Thursday

Last year all winter long I fretted about the chickens. It seems like an overblown attack of the crazies in retrospect, but when a hawk took one of the cheepers (the young, and graceful Cupcake), I became sensitive to how fragile life was for the farmette brood. Kittens seemed destined to suffer during harsh Arctic blasts, cheepers were like a walking KFC commercial for birds of prey.

This year's animal troubles were concentrated in October and November. We seem to have coasted grandly through the tougher winter months. (Well, it is true that Stop Sign has disappeared. Gone for many weeks now. Did old age catch up with her? Or had she enough of all the cats in her space at the farmette? Never mind that they're all her kids -- she seemed to prefer solitude.)

If winter is for worries, then perhaps I should redirect my efforts and fret some more about the human viruses that are plaguing us this year. Wisconsin's flu season is turning out to be severe. And of course, there are the other viruses...

Thinking about all the above this morning, I prepare the usual breakfast...






... and I look outside onto these last very cold days of the season. We're well below freezing today and tomorrow. February is asserting itself!

And this is when I see it again: the red cardinal. Here's a photo through several layers of glass and screen, so you get just that speck of color:






He's been with us all winter long, hovering by the garage in the same way that the kitties hover by the porch and the cats by the sheep shed.

Cardinals do not migrate south. They seek shelter in evergreens and we have plenty of those around the farmette. They live in pairs and I'm fairly certain his brown mate is somewhere around, but if she is there, she's more elusive. Perhaps she will appear, unruffled, unbothered, come springtime.

Which brings me to this moment of deep satisfaction: the sun is now coming out from behind puffy, irrelevant clouds. That sunshine will be with us through the rest of the cold spell. By the weekend, the freeze will recede. We will have above freezing temps every day, as far as the predictive eye can see. We made it! We survived winter!






Is that good news, or what?!

The kids, of course, take all this in stride. Happy little larks, who can still find joy in a landscape that seems winter weary and drab...











(Snowdrop goes straight to her ongoing story... Sparrow and I read countless little books.)






It's dance day for Snowdrop. Can you tell she's a lion? Me, I notice that she is managing the hula hoop pretty well!





Evening. I need to talk to my mom. A place has an opening for her. I'll be checking it first thing tomorrow morning. I'm thinking -- this next week is going to be a busy one for me. March, coming in with the roar of a lion.

I had been reading some books with the kids when Ed came in from running some errand. I look up and say -- for once, I have no idea what to cook for dinner. Snowdrop throws out suggestions from the sideline.  Why don't you make some soup, gaga. You like soup. With onions maybe?

Much much later I cook up a pot of soup. With onions.

Wednesday

You know what they say -- if you live with someone for a long time, you sort of become like them, at least to a degree. Your physical appearance changes, as does his (or hers).

Perhaps we've embarked on this train ride too late in life, or perhaps Ed and I are such polar opposites in so many ways -- for whatever reason, I don't think Ed and I are any more alike physically speaking than we were when we first started our life together back in October 2005.

On the other hand, some habits clearly have crossed over, so that even if I were not in Ed's life, I think he would forever consider granola for a morning meal, and there would be a designated dinner time, and Klarbrunn fizzy water would be on his shopping list.

And me? Staying up half the night and then going back to sleep after the morning animal feed is very much an Ed thing and it was my thing today as well. We ate a very late breakfast.





Too, I am thoroughly in his pickle camp. Oh, I've always enjoyed pickles when in Poland, but here, I had given up on them. Americans cheat and preserve their pickles with vinegar. To Ed and to me as well, that is just so wrong at so many levels. Ed has me pick up the only jar of salt brined pickles I can find in town and he eats them fairly regularly. I would join him, but my Polish roots beg me to search further and sure enough, I found a place in New York that does the pickles correctly and offers the 1/2 pickled or 3/4 pickled option -- both of which closely resemble the pickles I eat in Poland. And so I have taken to ordering these wonderful brined guys from New York and today I opened the newly arrived batch. Just to sniff and admire. My mouth still craves mushy over crunchy following yesterday's surgery, but the smell is enough to send me to pickle heaven.






Ed says that's what happens when you finally find the pickle you love: you can't get enough of it.

In other news: Well, we're still stuck in winter weather and so counting the days til spring has become a daily habit. Spring will bring with it "spring break." For me, this means a March trip to Poland and France. I have some decisions to make concerning that journey. Perhaps thinking about this is what gives me some sleepless nights. I'm not good with indecision.

On the more predictable front, the kids are here this afternoon and all is as normal as can be. Slippery, but that's normal for the last week of February.






