Expatmum

As Promised - The Man Hole Story

2008-10-10T05:59:00.000-05:00

So - as I remember, I was about seventeen and had been sent home from school because of the snow. This was always a huge pain, as it used to take me hours and two cross-town buses to get there on a good day. Why on earth we didn’t have phone trees to tell everyone just to stay at home, I don’t know. I think the nuns were keeping track of who was diligent enough to plough their way to school. Ot it could have been the inference that non-attendance would have sinister repercussions in the after life, or something. Very few girls lived close enough to walk so it really was a Herculean effort to get there, especially if the buses decided there was too much snow. On one occasion I remember a big posse of us decided to walk from the center of town, about three miles in the snow. We must have had an extremely pressing reason to get to school as none of us were that saintly.

Anyway, having been kicked out of my school, I eventually ended up at my mother’s school for some reason. Her grade/primary school had also been closed because of the snow and there were several kids whose parents couldn’t be contacted; no cell phones in them days. We ended up having to take one family of small kids to their home because mom was home with a baby, and I remember carrying a four year old at least a half mile, while still carrying my own two ton school bag. Moments after we had dropped the kids off, we crossed a very busy road. I noticed a manhole surrounded by a huge puddle, and, like the loving daughter I am, pointed it out to my mother. What was not apparent was that this was actually just the man hole lid, which had risen and floated off. The actual manhole was directly in front of me and submerged in the filthy brown puddle.

Two seconds after my dutiful act, I was up to my chest in freezing cold, filthy puddle water (at least I hope it was puddle water). For some reason there didn’t seem to be a grave danger of me plunging to the earth’s epicenter, partly because I had hurled my school bag clear and on to the sidewalk/pavement therefore my arms were outside of the manhole.

Cars driving by slowed down to have a look – (I noticed that no one actually got out to help.) And where was my mother in all of this, you might ask? Surely she must have fallen down a neighboring manhole or suffered some other dire fate that rendered her unconscious and prevented her from racing to the assistance of her first born? No actually, she was doubled over laughing by the side of the road, reaching out in a half-hearted way, the waves of mirth preventing her from rendering any assistance whatsoever. She may have picked up my book bag but thinking back now, that was probably only because she didn’t want to jeopardize my chances of scoring a place at a decent university. (This was before personal computers, so all my notes were hand-written, in ink, and therefore extremely susceptible to water damage.) When I finally dragged myself out I was dripping wet and very cold. My mother, by that time, had regained her composure and we walked the remaining quarter mile home. Thankfully, I was not confined to bed with pneumonia or anything of the sort. Obviously that’s just as well given the sympathy my mother was displaying over the whole event.

Only a few years ago, when I was recounting this tale to some friends, my mother inflicted further psychological damage by announcing that she could only “vaguely remember” the incident. I’ll get her back by accidentally tripping on her walking frame or other such geriatric aid when she’s older!

Six Random things

2008-10-07T06:36:00.001-05:00

I've done this before but who doesn't like posting about themselves? Wake Up and Smell the Coffee tagged me. I have to tell 6 random things about myself then pass this on to 6 others. I have already passed this one on way back so I won't inflict it again, but if anyone feels like jumping in, please do:

1. I have been in the States since 1990 and still say 'aluminium' (extra syllable), tomato (pronounced the correct way - see last post), and process (pronounced with an "oh"). I have met quite a few Brits who've been over here for less time and who have gone completely native. I'm sure when I'm on US soil I could be accused of rolling an R or two at the end of a sentence, but I've never understood how people can abandon their entire verbal upbringing and say American things. Not meaning to be judgmental here but, actually, well, I probably am.

2. I'm a decent tap-dancer and I really enjoy it. I know that sounds brash but you don't meet many people younger than Fred Astaire who can tap dance. I even have a pair of adult tap shoes and up till about 6 years ago used to take classes. (That ended with pregnancy bed rest and now I don't have the time.) As a child I took ballet, tap and "stage" which I believe is now called "jazz". I did them all till I went to university and didn't take any up again till about 8 years ago. As soon as I started with the adult ballet I remembered why I had given it up - too damn hard, and quite frankly, some of those poses are the exact opposite of what any personal trainer will tell you to do. No wonder they all end up with hip replacements. But tap - give me a glass or two of Pinot Grigio and a hard kitchen floor and I'm off!

