Charlotte is due to deliver any day now.

Yesterday morning she went on a nest-making rampage, digging a hole under the bridal wreath bush, biting out the pointy roots, piling up the dirt and leaves to make a soft floor. Today she was even more frenzied—six nests, total. She built one under the porch stairs and then tried to climb out through the stairs (instead of via the opening at the end) and got stuck a la Pooh after his honey binge.

My daughter built a whelping box (with my husband’s help) . Even though the one side is low enough to jump over, it’s a struggle for Charlotte and her sagging belly. Charlotte is now spending her nights on the floor of the downstairs bedroom, beside the box, my daughter within arm’s reach on the sofa above her.

I am surprised by how affected I am by the impending delivery. I keep one ear cocked for the jingle of Charlotte’s tags. I tiptoe behind her, scrutinizing her every move. Is she panting? Was that a whimper? Is she walking somewhere with purpose, or is she pacing in discomfort? I lift her tail and peer at her nether regions. I look at the concrete floor after she sits on it: is that spot of moisture from discharge or wet feet?

I feel frozen with all the waiting. Yesterday I spent the day moping, actually moping. After supper, I laid down on the couch and didn’t get back up, so exhausted was I from the suspense. It’s ridiculous.

Anyway, this is how I’m frittering my days.

In the meantime, how many pups are in there? Want to place bets?

This same time, years previous: meat market: life in the raw and the best chocolate ice cream ever.

Two weeks ago, I decided we were done with studies for the year. I didn’t tell the children when we were stopping, partly because I wasn’t sure exactly when that would be, and partly because I was afraid they’d start begging and whining (more than normal). We had worked fairly consistently over the last few months and were in a pleasant groove. There was no need to shake things up with threats of freedom.

But spring had definitely sprung. With the hotter days, I needed my cool mornings for outside work and kitchen tasks—both feel unbearable in the middle of the afternoon. Plus, on sunny mornings, the kids tend to wake up and walk out. No one has much patience for sitting inside and reading when the birds are chirping (and pooping all over the porch) so merrily.

All that first week, we reveled in our freedom. A trip to town, a baking project, gardening—all of these no longer felt like one more thing to squeeze into a crowded day. Instead, they were what the day was about. There was time for afternoon walks, magazine reading, visiting with friends, and volunteering. Kids gushed over their free time, got totally bored, and then eventually found something to do.

Towards the end of the week when I was reviewing the photos from the last few days, I realized that even though we were no longer doing our studies, learning hadn’t been diminished in the least. In fact, it had, perhaps, even increased.

For example:

Not pictured:

*the twin babies that the older three have been taking care of as Mother’s Helpers
*the new-to-our-area Muslim family that came for an afternoon visit
*the already-mentioned new job at the horse farm.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (6.3.13) and hypothesizing.

This same time, years previous: small pasta with spinach and bacon, three reds fruit crumble, sour cream ice cream,