens that he feels ought to be conveyed to you, you'll get a call from a strange number, as he'll be borrowing a random phone to make that call.

I've needled Ed about not getting a cell phone, but he rightly points out that he is almost never away. What would be the point?

This morning, he made a second attempt to go off on his business trip and so far as I know, he got to where he wanted to be. In any case, I had no strange numbers popping into my own phone.

I wont give you a breakfast photo -- I ate alone, or almost alone. I decided to bug my younger daughter and call her so that I would have her company over my bowl of oatmeal and fruit. Not photo worthy. Though I will throw in a shot from one tiny corner of the garden.






I'm not too pleased with the fact that the bugs have reappeared in Madison. Our warmer and wetter weather are, I'm sure, what's behind it. In any case, you wont have me doing anything about the yard until it's good and cold outside. I am fed up with bugs.

In fact, Snowdrop must share my distaste for being out right now. (Though I know she does love going out for "recess" at school, but by the smell of things, I can tell that they douse the kids with bug spray.) When I bring her to the farmette, I suggest we walk to check for eggs and she's willing, but immediately after, she points to the farmhouse and says in that insistent voice of hers: go in house! -- with finger pointing, in case I didn't get it.






Once in, she is cheerful and full of play.






(This is a favorite: sit at my desk and "write.")






I notice that her hair often gets tussled and wild after school (bug spray, feverish play, hands everywhere) and so I suggest that she sport a pony tail -- like me today! (for different reasons having more to do with laziness and Ed being away rather than bug spray, feverish play or hands being everywhere).






Is it still in, grandma?
It is, but it wont be if you keep tugging at it...






How about now?
Well sort of...






Snowdrop, upstairs to bed!






After her nap, I notice the hair tie is no more, but no matter. The girl is refreshed, energized, playful.






Feeding her animal pals toy foods ranks as one of her most favorite things to do. They always get a yogurt. If they're lucky they'll get noodles and a cheese sandwich.






And then her parents are here and they're radiant today as it's their anniversary and I am always so tickled that one daughter married on the first day of spring and the other -- Snowdrop's mom -- married on the the first day of fall and so I know that the new seasons is upon us and honestly, I think that's such a good thing!

I started with a garden photo and I'll end with one as well. On the way to the coop to lock the cheepers in for the night. Looks like fall, no?

Wednesday

It stormed at night, it stormed at 4:45 a.m. as Ed was taking off for a business trip, it stormed after he left and I went out to let the chickens out, and when he came back because his flight had been cancelled.

Well, it made for a nicer breakfast. Instead of him being out of town, I have his company and he is fully awake and we eat warm oatmeal and comment on how soggy this month is getting to be.





When I pick up Snowdrop at school, she insists on wearing her raincoat -- a good idea, I suppose, except that it's a short distance from school to car and then from car to the house.

She would have loved to take a walk...





... but I am less enthused.

How about a ride around inside in your toy car instead?

Good enough.






But I can see by her acrobatics and stretches that the girl is full of energy.
A nap first, little one. Then we'll consider the possibilities.






You'll think this to have been a short post. It's true. After her nap, Snowdrop and I wait very patiently for the weather to improve. I had images of outings. She keeps running to get her shoes, telling me emphatically -- shoes on, go out!

I show her the clouds.





We listen to thunder.

We stay in.


Evening. Ed and I have Thai take out for dinner. Driving home, I look at the clouds and think-- beautiful, in a bleak and threatening sort of way.





The storms will pass. And from my perspective -- that's a good thing.

Tuesday

Sometimes, a day can be so sunny, so utterly perfect feeling. I thought today was quite like this.

We had a beautiful breakfast on a beautiful morning on the porch.






This isn't the time of year where you're going to rave about your flowers, and still, I thought the beds outside were looking good. There's much to admire!





I had another string of details to attend to -- most having to do with some issues that arose with the work on my Warsaw apartment. I barely made it on time to pick up Snowdrop at school.

Relieved that I have all the paper messes behind me, I take the little one back to the farmette.

I unbuckle the girl and set her free.

The cheepers rush to her, expecting bread. Here, she seems to be telling Butter -- I have nothing for you!






She sets out -- you guessed it -- toward the tomatoes. The cheepers, undeterred, follow.






Knowing how anxious the chickens are to share in her treats, Snowdrop takes her harvest inside the house.

Once all tomatoes are consumed and juice drippings are wiped (more or less) clean, Snowdrop goes to her play area. Ed comes in. Nothing pleases her more than having a bunch of people to play with.

Read book! -- she pleads.











These are her most tired minutes -- those just before her nap -- but I have no doubt that the girl is happy. Very happy.






After her nap, she eats. She has a new way of appreciating raspberries...






I'm agreeable. Anything to distract her from the presence of the cookies we had baked together yesterday.

In the afternoon, the sun is bright, the humidity isn't too high. I'm thinking -- this may be the last of the truly summer-like days. We ought to seize it and do something special.

I tell Snowdrop we'll be going to the local park. To climb towers and play in the playground.

We drive to our nearby Lake Farm County Park.