(dancing on ice)






(dancing with his Duplo girls)











(Snowdrop is in the middle of a drawn out story... she returns to it today)






(Sparrow right now thrives on repetition... nearly every day he returns to his play with the toy macarons)






One more happy grin because, well, we all need more happy grins these days:






I'll end with a photo taken outside the kids' school. Madison is only a couple of miles away from the farmette, but it does get that city boost in terms of seasonal blooms. Today, I spotted the first snowdrop. The flower.






And in the evening, Ed plays volley ball and I lose myself in my new and very wonderful book.

Tuesday

I do get stubborn. Over little things. Food things, for example. Which is why I find myself stuffing my swollen cheeks with croissants this morning.

Early today I had my wisdom teeth pulled. Most people do this when they're teenagers, but I resisted. Nature planted teeth in my mouth, why rush to take them out? (One reason might be because your mouth heals 100% when you're 16 and more like 85% when you're 60+.)

But of course, the wisdoms remained an endless source of trouble over the years and so I finally gave in. I like my dentist-the-teeth-puller. In addition to being a nice and competent guy, he is in favor of having you drift off into lala land during the procedure -- something that I admit feels like the sweetest controlled high, at least for the five seconds that you are awake to enjoy it.

So early this morning I dragged a sleepy Ed along for the ride, because you are not allowed to exist the dental premises on your own after the operation. And I had this brilliant idea that afterwards we should go to Finca for breakfast.

That was nuts. How do you attack a croissant with a tender mouth the size of a double balloon? Not to despair! Finca is a beautiful little place of bright lights even on a mostly cloud day. The coffee is sublime and somehow I even enjoy pieces of croissant. Aiming high isn't always such a bad thing.






But the rest of the morning is rather low key. I'm nursing my back, I'm nursing my mouth.

You would think that this is a loser set of hours. You would be wrong. I could think of worse ways to spend the day than this rather leisurely approach of this physically complicated day.

Am I worried about an afternoon with the kids? Not really. I pick up Snowdrop early and walk over with her to get the little guy. This saves me lots of steps with him. At home, I'm prepared to put on some videos if I continue to have problems articulating words (a prerequisite for reading books).

But in fact, the kids rise to the challenge. They're happy despite the mini adjustments to our time together.








 



No videos are called forth! We read and we spend a long time playing with stickers.






Who knew that Sparrow and Ed would dive right into this?






(A pause for books. Sparrow reads to his farmhouse baby.)






By evening, My face is back to more or less normal size. My back does not need the support of two pillows.

The world may be falling apart, but inside your own back yard, I hope you, too, are able to find reason to smile.

Monday

The last week of February is always a bit sluggish here, in south-central Wisconsin. Meaning we, who inhabit these parts grow sluggish. We're no longer bracing for the tough winter ahead, we're not yet feeling a surge of spring air. They say the flu season hasn't peaked, that people are toppling with winter bugs and I can understand that: our collective resistance is low. We shuffle along and wait for the snow to melt, trying not to remember that last year, it didn't melt until the calendar officially announced the arrival of spring. (My friend in Warsaw sent me a photo of the first blooming daffodil. They had almost no winter this year. It gives you pause: a very early spring is not necessarily such a good thing.)

I try to do (almost) nothing this morning. My back has to get better! There is no room in my days for a sprain or a strain or any form of incapacity. What exactly is a good position for a sore back is a mystery to me, but I try not to move around too much. At least not before breakfast. A slow unfurling of a day is good for the back and good for the soul as well!





In the afternoon, I do pick up the kids, but I have it all planned out: Sparrow will walk to Snowdrop's building. And climb up the stairs on his own. And then down again. And then in some fashion I will pull him into the car seat by the arms. And pull him out the same way.

That's the plan. The reality is a little more muddled and the poor guy surely is not pleased with my maneuvers. Still, we manage!











Once at the farmhouse, they are full of ideas.






"Don't need music to dance! Do need a crown..."






Snowdrop has been begging to see the robotic vacuum in action. Today we finally give in.






Sparrow is a little taken aback by the whole thing. He finds his favorite book and loses himself in it....







At the end of the day I am relieved that I'm not on a downhill slide with my back. I may be sluggish, but I'm mobile! That is such a good thing...

weekend at the farmette, the end

Just about a half hour before the sun crawls up over the horizon, I hear the tell tale noises of a little guy wanting to get up and out of bed.

("I'm up the earliest!" Don't I know it...)





And now comes my big mistake: Ed's asleep on the couch. Snowdrop is asleep upstairs. The shed cats are hovering on the porch. Calico and Cutie are somewhat intimidated. This is the time to get the shed cats out of their space by feeding them in the shed. I pick up Sparrow -- let's go for a walk to the shed!

I've become too cavalier with picking him up and carrying him. He's heavy and swift lifts are a path to trouble.

