Thursday - 300th

300 days of isolation! Crazy, no? Still, we are safe. 

This morning -- a gray, misty, cold, icy morning once again...

 

 

 

... with a late breakfast...

... I kept thinking about a passage from a book I read a long long time ago. I was 12 then and mostly liked the romance books that I picked up at the very tiny Young Adult section of the New York Public Library. But, we were soon to return to Poland and so I actually purchased this one book, a nonfiction story (written by Marie Killilea) about raising a daughter with a disability. That part -- about caring for a disabled child -- was powerful enough, but something else in her narrative really made an impression on me: the author presented a beautiful depiction of family life.  Every day stuff. I was enthralled. 

There was one little snippet from that book that came back to me today: it's where she describes the time after the departure of her older adopted daughter. It was a simple scene: the girl, young woman really, had left to live elsewhere (with her new husband I think). The house was suddenly very empty. Marie writes how she takes out the leaf from the dining table, no longer needed now that the family is that much smaller. And this just proved to be the wrong thing to do: the physical act of accommodating in this way the shrunken family unravels her completely.

Because I am remembering so vividly this passage from the book, I do not put away stuff that is here, at the farmhouse for the pleasure of the kids. I'll do it -- I'll tidy up spaces, perhaps redecorate their play space, put away the books they have been demanding all December long, but not today. Not the first day of an empty house.

Still, the farmhouse is small and the telltale signs of the kids' presence are everywhere. And each time I see a flash of one item or the next -- the rose on Snowdrop's placemat, the soup pot filled by Sparrow with plastic veggies, the markers used just yesterday by the little girl -- the feeling of sudden loss washes over me.

But, I'm busy. For one thing, I have a Zoom party with my Polish friends, all properly horrified at the news from this side of the ocean.

 

 

And then later, toward evening, Ed and I do a ski run. No rush today, just a nice easy glide through the prairie and into the forest.

And so the day passes. Will all my winter days be equally slow, equally without new ideas? To avoid a slide into the feeling of sameness, where each day is just like the next or the one before it, I made a list of projects. Looking at it now, I'm thinking few of the items are any fun. They sound like the laborious stuff that I should have been attending to all along, except that I had this excuse: the kids.

Perhaps tomorrow's job will be to come up with a better list!

 

 

 

Wednesday - 299th

And how does your heart feel today? There is so much horrible stuff going on right now in the greater world out there beyond the farmette lands, that it feels unreal that I should think, feel, and write about my life as a grandmother of three and soon to be four magnificent grandchildren. But I will do it anyway because this is where the good stuff happens. It's where joy and beauty reign.

Even though, I have to admit it, it's a tough day for Gogs. After five weeks of intense time with Snowdrop and Sparrow, where they have spent a significant part of every day here at the farmhouse, we have to now cut off those visits -- all those hugs, snuggles, games, meals -- all of that comes to an abrupt end. The sitters, who have been waiting patiently in the wings, have been promised a return to childcare duties starting tomorrow. And they are magnificent at their job and they are needed, because the young couple cannot maintain total isolation 100% of the time, especially if Snowdrop returns to in-person learning in a few weeks. 

Thus today is my last day with the kids for, well, let's not speculate on how long. Let's hope for not terribly long. Because, well, because the farmette is waiting for them, already feeling the pain of the emptiness that comes with their absence.

We wake up early to a foggy day. 

 

 

More prettiness out there! (But I do miss the sunshine.)

Half the cheepers -- the younger lot -- decide to finally venture out and test the winter waters. Or rather snow. Which they hate. Their claws are not clad in warm footwear. 

The older girls, wiser by many years, stay in the barn.

Breakfast. I give Ed a break. No photo. He'll be my one human contact for a long time. May as well give him peace and quiet during today's morning meal.

And then the kids come over. It's hard not to think, and write, in terms of lasts. But it is a last. For a while. 

Snowdrop knows that change is imminent. Her play is different today (and therefore so is his). She alternates between boisterousness, engaging Ed in a balloon game (with many rules!)...

And later, in a dress up talent show, with Sparrow, who is shy about it, but loses his timidity entirely when she coaxes him into laughter.

 

 

Then, in other moments, she just wants to snuggle and read passages of December's favorite books and explain to me the virtues of having a Barbie with purple hair...

 

 

Too, we settle in to draw a little, and definitely (at the request of both kids actually) watch a couple of episodes of Olivia (each one is only ten minutes long). You wouldn't guess it by looking at this photo of the captive audience, but Olivia is pretty funny.

 

Toward the end, I tell her that she should consider taking any toy that she may want to have at home. She pauses and thinks about the implications of it. I reassure her that we've done this before, that it will be fine. She accepts it, stopping only to write on the frost of the screen porch door as we leave. (Mine is the I love you. Hers is the rest, Sparrow works hard on adding an S, for Sparrow.)