3. After all this time in the States, my American accent is pretty woeful, although I do a mean Texan accent. Thanks in part to my in-laws who are both Texan, and also thanks to my daughter's fave TV show - "Reba". I have always been a good mimic, but somehow a generic US accent fails me.

4. I am not, and never will be, a morning person. Despite have had small children in the house for over 15 years, and working outside the home, as they say, for a goodly while after I left uni, I have never come to terms with the fact that I couldn't work ooh, say about 10am till 7pm. I once nearly got a job with an indie record company after I left uni, (they were too chicken to take a risk with someone so young) and a big factor was the 10am start. However, I was living in Wimbledon at the time, and the job was somewhere like Finchley, or Nottingham, so it probably would still have meant getting up at 7am.

5. I know I have mentioned this before but - I can touch my nose with my tongue. I have only met one other person who can do this, but my 5 year old is almost there. It's more to do with the small space between your top lip and nose than the length of your tongue before anyone leaves a blue comment!!!

6. I fell down a manhole when I was 17! I did - really! And not just a little bit - I was in up to my chest in filthy, icy water. I will post the full story next time as it's a bit involved and it doesn't show my mother in the best light either!! (Cliff hanger.)

Tomatoes in your sub ma'am?

2008-10-03T06:32:00.002-05:00

I've read two hilarious posts recently about US/UK pronounciation. Mike over at Postcards from Across the Pond wrote a hilarious piece about trying to communicate with a taxi driver inEngland, and Brit Out of Water was shocked to find himself saying Home Depot the way Americans do - Deepo, as opposed to Deppo. I admit that I too say Deepo, mainly because I've only ever heard the whole phrase in the States. Home Deppo would sound strange.

I caused great hilarity in England a year or two ago, when I mentioned the Toyota Celica car, and pronounced it Sellika as they do here. My family insisted it was Saleeka, and cut me no slack because I'd only ever heard one pronounciation of it. My American sons find it equally amusing, on watching Top Gear, that Brits pronounce the Hyundai High un Die. Here in the States, it's pronounced Hunday. I have to say the Brit pronounciation sounds more Japanese to my untrained ear, but I choose my battles with my kids, and arguing about the right way to pronounce a stupid car name doesn't even make the list.

I can say Bayzil (for Basil) without too much pain, and oREGano rolls off the tongue too, but the American word I swear I will never embrace is tomaydo. Despite being teased, imitated and misunderstood in sandwich shops, I just can't do it. You see, it not only requires a change in the pronounciation of the "a", it also demands that the "t" be replaced by a "d". Too many accommodations in one word for me. Besides, I always think Brits who fall victim to the "d" sound a bit weird. Not being judgmental or anything, I just don't understand how you can grow to be an adult speaking one way, then adopt something fairly different within a year, or even a decade.

This stubborness on my part makes for some interesting challenges while in those deli sandwich shops. I quite like tomatoes, and am not averse to having them in those big sub sandwiches, but only if I don't have to ask for them. Sometimes I get lucky and the server points to things which I then only need to say yes or no to. However, if they say "What else would you like in your sandwich?" I usually stick with lettuce, cheese and onion.

Harr, Harr

2008-09-29T04:09:00.001-05:00

Apparently, on September 19th, it was International Talk Like a Pirate Day. I noticed this piece of news on my MSN Home Page, and on further investigation, it appeared to be fairly widely acknowledged in the media although I didn't hear a single real person mention it. Okay, so I live in the States, where many people don't think beyond their state borders, and are anyway distracted by the financial and political shenannigans going on in these parts.

My research uncovered that the whole idea to talk like pirates was the brain child of two guys (natch), who then decided to make it an International Day. Then I thought "What? You can just go around making up "International Days"?" How about that? I'd have thought the United Nations or the Pope would need to be involved at the very least. So guess what? Yes, friends - I have come up with a few days of my own, which I will strive to ensure are internationally recognised if it's the last thing I do.

- Talk Like a Five Year Old Day.
Away with your inhibitions; remove the filter from brain to mouth and just tell the world what's on your mind - every second of the day, without taking a breath. It helps to take on the character of the last animal you saw, such as next door's dog or the squirrel up the tree outside. In my world it would go something like:

"I really don't want to get out of bed. I hate getting up this early. I wonder if I can squeeze in five more minutes. Ooh, my back. Oh god, I have to pack a couple of lunches today."

Half an hour later - "Do I really have to get dressed to take the little one to school? I suppose I should. I know Americans dress rather casually, especially in the mid-west, but PJ's (especially bright blue with hot lips and strawberries on them) would probably raise some eyebrows. Roll on the winter when I can hide the whole ensemble under a very long duvet/coat.".

