Saturday

Part I

"Fraiser," Ed! "Fraiser!" (It's a way to smear dough on the work space.) Use the heel of your palm!
Listen, I baked eclairs and napoleons in my time...
You so did not bake napoleons! You never folded pastry a hundred times!
Well, I baked eclairs.
Wait, you've never made me an eclair!

This is the conversation Ed and I have late this morning. Let me explain:

The day dawns bright. But cold. Very cold. But upbeat and cheerful.





I have some last minute grocery items to pick up and I am in a hurry: my younger daughter and her husband are coming up from Chicago. Indeed, many family members are gathering today for the official celebration of Snowdrop's birthday.


Home from the grocery store. I'm ambitious: I want to make warm, yeasty brioche for tomorrow's brunch. I start in on the dough.

The recipe calls for working the ingredients with the pastry hook of an upright mixer. Unfortunately, once the dough starts coming together, the machine -- an ancient inexpensive KitchenAid -- begins to grumble and resist. In the end, it gives up on the project. Yep, dead as a doornail.

Ed vows to fix it for me, but not today -- spare parts needed -- oh dear.. what now? Throw the dough on the counter and try to salvage it by hand. Ed says -- step back, you're not strong enough! And this is when I tell him -- fraiser, fraiser!






We do the best we can. Tomorrow I'll see if it can indeed become a lovely chewy brioche. And now Ed is on the internet, looking at youtubes of how to fix this most ancient machine.

He thinks he knows what the problem is. But suddenly, the noise is just incredible!

Ed, turn your computer down!
It's not my computer...
The noise of the machine! It's so loud!
It's not my computer...
What is it?
It's coming from the basement...

We rush down. He says instantly: it's the furnace. We need to shut down everything.

I'm supposed to go to Snowdrop's party in ten minutes. We're to have the family here tomorrow. It's freezing outside! I mean, really freezing! Shut down the furnace???
We need to drain the water. Keep all doors closed!

I go off to the party as Ed attempts to take apart the furnace, even as all stores with spare parts are closing down for the weekend.



Part II


I can only wave at Ed and tell him -- I'm off!

Snowdrop's birthday party has many children attending: school pals, mommy's friends' kids, daddy's friends' kids -- there are many, many kids happy as anything to eat cake on behalf of this two year old, all the more so since the party is at the children's museum in Madison and on a cold day, there is nothing better than to send your kid flying through the activities at this wonderful place.

I'll post just a handful of photos. I think these give a good impression of the afternoon.






Snacks!






Singing happy birthday (with parents)....






Eating cake (with aunt)...






Fooling around (with uncle)...











At the museum...






Aunt and uncle...






Back in the party room.... cleared space,  happy girl (with dad).






Carting her gifts home...






Against the wind...






We drive back to the young family's house. I sit in the back seat of the car and Snowdrop suddenly is very excited: Look, moon! Red moon outside!

I take a photo out her window.






The moon shines brightly on her world tonight. I hope it does on your world as well.


Epilogue


At home... There's so much to do here now! And parents are home to discover this new world of imagination!













It's been a good day. Yeah, a great day. Snowdrop is superb with her thank yous and pleases and general manners prods. If I'd ask her now, she'd say it loud and clear -- thank you!





You're welcome, little one.

In the meantime, Ed has taken apart the furnace, tracked down a supplier of spare parts who has a truckload of thisis and thats just a few villages south of here, so that by the time I am ready to come home, all is right with the world and the farmhouse is warm once more. How good is that!

Friday

I can't help but think of this day as the inside of a sandwich. Yesterday was Snowdrop's birthday, tomorrow friends and family will gather for the official party and today -- well, it's the cheese between two slices of baguette.

And a cold cheese it is! I look at the thermometer in the morning and am somewhat surprised that it's hovering near 0F (that would be close to -18C). But a blue sky! I'll take it!

(The venerable farmhouse...)






We eat breakfast in the sunroom. And yes, Ed does choose to have leftover cake for his morning meal.






It is Friday and so he quickly leaves for his tech meetings. I'm not entirely on a correct shopping cycle yet, but I do have a few items to pick up at the store. On my way to the car (the reliable sweet car that is now 10 years old and however encrusted it is in ice and snow, starts brilliantly every time), I glance up at the crab apple -- such a year-long invitation it is to our birds! There are still plenty of fruits left for the winter months.






