Sunday

Well, you can't be grumpy at the weather when a little one wakes you up with a spirited "hi gaga, where are you gaga?"

That full-blown joy in waking up to a new day stays with Snowdrop and it rubs off on anyone whose path she crosses.

In the morning, it is my path.

From wake up (remember? ...she overnighted at the farmhouse) we go straight to breakfast. She shows off how she can feed herself now. Pumpkin and bananas and a cup of yogurt are her standards.
















A bath (which takes forever because she loves it so) and then we are ready for breakfast number two. With Ed.

Ahah! Come down ahah!






Oh, she's into breakfast part two. But she is also into arranging the various birds and chicks that I have collected over the years.






Afterwards, Ed retreats to the sheep shed to do some work. I am to take Snowdrop back to her home, but I linger. She is in such a good mood and I want to hang on to her spirit just a little bit longer. (I should note that being happy is her default state of mind, disrupted only when she is not well or when she is overcoming some developmental hurdle.)

What are you doing, Snowdrop?
Taking my dog for a walk.
(Ah. You don't have a dog. But hey, let not the small details of life hold you back.)






She wants to sing. She wants to dance. She is all music and smiles.






But it is time to go home. (Don't ask about the odd dress situation. It's not that cold and I run out of spare tights.)






In the afternoon I finally get Ed to agree to a short hike. He picks a nearby segment of the Ice Age Trail. We do not expect a pretty walk, but we are surprised: not by the landscape so much but by the beautiful sky which seems determined to create pockets of blue just for our walk.






(Through the forest)






(Across the prairie...)






(And again, the sky...)






Evening. The young family is here for dinner.

Hi Snowdrop!











And again there is music, there is dancing and there are the quiet moments. Here's the little one probably destroying some design of Ed's on his computer. He would never complain.






You cannot see much in the sky tonight. No matter. We need't see a beautiful galaxy to know that it is there. And yes, there is a moon hidden behind the puffy clouds and, too, all those specs of light that shine brightly on all our lives.

slogging through March

Are there Midwesterners who profess a love for the great outdoors in November and March?

They're lying. It just is not very pretty out there right now. You can post endless photos of little buds and yes, even daffodil sprouts and I'll acknowledge their wonderfulness for what they will soon reveal, but for now, they are like a tiny green spec in an ocean of gray and brown.

Still, we're on the right path. We know what's ahead. And so the slog through March is actually not a dispirited one. We can imagine April.

Breakfast is in the sun room because for one brief moment there is sun.







And the sun sticks with us as I pick up Snowdrop and her mom to go downtown for the weekly kids' music show -- an event that she has grown rather fond of.






But by the time we get out of the car (a mere three minutes later), the sun is gone, the sky turns gray and even though we're above freezing, we are just above freezing. Snowdrop is still sporting a grin, but me -- I can't wait to be indoors again.






(Color is everywhere, of course. Just not outside. Here's the little one paying attention to a very good if a bit loud band accompanying kids in their attempts to sing on stage. A sort of karaoke for little ones.)






In the afternoon, Ed works the yard for a short while, but for once, I do not join him. Turn up the outdoor furnace tomorrow and I'll be there digging and raking. For now, I concentrate on looking through seed and plant catalogues.



Evening. I go upstairs to finish some house cleaning task. Poor weather outside is a grand excuse to get indoor chores out of the way. What's this? A receding sun? Are the clouds really dispersing for the night? For the next day perhaps? Sunshine can make even a brown March day sing!





I hurry downstairs. Snowdrop is coming for an overnight at the farmhouse and I want to finish spinning the pizza dough into shape. I know, I know -- I always do a pizza for her stays at the farmhouse. It's so predictable and therefore so fine!

(Before the cheese)







There hasn't been a time when she didn't enjoy this crazy evening meal of ours. Not at the table, but in the living room, oftentimes with a nature or science show on the TV screen. Or worse -- with the news hour going strong.











After, the little girl discovers a stack of Maisy books. These were her go to favorites maybe a year ago. She has us sit together and each read a few. She takes on the responsibility of reading hers to her Polish rag doll.