Indeed. In one of those quick lifts, I throw my back out.

I'll be paying the price for a good many weeks. It takes that long for a lumbar strain to heal.

("I'm a better breakfast eater!" Yes you are...)






It's such a beautiful day! Windy, but right around 40F (5C) (remember back in autumn, when that felt so cold?), and so very sunny!






Ed suggests a walk through our emerging, new neighborhood. We can take the stroller for Sparrow. Snowdrop grabs a couple of pinwheels. We're off!






Happy kids, happy grandma...






Except that Sparrow refuses to ride in the stroller. He walks the entire way.






Snowdrop, on the other hand, will not let the stroller go to waste.






I urge her to join her brother. She does. For a minute.





It's a beautiful time to be walking with the grandkids!

(Things a five year old can do that a one year old can only dream of...)






(Things that a one year old can do and is proud of doing: carry his own chair to wherever the spirit moves him.)






Lunch: they want pancakes and bacon. Done!





And then Sparrow naps and Snowdrop returns to her set ups and stories. And eventually the parents return from their weekend up north to take their kids home. [I know to many of you, we already live "up north," but to a Wisconsinite, up north means, well, many different things -- it's a geographic designation, though for some, it's a state of mind. Someone once said -- "up north is where cellphone service ends." Most, though, think of it as everything north of highway 8, which neatly separates the northern quarter of our state from everything else.]


You could say there is more to this day: Ed and I go out for another short walk (my whacked back is in no mood for anything more than that). We eat a quiet supper, watch one thing or another -- all lovely, all fine, but the weekend belongs to the kids, so I'll end with those images dancing before us. Kids, at the farmhouse, bathed in sunlight.

weekend at the farmette, continued

If your grandkids come to you for a long visit, you are much more likely to go about your business and take their ups and downs in stride. It would be like my time with Snowdrop and Sparrow after school: on some days they are tired, perhaps a little under the weather, on other days they are aglow with radiance and joy. My job is to calm them, give them space, guide them toward productive play, read to them, help them find ways to play together. But I don't see it as my role to keep them in stitches. Oh, I surely do like it when they are full of laughter, but if they're sulky (a rarity, but it happens), unless they seem in need of help, I let them be.

But if they are here for a weekend, well that's a different story. If they get weighed down by some calamity, then the whole visit can be thrown off. There may not be time to recover, especially if they feed off of each other, in the way that siblings do when they are together and away from home. And so I work harder to keep the juices flowing in a positive direction. It becomes important for them to get enough rest and to eat well. I have lists of possible distractions. I think about ways to make the days extra special. (Which is why by the end of the weekend, I am exhausted! Not because I am with them 24/7, but because I fret about each hour that they are here.)

A good night's rest helps keep things sane the next day and I have to say, we failed on that one. Sparrow is up at 5:35 -- an hour earlier than normal. Snowdrop comes down at 6:25 -- that, too, is significantly earlier than her weekend normal.






I predict that by the afternoon, I'll be brewing a third cup of coffee!

(Much later: this is what a sunrise looks like!)






Breakfast is somewhat irregular. Neither child eats a lot in the morning and one is ready to stop before the other one is fully awake. I bring in the tail end with my oatmeal...






Their play is a circle of activity, repeated again and then once more. Duplos, windowsill story telling while he feeds macarons to his new love -- one of her babies, then art, books, dollhouse tales, a return to the windowsill story, etc.

















I do a very early lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches.






And ice cream.






For entertainment, I offer a lesson on beard trimming. (Yesterday was the "before," this is the "after.")






And then at least the little guy gets to catch up on some sleep.


In the afternoon, I suggest outings. I suggest adventures. They resist. Even though it's drop dead gorgeous outside!

(Learning the workings of Ed's watch -- a nearly 50 year old cheap Timex.)






More pretend: Snowdrop tells me -- I let little kids live their dreams. (That may have been the case, until Sparrow took the toy cookie that was part of her set up.)






Evening. I do that really easy dinner. Pizza. That's how much this grandma wants to pander to the awesome duo. (They are always surprised that Ed goes out to get it. We may be the only ones who never do delivery.)






And once more, we have a movie night. I tell Snowdrop that so long as her brother is too young to care, she can have free reign. By next "weekend at grandma's," however, she may have to hand over to him some of the decision making.

(Today she chooses Moana... yet another Disney super hit...)






Bedtime. There is a book here that I have read to Snowdrop each of the dozens of nights she has slept over (Goodnight Numbers). She asks for it again of course. I have this feeling I'll be reading it when she sleeps over before going off to college, possibly as a math major (you know, it's all about numbers).

I'll end with a Sparrow dance: he does love a happy ending. And to dance.