How I do love my grandchildren! And yes, I know I am the lucky Gogs. I had them in my home for five weeks. I know that. It makes for an abrupt end, but I'll never forget how fortunate I was to be handed this month of Snowdrop and Sparrow (and not too infrequently -- their parents). Not being able to spend regular old hangout time with my Chicago younger daughter and her family is that more bitter side to the sweetness of this complicated month.

 

In the evening Ed and I ski. It's therapeutic. With so much going on, with the sudden end to an extraordinarily busy period in my life, I need to glide, to take in the winter loveliness, to feel at one with the world out there.

 

 

And I do.

Our evening friends -- the only friends we see regularly these days:

And home again. 

 

 

I try not to look at all the things that remind me of the presence of kids here (everything!). I reheat leftovers and here's a novel thing: I take out a bag of frozen veggies and throw it into the mix. I decided to work through the bags of frozen produce I purchased in early March, unsure then about the future of our food supply, about the virus, about safe grocery shopping. A sign of hope: use up the freezer stuff. We wont be needing it. (Don't prove me wrong!)

I finish supper with Primrose in Chicago. A child's voice. Such a welcome thing!

 

And Snowdrop calls. Not because she needs to connect so soon, but because she has learned to use her mom's phone surreptitiously and to click on my number.

Evening quiet. We're used to that. It's the daytime quiet that will feel way off..

Tuesday - 298th

A memorable day!

... For the wake-up to lovely sunshine! Just one day of blue skies (the clouds are slated to return tomorrow), but oh, are we thankful for it!

 

(just before sunrise)

 

 

 

 

 

... Memorable, too, for the wake-up to no hot water. And no heat. And no gas in the stove. How could this be?! I have a million things to do! It's not just any day, it's Snowdrop's birthday. She is six and there should be friends and a party but of course, there is none of that. There is home and there is the farmhouse and right now the farmhouse is very cold..

I rouse Ed. 

The gas is somehow stuck. Not flowing into the house. We call Madison Gas and Electric

They take a long while to come and that's a good thing, because before they do, Ed locates the problem: an iced-over pressure regulator on the gas line. Phew! A close call. He de-ices it and we're back in business!

A very rushed breakfast... 

 

 

... and then the kids arrive. You'll see a lot of Snowdrop here today. A party of photos of the girl who deserves a party! (And her little brother who just wants to be with her every minute of the day.)

(admiring mermaid banner)

(this one: )

(school: ten minute phonics lesson)

(letting me take her 6-year old portrait)

School, play, read, play - your typical mash-up of activities on this unusual day.

The birthday girl is in great spirits and that's such a good thing! Of course, she is often in great spirits. Snowdrop has a wide emotional range, but her default setting surely is exuberance!

Watching her grow up is indeed grand. Each and every child on this planet has a unique gift. Or two, or more. Whatever the little girl's gifts may be in adulthood, right now, without a doubt, I'd say she is a master story teller. As it's her special day, I can share something from her encyclopedic storehouse of stories. It's from yesterday actually. She was discussing things mathematical with her other grandmother and in being told she can make up a story math problem, you know, with the usual subtractions and additions, Snowdrop enthusiastically offers one of her own creation: Here it is:

LUCY AND JACK’S SNOW DAY

 

Lucy and Jack are waking up. Lucy opens her window and yawns and then she says "Look at that snow! It's a snow day, Jack." she says. Jack wakes up. "What, Lucy?" he says.  "Jack, it's a snow day!" said Lucy. "Lucy, don't get too excited," said Jack. "First we have to get ready." "Yeah and wake up Mom and Dad."

she said. "Okay," said Jack. "We'll wake up Mom and Dad first." "Well, what are you waiting for?

Let's wake up Mom and Dad." she said.

 

"Shhh!" said Lucy.

"Let's jump on their bed." said Jack.

First Mom woke up. "Aah,kids... why are you jumping on my bed?It's only 7:30 in the morning."

"Mom," said Lucy, "look out your window. It's a snow day."

Then Dad woke up. He said "No peanut butter pancakes."

"Dad... Mom can cook but you know we can't cook."

"Sorry,kids. I was dreaming I was at a mansion where they brought me everything I wanted and next I had wanted peanut butter pancakes."

 

"Kids, let's go have breakfast." said Mom.

"Can I have peanut butter pancakes?" Dad said right away.

And then Jack said, "And I'll have peanut butter pancakes too." And then Lucy said, "I'll have peanut butter pancakes too!" "Wait, kids and Dad," said Mom. "I think I'll have peanut butter pancakes too." "What are we waiting for?" said Lucy."Let's go downstairs and have our pancakes."