It's getting awfully close to bedtime, but I have one more thing I want to do: it would be so grand to have us all dance a dance that is straight out of the repertoire I saved for my girls when March rolled in. I thought then it sounded Irish. It's not Irish -- it's actually from Newfoundland, but no matter: it's jiggy and bouncy and a total romp and Snowdrop puts all her heart into it.





We read a few books to settle us all for the night. And then I want to take her upstairs, but she has one more request: I want to look at the stars, gaga.

I'm not sure about that one. It seemed awfully cloudy, even at sunset. Still, I hold her close in her pj's and we step outside.

Oh, but it's a beautiful night! Yes, the moon shines brightly and a few stars twinkle their lovely diamond light.

Friday

To a large degree, we are responsible for our own happiness or lack thereof. Not fully -- you can't help being born into war, disease, poverty and other cataclysmic events. But for the average person who is lucky enough not to be plagued by any of these -- well, you plant your own garden, so to speak.

Except when you're little. As I go through the steps of ushering yet another generation of young ones (or more accurately -- one young one) through the everyday, because I am less rushed and less harried, I have more time to think about what I'm doing.Here's my take on today:

Snowdrop did not have the happiest after school hour and I'd say it was almost entirely my fault. She felt (and expressed!) the dissatisfaction with what were, in effect, dumb moves on my part.

You can't totally blame me. I was overly optimistic. All that sunshine!







True, I should have taken my cues from the cheepers who took an awfully long time to alight from the barn...






But I am dizzy with the sunshine and, too, with the knowledge that this is to be the last really cold day, probably for the rest of winter and surely for the spring that's just ahead.

So when I pick up the little girl at school, I decide to repeat yesterday's brief dance with the outdoors and I offer her an excursion (by car) to the local playground. For the swing.

Oh, she is happy with that!






Until her hood blows off in the wind. I put it back on. It blows off again. And again. Snapping it shut does not appease her. By now she is complaining that she really really wants her mitts. A smart gaga would have looked in her coat pocket and found a pair, but I was not feeling especially clever so I pulled her sleeve over her hands and told her to make do.

A two year old doesn't understand the term "make do."

I take a very unhappy girl out of the swing and drive her to the farmhouse. To add to her woes, she had splashed herself silly washing up after lunch in school and so once home, I have to disrobe and change her. I look down at the kitchen floor to see a very naked and very upset little girl with a tear stained face buried in the runner rug.

Good job, gaga!

The thing is, kids forgive you so quickly for your poor choices in life. Within a minute she is in my lap, saying over and over "I want my gaga," which of course melts my heart, especially since I very much felt she should be saying "I do NOT want my gaga, I want someone who knows how to care for a two year old," but there you have it.

Moments later, Snowdrop is playing with her characters while munching her very cheesy croissant. She arranges a very lovely scene where the Snowdrop lookalike character is pushing around the gaga lookalike in the toy wheelchair.






Following this, she demonstrates to me how well she can sing "ring around a rosy," with of course the requisite dance...






... and the part where "we all fall down."






I'm guessing it's a school game.

Onto crayons...






("What should I draw?")





... and the day's balance is restored.


Later, much later, we return to Snowdrop's home. As is often the case on Fridays, I linger with the young family. Snowdrop is so content when we're all there for her!  (She finds her mommy's badger cap... puts it on...)







This is when she blurts out her affections without hesitation. And sure enough, this is when I first hear her say boldly and bluntly -- I wuv gaga!

I leave them dancing. Her dad had clued her into the Finnish penguin dance on youtube the night before and though I swear this is not a version of it, I had to smile as I retreated. A dancing family:





There is a moon and it shines brightly on us -- on all of us. How cool is that!

Thursday

Sometimes, in mock exasperation, I say to Snowdrop -- "oh, that ahah!" She has adopted the expression herself when she wants us to know that our behavior is just too strange, silly, or downright insane.

So perhaps I should lay claim to those same words now, for the weather we're having. Oh, that weather!!

I don't think it ever made it above freezing today, though there were periods of sunshine, so I suppose I'm less appalled with it and with the incredible meteorological vicissitudes we've been having here, in Wisconsin.

But it was cold.

Oh, those cheepers!