Even later - "Oh god. What can I give them for dinner that won't result in a big fight? Why do I have to even do this for other people? I wasn't born for this. I should be living on a Caribbean island, writing novels and sipping margueritas."

Get the idea? If not, please feel free to come across to my house and take over before I kill him, I mean, and sample the original model.

- Talk Like a (Female) Teenager Day.
Just insert "like", "you know" and "Oh my god" liberally and again, remove the brain/mouth filter. This works better when said in tones of righteous indignation, and a slammed door or two never goes amiss. My version would sound something like:

"Ugh, I cannot BELIEVE how much, like, laundry there is in the, you know, laundry hamper. My whole weekend is totally like screwed. I SO have the like, worst life in the world. OMG, none of my friends have to do this."

Talk Like a (Male) Teenager Day.
This is dead easy because it requires virtually no effort. A few grunts here and there, and an occasional eyeball roll are all that's required. I can't really do an impersonation without the aid of a webcam, and we're not going there. (Besides, I don't have a webcam.) However, the conversations in our house usually sound like this:

Me: Hi, how was your day?
MT (Male teen) - Ugh. (Or something.)
Me: (In an attempt to improve his diction) Is that good or bad?
MT: Jeez mom.
Me: Do you have any homework?
MT: Yup.
Me: Well what is it and when does it have to be in by? (Talk about bad grammar.)
MT: Did it.
Me: Oh.
Pause.
Me: Okay.

Finally there'd be
Talk Like A Husband Day
I'm fairly positive this needs no explanation. In our house it sounds a wee bit like:

"We're not lost, I just don't quite know where we are in relation to where we need to be".

"Right, I'm just off to Home Depot (B&Q)".
"What? .. Of course I've measured the space...."

"I'm cooking tonight. We'll BBQ some steaks, chicken and brats* and invite the whole street over. Oh...and we'll have some salads to go with it." (In the States, this is a cue for all the men to stand outside with a brewskie or two, while wifey is stuck inside the sodding kitchen, chopping lettuce etc. Husband gets all the praise for the BBQ'd meat!)

"What's wrong? Nothing? Oh..okay." (Note to husbands - you are supposed to probe considerably further when the wife says "Nothing". It's usually not the case at all.)

* Brats over here are fat German sausages, not the cannibalism that it sounds like.

Oh, that's just bloody great!

2008-09-26T06:27:00.006-05:00

I can barely write this, I'm so stressed. Husband has been away since last Wednesday (a 10 day sojourn by the time he gets back), the kids have been competing for the worst-cold-of-the-season award, oldest kid went to camp at 6am last week, middle one went straight off when oldest came back, and little one has been up about twice a night for a week coughing and sneezing. You could stand clocks on the bags under my eyes. In short, I'm knackered.

But the straw that has finally broken this camel's back was an article out last week in Forbes Magazine. (Don't go getting all impressed - I found the link on my MSN home page.) Chicago has just been ranked by Forbes as the most stressful place to live in the USA. Allow me to quote ver batim:

Chicago's rising unemployment rate, expensive gas, high population density and relatively poor air quality create a perfect storm of stress, according to measures we used to calculate the country's anxiety hot spots.

We beat New York City and Los Angeles! That can't be possible. Forbes reports that New York still has the worst population density, and LA has the worst air quality, but apparently its inhabitants are positively chillin' compared to us wound up Chicagoans. I am genuinely surprised at this because most Chicagoans you meet aren't like your stereotypical New Yorker (and I realize it's a stereotype before anyone gets their knickers in a twist). Chicagoans are really friendly, salt-of-the-earth outdoorsy folk. Granted, the taxi drivers are getting a little more aggressive and the car pool moms take a few liberties now and then, but this??

Why, only on Monday morning, I had a routine check up downtown and it was such a beautiful day I decided to walk the two plus miles home. My walk (on a perfect, low humidity, sunny day) took me up Michigan Avenue, along the beach, through Lincoln Park and past the zoo. What's so stressful about that?

There's only one blot on the horizon for me this week. On Friday afternoon I have to get middle son to a baseball practice about two miles up the road from here. It's literally one street all the way, but because of rush hour, it will take me about 45 minutes to do it. There's not enough time to come home, before I would have to set out to pick him up, so now I have to take the little one and come up with something to do with him for a couple of hours. The Ball & Chain lands at O'Hare at 6, and is insisting that he will be able to swing by and bring son home. What? You can't even get through Customs and Immigration in half an hour let alone to downtown Chicago.