I pick up just essentials. Cheese. More fruit. Flowers!






And then, on this cold cold day, I pick up a bundled Snowdrop.






We don't go to the farmhouse. Snowdrop's mommy is at home this afternoon and if that isn't reason enough to go to her house, there is also the matter of birthday gifts: most of her new toys are at home and I know she is anxious to play with them.

She is a delighted little girl. Yes, I know -- she most often is a delighted little girl, but today she is especially effervescent!






Her mommy is sending off some thank you notes and Snowdrop insists on helping.






(In her new playhouse... Writer's block!)






She is full of energy -- you'd never know that she slept just a fraction of the hours she normally sleeps at night.






But she has to nap! Really, Snowdrop, you must!

She does. Not nearly long enough, but hey, there's a playhouse in her room and finger puppets and a train downstairs and and and...

Coming, Snowdrop!


Snack time is like the butter or mustard or mayo that ties the cheese to the baguette. I've brought over leftover birthday cake. Eat your healthy stuff and a sliver of the cake is yours. She does. It is.






Mommy joins in.






And then we dance. With abandon! And with cookie monster and baby.






All of us. A bit wild, a lot happy.






Evening comes. Her mommy cooks dinner, Snowdrop and I build. Oh, does she love to build!






And with this the sandwich clamps shut.

Tomorrow -- the other half of the baguette. And here's good news: we may warm up. All the way to 15F (-10C). How about that!

and now she is two!

A cold, cold January 5th. Clouds, big puffy clouds roll in and roll right out again. Winter. A dreamy kind of day. Cornflower, with whipped cream. Or is it a Snowdrop with whipped cream?

Breakfast. Frothy, steamy milk in coffee. A hot beginning to a cold day.








No big outings today. You stay indoors as much as you can.

When I do drive out to pick up Snowdrop from school, I veer toward the lesser lake. No ice fishers out there. Just those big, dozy clouds and the cold cold air.







Snowdrop is two years old today. And she knows it! Others in her class have had birthdays already, today it's her turn. (Her mommy bakes cupcakes and I smile at how many times there will be class cupcakes to bake over the years!)

As I come into the school house, I hear Snowdrop say to one of her friends -- this is my grandma.

Say what?? "Gaga" has come and gone??

Perhaps she knows that I am not ready to let go of her littleness because she tells me, almost reassuringly -- This way, grandma. There's gaga's car.






At the farmhouse, Ed is, as always looking for ways to break rules. They take apart the floor as I watch helplessly.






And then, Snowdrop joyously returns to her play foods.






Our big girl! So toddlerish just a year ago. So tall and poised now.






(Ed takes this photo as we set up train tracks from extra bits and pieces.)






But she abandons all play when Ed puts on a film clip of a train puffing and tooting along a scenic landscape. A real train -- now that's something else!






She naps. She wakes up curious, hopeful...






She spots the hats, ribbons. She wants to try them on. All of them. Finally she settles on pink.






I bring out presents. I want to open them!
No, not until after dinner.
Open one present now?
No Snowdrop.
Just this one present?






The young family comes, Ed brings home the pizzas, we all wear hats. Except for Snowdrop who decides hatless is cooler. She may be right...






A toast to the awesome parents...






And then there is that cake -- with strawberries and cream, because she loves strawberries and cream.






Yet she realizes the solemnity of the occasion as well...






I can see her becoming one of those (like me!) who takes birthday wishes seriously.

...though she never strays too far from her playful self.






And there are the presents -- more challenging toys for the growing girl. I'm amused by this one -- Ed picked it and it's so very right for her given her own dad's love of baseball. She is eager to begin!






But of course, all play must wait. It's late and, too, it's a school night. The young family bundles up (and bundle they must! It's cold out there) and heads home.


Such a milestone day, coming on the heels of so many other milestones. Or, maybe with children, it's pointless to talk of simple milestones? Maybe each day is a leap onto a wonderful new stage? So much to discover, to learn, to love, to laugh about! So much!

Happy birthday, Snowdrop. May your third year glitter and glow with happiness and love.