Breakfast is in the sun room, sure...





... but we stay indoors after. Neither of us are giving the farmette land much thought right now.


And then I go to pick up Snowdrop.

When you do not keep your car in a garage, it is, of course, a chilly ride. But by the time I get to Snowdrop's school, the car temperatures have moderated. I'm not one to bundle up a kid if she is going to be stuck in a car where the thermostat is set to 72F. At the same time, you have to get to the car and endure the first few minutes of cooler air. So I compromise. Snowdrop wears her warm coat -- the same one she used for recess outside -- but it's not exactly zipped tight and I let go of the other outdoor paraphernalia -- the hats, mitts, etc.

But suppose you leave school and you see that the city has been chopping down a huge tree just across the street. You want to show your granddaughter the huge stump, no? You want her to stand tall on it. To admire it's ringed awesomeness.

So this is why the photo below presents a little girl standing in below freezing weather without a hat, without gloves, and in a jacket that's not fully zipped. (She is sporting leg warmers, but that's entirely because she decided on her own to make that fashion statement as we were searching her cubby box for a spare pair of socks.)






It really feels too cold to play outside and yet I do want us to spend at least a few minutes soaking in the wisps of sunlight. The perfect solution is to drive over to the swings -- these are at a development not too far from the farmette. You'll notice that this time I at least made her wear the hood, though her hands are still uncovered. Why is she carrying her lunch box? She wanted it. Do not ask me about the inner workings of a two year old mind.






Happiness is swinging high, with the sunshine peaking out with enough force to make you shut your eyes against the glare.






At the farmhouse, she is just so happy to be offered a croissant...






These days she wants to do anything and everything that the adults in her life do. Here, she's climbing up and reaching for the tissue box so that she can blow her nose and wipe it dry.






Afternoon, a nap, a sinking sun.

It's time for me to take you home, little one. I now you haven't finished your corn snack yet. Want to take it with you?

What's this? Cheepers at the door. Ohhh, I know who would love to share in your snack!






(She explains to the hens that she's not quite done with her corn yet... then her heart melts and she  relinquishes a bit of the cob to them.)






Oh, that weather! Oh, that Snowdrop! Oh, the sunset!






And as beautiful, the fields to the west, in the gentle colors of dusk.

Wednesday

This morning is notable for providing no news (and therefore no resolution) on the chicken predator front (Ed fell asleep, the skype signal was interrupted, and the mice ate all the peanut butter), and for providing one of those dreary March landscapes where rain turns to wet snow and the world looks like this outside our kitchen window (note cheepers parading to the garage despite the unfortunate precipitation):






Please appreciate (as we do) the color that we make certain is part of our winter breakfast routine.






The morning is also notable because I complete work on my tax returns. In the old days, I used to do the family taxes by hand. Some dozen years ago, when my family situation changed and there were property sales and events that surely had tax consequences that I couldn't quite learn fast enough, I hired an accountant. I did that for three years, each time regretting the money I handed to him to do my returns. The last several years, I turned to the online Turbo Tax. But lately I regretted the money I handed to them! Mine is not a complicated return! Let me go back to doing it on my own.

Of course, it took twice as long (this despite that Turbo Tax asks a million irrelevant to me questions and plodding through them is terribly boring). Navigating the unfamiliar software was a pain. Nonetheless, I finished and so now I surely should pay myself a tax preparer's bonus, don't you think?


One last notable detail about the morning: Snowdrop stayed home from school today. She seemed a bit under the weather last night and the young family felt like one does when winter is almost over and you haven't had quite the number of snow days you expected: having only kept Snowdrop out of school once for a sick day, you may as well feel lavish and grant her another.

I leave the snow-dusted farmette and head for the city.






After doing errands, I arrive at Snowdrop's home. She's coloring with her mommy...






... and any doubt that I may have had about the girl being in good form soon disappears.






She and I run through her favorites...











... and I can confidently say that the afternoon is cheerful and full of spunk. Snowdrop makes sure of that.






And the evening? Oh, very comforting. I cook up a pot of chili at the farmette. It seems fitting for this first day of March, don't you think?

(The old orchard at the farmette...)