I can hear some of you thinking that if I lived out in the middle of nowhere I would be able to do the baseball drop-off, go for a manicure, do the weekly shop and cook dinner for the other two before picking up again - but pause, friends. I have always maintained that the biggest stressor for me would be to be stuck out in some of the suburbs here. Chicago and the surrounding area is flat as a pancake, so there is very little natural beauty to my mind, unless you go in for plains that stretch to Colorado (literally). Given that I use my car about twice a week and rarely venture outside of my two mile walkable comfort zone, I'll take my chances with the stress levels here, which, as you've probably surmised by now, would exist even if we lived alone on Pluto.

Now where's that Valium.

You just never know

2008-09-22T06:00:00.001-05:00

When I die, I want “Just in case” written on my gravestone. (OK, I know this is blogger's licence as I have previously stated that I want my ashes chucked off the cliffs at Tynemouth Priory, but humour me.) I’m the type who puts gorgeous soaps and other pampering gifts to one side, and continues to use the bulk bought bath gel and shampoo. Why? It’s not like you can use soap for anything other than washing yourself. I don’t even have a dreadful skin allergy that dictates the brand I use. (OK, this is also untrue - I am off to the dermatologist on Friday to see about a very red and itchy left eyelid.)

Although I grew up in England, it wasn’t the Blitz and I didn’t endure the years of rationing that my parents and grandparents talked about. Psychologists might suggest that I don’t think myself worthy of such extravagances, but I put it down to the Virgo in me. The organized worrier (I call it "prepared") who continually plans for some dreadful event in the future, such as running out of soap. My children seem to survive this dreaded event on a weekly basis, heaven knows.

Only this morning I was wrapping a baby gift I’d just bought. I went to my stock of beautiful gift bags, pulled out a gorgeous baby-themed one – and then hesitated. “I should really save this”, said Virgo. For what – a member of royalty? A visiting Hollywood A-lister? It’s not that I didn’t think my friend and her baby warranted such a gorgeous bag. Indeed, I would probably have gone and hand-made something even more fabulous. It’s just this need always to have things in stock “just in case”. I know it’s ridiculous. Even more so because at my age, not a lot of my friends are even having babies, so the gorgeous bag might otherwise never see the light of day.

If you were to peek into the closets/cupboards in my house, you'd see nine large, empty juice bottles. You see, if you cut them and sand the edges they make great bath toys; we also use them to collect coins for charity. I have been planning to give them out to friends in a fund-raising effort, but every time I leave the house I forget them. I also collect wipe boxes, large and small. They are great as drawer dividers, small toy holders, button boxes and a host of other things. We have more wipe boxes than Huggies, but I can’t throw one out “just in case” –what, the others all spontaneously combust? Another closet houses a stack of nice paper napkins. They are mainly Thanksgiving and Christmas themed, although I have a few really thick ones with “Cheers” written on them. Why are they still there? Okay, most of the time I forget about them because they are squirreled away, but even when I remember, I shove them back in their place “just in case”. As we all know, Thanksgiving and Christmas have a tendency to sneak up un-announced from time to time!

Like many others, I have the ornate wedding china, which has been used about three times in our 18 year marriage. I would love to bring it down and eccentrically use it morning, noon and night, but with three kids rampaging around the house, and the price per place-setting doubling every year, I just can't take that step. The “just in case” madness even extends to food. In my pantry right now, is a fairly high end jar of raspberry conserve. I actually bought it for my family’s consumption (in a weak, Jilly Cooperesque moment) but it very quickly occurred to me that I might be short of a hostess gift in the future, so I’m holding on to it. The fact that I have the social life of a cloistered nun apparently makes no difference to the Virgoan hoarder in me.

So from now on, I'm going to try to use all the "gorgeous" stuff I have on a more regular basis. After all, we can't take it with us. I may need cognitive behavioural therapy to achieve this, but by god I'm going to try. Knowing my luck however, I'll break out in a full body rash from the posh soaps I have stored for too long.

Crusty bread and a rampant libido.

2008-09-18T08:13:00.005-05:00

Reading Wife in the North the other day, I gave her some advice on how to approach those blue days we all get from time to time. Sometimes it works and sometimes you feel like a complete idiot, which for some of us is probably par for the course. Anyway, I sometimes pretend I'm in a commercial/advert or even better, one of those Jilly Cooper type novels complete with crusty bread, good cheese and a rampant libido. Well, crusty bread anyway, there's no such thing as good cheese in the US.