What a bust! Pulling in, I see immediately that the silo tower with the good views is closed. Why? I cannot tell you. The playground at the side seems poorly maintained and not geared for toddlers. I don't give up. I know that there are two more playgrounds further down the drive.

I come to the second one. Not much there. Plus, it is completely overrun with wild geese. You may find that charming. Not me. Geese in parks are a nuisance. I would not plop a toddler in their midst, no matter how desperate I was for outdoor playtime.

We drive to the third play area. Snowdrop is doubting my sincerity. Where are the towers? Why aren't we playing?

It's not great here either. There are swings, but none of them are suitable for a tiny one. There is a climbing structure. She rushes to it, but it's like a highway leading to nowhere: once she gets up, there's not much that she can do. I try to get her into the pipe tunnels and she looks at me amused and disinterested. 






Finally, she locates a slide that is rather steep but manageable.






She goes down again (and nearly lands on her butt on the ground, but I catch her)...





And again, and again and again. And I suppose I would have stayed with her there, letting her slide like this over and over again, but the mosquitoes were out and I could not subject her to their nasty presence.


Snowdrop is a girl who loves the promise of adventure and I felt that this didn't quite measure up to what anyone would call "grand." And so I tell her that once we return home, I'll dig out her little wading pool for one last summer splash.





She is happy. Very happy.

But once again, I have to lure her away from her fun. The mosquitoes, though not as fierce as in the park, are hovering.

Ed comes out, the little girl is delighted...





But I have to drag her away from it all.

I offer her a bath inside the house and she sweetly goes along.

I do not cut into that one. She sits in the tub and pours water from one cup to the next and I am so relieved that she can have her time of uninterrupted play. Only when her parents are about to show up do I wrap a towel around her. I am loathe to reward anything with a sweet treat, but I do think that Snowdrop deserves a piece of an oatmeal raisin cookie for all her interrupted play. A cookie that she herself baked the day before.

Monday

Breakfast before the storms.






Then Ed settles in to his work calls and emails and I attend to the irksome details of daily life that tend to surface on Monday mornings.

Snowdrop comes to the farmette after school. Not interested in staying outside. Bike! -- she says. Then runs inside and looks for it.






Helmet on. Tentative about bike, but who cares! She knows it's here. She eyes it, touches it. That's enough for today.






Then she asks for music. Dance!

Her feet fly!






I have been with Ed nearly eleven years and I have never ever gotten him to dance with me. I tell her -- ah ah does not dance.

The next minute, Snowdrop and ah ah are dancing.






After her nap, I tell her we need to make cookies again.

She is on it!






Licking the beaters is the baker's sweet reward.






One last mix...






Cookies are baking. Snowdrop runs from one room to the next, full of energy and  laughter. Ed comments -- she sure is happy today...






And now the storms come. There is rain. Thunder. Hail. Lots of hail.

Look, Snowdrop! 






Of course she wants to go outside.

Let's wait until the rains quiet down. 

We go out at the tail end of the storm. I don't have rain garb for her here, but I find my camping hat and I put it on her -- this will protect you from the worst of it.






Whoa! The sun is throwing some beams to the west! There should be rainbow! Snowdrop, come run with me! We might catch it!

Oh, do we catch it!






I'd like to believe that she is overwhelmed. Because I surely am. Red, orange, yellow, green,
 blue, purple...

Pose for a photo, Snowdrop! 
Okay...






The rains leave big puddles in the driveway.






The hat has served its purpose. Go ahead, Snowdrop. Play.
Rocks, ga ga.
Yes, rocks.






She is wet, she is drippy. I run a hot bath for her. She loves it. I can hardly get her out.

We read books, beginning with the one about weather. And rainbows.






A day may be beautiful for any number of reasons, but this one belongs to Snowdrop: she made the irksome little tidbits of the early hours slide into oblivion. Her energy was our energy. Her grins were ours as well.

Sunday

It's minutes before midnight. Where did the hours go? Surely not to a leisurely breakfast. That's a fifteen minute affair.






To garden work? Nah... It's too warm and too buggy still.






Some part of the day went to a hike. Ed and I returned to our favorite nearby trail (Ice Age, near Brooklyn). Oh, we enjoyed it, but we were surprised at how buggy it was. So we did hike...






... but we did not linger. At least not beyond the minutes I spent admiring the monarchs.






At the peak point, we do a selfie.






Here's the view:






Back in the forest...






Looking out over the prairie. Whoa, this could be Tuscany!





The evening was complicated. Ed and I went over to the young family's home. He'll be throwing an eye on the water accumulation in their basement. I would be chasing Snowdrop.

In the end, he and Snowdrop's dad replaced a sump pump and Snowdrop and her mom came to the farmhouse where I finished up dinner preparations. With a lot of snacking on the part of the hungry girl.






... and helping gaga cook.






When the men return from the pump job, Snowdrop is delighted.   
Ah-ah read!
Snowdrop, say please.  
Pleeeeese!






Good job, little one!






By the time we eat it's plenty dark. Snowdrop moves from highchair to big people chair.






She is happy. And yes, we are as well.  Big grins, deep sighs of relief. And a fine meal, outside still. Happy. For sure.