Wednesday

I am so deeply appreciative of you, you Ocean readers! You are generous and kind and you truly make it very easy to feel hopeful about the world. Thank you for your comments and messages. You're the best!

Now if only you could do magic, I'd have a job for you: please let's get back to outdoor readings that are less like the Arctic and more like south central Wisconsin in the wintertime!

When I wake up, it is thirty degrees colder than it had been when I went to sleep (from 35F, which is just shy of 2C, down to 5F -- a cheek burning -15C). And it will only get worse tomorrow.

Of course, I don't believe in magic, nor in some greater weather deity who manipulates things up there for me, but I do regard it a fantastic (if not fantastical) coincidence that my daughter, born on a January 19th, came into this world on the coldest day of the year (or was it decade, or maybe even century?). And Snowdrop, born on January 5th, repeated that feat by popping out on the coldest day of her birth year. So perhaps I should not be surprised that tomorrow, a birthday for her, will be even colder than what we have today.

On the upside, the sun is out and us hearty northerners tend to be cheerful about the weather so long as there is that spark of brilliant light shining down on us all.






We eat breakfast in the sun room!






And then Ed and I go to a big box store -- to pick up some party hats for the little girl and also to pick up my 4x6 photo that is really a compilation of 6 identical 2x2 photos. You'll probably have guessed that Ed twisted my arm to do my own passport pics on the cheap: rather than paying the $6.50 for a designated passport set, we printed one that I can, myself, cut to size. The cost: 19 cents. It is so like Ed to take on the project of making something that is already cheap even cheaper.

And then I bake a cake.





This is quite the advance planning on my part. And I should note that the bigger celebration of Snowdrop's birthday will come this weekend, when friends and family will gather to sing happy birthday to her and wish her well and eat gobs of cake along with her then. Still, we're having the young family over tomorrow for a pizza and (small) cake supper, and a request was lodged for a strawberries 'n cream concoction, and part one of creating that fell on this day. (It's a sponge cake and David Lebovitz, my go-to dessert guy, swears that it cuts better if you bake it the day before.)


Snowdrop is back in school today. I would imagine all the two and nearly two year olds would get unused to being in school again after a two week break, but the teachers said the transitions were easy and the day was smooth, even though there was no possibility of outdoor play.

It is so cold, that as we leave, Snowdrop insists on mittens -- a rare thing for her indeed, especially since we only need to walk the few steps to the car.






As we enter the farmhouse, she smells cake. She sees cake. It's hard to tell a not quite two year old that it's for tomorrow, but with Snowdrop, you need only offer a piece of bread, with maybe a few strawberries and the girl usually settles into a comfortable munch.






But she is tired, I can tell. She still runs, in the way we run when we want to express our inner joie de vivre (what, you don't run when you're happy? well, maybe you once did)...






... but she also settles down into a steady stream of book reading. And protests only half heartedly when I put her down for a nap.


Again the sun is setting by the time Snowdrop wakes up. I watch the flowers on the table pick up the golden hues of the outdoor light.






The girl looks tussled after her very long rest and she has that sleepy daze about her that makes her appear just a little bit younger.






I look through pictures from last year from this same time period. She wasn't quite one then. Her cheeks were pudgy. I worried that every step she took would cause her to topple hard. Now I worry that the words I use -- when I feed her, play with her, let her be -- aren't the ones she needs.


Following her lead, we play with her toy food. This, right now, is her favorite. We sit across each other and we bargain: who can "eat" what. Of course, it's just a metaphor for so much more.

... even as for her, it's a very serious game about food. (Thinking about who should get the pancake...)







Very very serious. (Honestly, she will be a chef. It seems to be her calling.)






It strikes me that I am so much more careful with Snowdrop than I am say with Ed, or with my daughters. My words, half of them still a mystery to her, still seem to matter so much more! She watches me intently as I tease her. Ed ignores me when I tease him. She takes me seriously almost always. He, my daughters -- well, there is a history that has cemented something that endures despite the words that come and go.

I write all this because I think that Snowdrop, the nearly two year old Snowdrop, has led me to be less nonchalant about what I say and how I say it. And you know what? I think that's a good thing. For everybody.