The next time you're fed up to the back teeth with an element, or all of your life, try a few of these tried and tested scenarios:

1. To overcome the exhausting treadmill of getting kids out the door in the morning:

- pretend you're in one of those ads for woman's health pills or energy drinks.
"I have so much going on in my life, I have to be able to keep up", as big hairy dog plus four kids run past, knocking lovingly prepared fresh orange juice off the table. You of course, smile indulgently, then bound after them, showing off your store-bought, limitless supplies of energy, as well as an amazing figure and glossy hair. All at 8 in the morning. There will of course, be a beautiful, open-plan kitchen in the background, with brilliant sunshine streaming in through open french doors. Obviously not filmed in the UK.

2. To overcome the boredom of preparing dinner in the evening:

- pretend you're one of those master chefs, (preferably with a bosom like Nigella). No? No, that one doesn't work for me either - cooking for kids who will ask what it is or sift out all the vegetables can never be disguised as anything but soul-destroying. Have a glass of wine while you're stirring.

3. To overcome the rage when faced with a living room that looks like a bomb site:

- start writing your first novel.
"Right, that's it. I've had enough", thought Katya (or some other fabulous name) murdurously, as she swept up the piles of sweaty gym clothes/towers of Lego. "I was born for something better than this"..... .Just make sure you remember you're only mapping out a novel, and don't go acting on your murdurous thoughts.

4. To overcome the tedium of being stuck in the car for half of your life:

- interview yourself. (That's if there's no one else in the car.) Just stick your phone headset in or pretend you're using a hands-free phone and start yakking. Any topic will do, just pretend a famous, hard-hitting interviewer is grilling you about some current event, or asking for your take on some "issue". If you're like me, you'll be surprised at how fired up you can become, and it certainly takes your mind off the traffic. In a good way of course.

5. To Overcome the sheer boredom of doing laundry:

- sorry, the only thing that can possibly improve this situation is to park the ironing board in front of the TV. Better still, buy a press - it takes half the time and I promise you'll stop burning your knuckles on the top bit after a couple of weeks.

Please feel free to add to these brilliant suggestions. We need all the help we can get.

PS. My horoscope today says: Today, dear Virgo, don't be too surprised if you have difficulty getting into a work frame of mind. It's likely with the day's energy that you would rather daydream than get into the real world. As an air sign, you are susceptible to daydreaming and taking imagination trips. Consider making a list of everything that needs to get done to help you focus. This will help you to meet your short-term objectives and you can take it easier this evening.

How on earth did they know about this post?

One more year...

2008-09-15T06:33:00.003-05:00

Frog-in-the-field prompted a wee thought the other day, with her post about her youngest going off to school. While my littlest has been at school for a year, it doesn't really count. Not that he hasn't been gainfully distracted, but in the US they legally don't have to attend school until Kindergarten, which is Year 1 in the UK. (5 going on 6.) Most schools though, only do half days even at this level. My little one's whole last year was technically still pre-school (nursery), even though it was attached to his sibling's school. Not a thought about writing, numbers or anything else remotely academic; and I must say, after almost two decades in the USA, I am not unopposed to this apporach. Anyway, this year, he does three mornings and two late days - all the way to 2.30pm. (There is an after school thing I can shove him into when the need arises though.)

When he finally goes off to school all day, (next year) I will have spent 17 years in the house with a small child. Yes, I said SEVENTEEN years! And believe me, if you knew me, my name wouldn't exactly pop to the top of the "most maternal" list, nor would I be in the running for any "Mother of the Year" awards. Unless of course, it was judged according to my rules, which are lax to say the least. If they were being truly honest, most of my BM (before marriage) friends couldn't look you in the eye and say they'd even pictured me married, would they Drunk Mummy?

The last time I started looking forward to a full day to get things done (when middle child went into 1st grade) I found myself miraculously pregnant with the bonus baby. Now the pregnancy thing won't happen again (not that it should have happened the first time, but I've moved on), still, I daren't look too far into the future 'cause knowing my luck, there will be something that crops up. Since having the little guy, I have learned not to plan too far ahead and, dare I say it, I live in the moment.