After they ate their peanut butter pancakes, Lucy said, "Jack, race you to the door!" "Hold on, young lady. First we have to get ready for the day and then you can say 'Jack, race you to the door.'"

"Okay," said Lucy. "Let's go take a bath." Lucy and Jack took their bath and got dressed. Lucy said, "Let's go outside and play." "And have a snowball fight," said Jack. "Well, let's get ready and go outside." said Lucy.

When they got in their clothes and went outside, Lucy said, "Let's have 14 snowballs. I'll have 3. How many will you have, Jack?" 

"Hmm," said Jack,"how many will I have? Well, how about I have 11?" "Yeah, you should have 11," said Lucy. "Let's go have our snowball fight."

In the end Lucy won because she didn’t use a single snowball until Jack ran all out.

Some day someone will have to tell her that her teacher will expect a two line problem. For now, I just have to smile and say -- this is sooo Snowdrop!

With such radiant sunshine outside, I push for the outdoors.  Not terribly long: Sparrow's patience with snow is still pretty thin. (Snowdrop, on the other hand,  could play out there for a long long time.)

Gaga what's Snowdrop doing? Snow angels? I think she's just enjoying being in the snow!

 

 

 (Sparrow with snowman)

(Snowdrop is not a snowman builder. She prefers her magic meadowland pretend play.)

 

 

In the late afternoon, I take the kids back to their house and I speed up the preparations for a farmhouse celebration. The cake needs to be frosted...

Too, I fix the girl's favorite dinner (crunchy chicken, pasta and corn), blow up some balloons and bring down the presents. Snowdrop had meekly asked -- gaga, will you be giving me a present? Yes, little one. I will. 

[And, just before the young family comes back to the farmette, Ed and I have time for a quick run on a ski trail! That's how close we are to the county park!]

 

(frozen lake, ice fisher person...)

Just after sunset, the young family comes and the birthday celebrations continue!

First on the agenda: connect with the Chicago young family.

The balloons, the gifts -- it's all rather spirited! Snowdrop takes a moment to recharge.

(dinner)

(cake)

And then, one last photo. I will see the kids one more time, tomorrow, but there wont be anyone to take this pic: of the four of us on the farmhouse white couch, where we have had so many rambunctious play moments, interspersed with the occasional viewing of their beloved Olivia the Pig film clips.

Time for them to head home.

The farmhouse is warm, the water is warm, the stars are out, the heart feels very full.

Monday - 297th

We are definitely stuck in a weather rut: misty skies call for ice crystals on tree branches. Gray clouds give the impression of early dusk all day long. 

On the upside, there is a bit of magic outside. I mean, the trees!

Ed had spent half the night fixing our forty year old (maybe even older) dryer because my daughter's dryer was completely out and they had boatloads of wet kid clothes that would benefit from a spin in our old machine. (Our old machine isn't exactly broken, but it could use adjustments. Such were made somewhere between 3 and 4 in the morning.) For this reason, I did not wake him for an early breakfast with me.

And it is early. The kids are coming and the ship must sail forth smoothly! 

 

 

 

 

 

It's the first day of school in the new year for Snowdrop and she has a new schedule -- one that appears to include more teacher time, though there are still additional online assignments that must be done as well. The teacher class time is actually quite okay today. 

The online assignment though is mind-numbingly boring, but of course, much of school work is boring. Still, in a classroom, there is some satisfaction in completing work sheets handed out by a class monitor. There is no satisfaction from watching the word "this" jump around a tablet screen, supposedly twisting and kicking its way into a child's consciousness. I think we're supposed to record something -- the little girl tells me. Are you? I don't think so. I think you're good. Click the check mark. 

I mean, I wasn't going to go back and read the instructions again. I just wasn't.

In between the lessons, the kids play and, too, we dig into the book stack, bringing out some favorites about mysterious happenings in the course of a school snow day, and adding some new ones for Sparrow to get him unhooked from old favorites that he just wants too many times each day.

We could have played outside -- Snowdrop asked if we would have time for that -- but the school day seemed long and the book reading took us well into the afternoon and so we put it off for a sunnier day (with the hope that we will indeed have a sunnier day before I have to say good bye to the kids).

 

 

 

Toward evening, Ed and I went skiing. I can't say it was my favorite run. Oh, it was pretty! 

 

 

Indeed, very pretty!

But getting dark. And cold. Still, we do it. You cannot let down your guard in the winter months. So we ski. One loop in our county park and we're done. 

At home we have Monday leftovers. Every week should have at least one easy dinner day. For me, it's always Monday. An easy slide into the new week. I hope it's a good week. For all of us.