So I am going to cherish this last year of:-

- dragging him off to the shops in the afternoon, when all he wants is to stay home and watch Sponge Bob, (totally inappropriate I know, but he has ancient older siblings)
- reading him so many books that my eyes glaze over,
- pretending to be James the Red Engine, when really I'm thinking about what to make for dinner,
- having his little freiends over, whose manners are even worse than his,
- and trying to garden with him, which always results in me sending him into the house for flinging soil or dousing me with the hose.

What? You didn't think I was going to go all sentimental there did you?

We almost made it....didn't we babe.

2008-09-12T11:10:00.002-05:00

Unbelievably, we didn't even make it through the first week of school.

Picked up the little guy on Wednesday and thought "Uh oh- this isn't allergies." Snotty, streaming nose, sneezing every five seconds, red eyes. Day three of Kindergarten! He lay on the sofa for the rest of the day telling me that he only wanted to be near me. Agh! Germs! If the momma goes down, it's all over isn't it? So Thursday morning he was still sniffling and well, full of cold. I hate it when parents send their sickly kids into school to infect everyone else, so I kept him off. Great! The older two can walk there by themselves, so I got to stay in the PJs for a while. I had just showered and dressed (about 9.10am) when the school nurse rang.

"Hello Mrs. H. It's not quite an emergency". She usually says not to worry it's NOT an emergency, so I immediately braced myself for upcoming drama. Apparently middle child had cut his thumb on his locker (lawsuit?) and it was such a deep cut she thought I should take him to the hospital to see if it should be glued or stitched.

Husband out of town (as usual, when there's an incident), sick kid at home and still in his PJs. Not the best scenario. I asked if injured boy could walk the two blocks home, but she said not on this occasion. She was very patient as I dithered on the phone, wondering what I could do with sick child. This is possibly the only time you wish you lived down the road from your mother or mother-in-law. You can't really hand over a sick child to anyone else to look after - not that I had any options. And then there was the challenge of getting him dressed and unglued from the TV.

Fortunately, since it's not winter and therefore not the real cold and flu season (are you listening little guy?), the ER waiting room was empty. (In the US, since so many people have no health insurance, they go to the Emergency Room with sore throats, ear infections and other things that would normally be classed as non-emergency). The docs (4 in total) decided that since the gash wasn't on his face they wouldn't stitch it, and there was no point in glueing it since it would open straight away. An hour and a half later we walked back to school having had the cut washed, creamed and band-aided. I will let you know when the bills start coming in; an eye-watering experience in itself and one that makes the NHS look like a viable alternative. I'm betting on at least $400.

I'm sure people (like family members) think I somehow manufacture a lot of the drama in my life - but I wasn't even on the scene. It happened at school. There are witnesses.

Like the time three years ago, - the queenager banged the back of her head on a faux rock while playing with little brother in a dinosaur dig. Tiny little cut but blood everywhere - in her hair, pouring down her back etc. Had to get a paramedic on a bike to the museum. Incident report. Less then a week later, middle son snapped his wrist completely, playing baseball. Husband out of town, me required to stay with middle child through orthopedic surgery till 11.30pm at night. Friend had to come over and collect other two kids, to be picked up by me and woozy patient, at midnight. Two days later, little guy (age 2 then) stepped off the bottom stair and landed very awkwardly. Cried at the time, then limped and complained enough that I took him in the following day. No damage, just bruised. I joked that Children's Hospital were going to get suspicious and report me as one of those Munchausen-by-proxy parents or something.

Next day I picked up the phone (swear to god) and a man introduced himself as being from DCFS (Department of Child and Family Services.) I went the teeniest bit woozy and had to fight to keep the old breakfast down. Surely not? I have witnesses for the first two incidents, and having spent the equivalent of about two days waiting around in hospitals, couldn't possibly be suspected of injuring my toddler just to visit the hospital cafeteria again. Fortunately he asked for a Mrs. Brown, which I'm not. He did ring back later and asked again when one of the kids answered. Hmmm.

Anyway, back to Thursday. Got middle child safely back to school, and went to get shelves for the garage in the afternoon. (There's so much piled up against the walls, we can barely get out of the car.) All going swimmingly, the store has everything I need and checkout is amazingly quick. Unfortunately, the guy loading up my car forgot that the cart had wheels; it slid off the curb and smashed into the side of my car. Now living in the city, my car is covered in scratches, so I wasn't too bothered. But no, he insisted on filling out an incident report and taking photos, making my quick trip longer than an excursion to the Arctic.

Oy.

What a day.

School Year Resolutions

2008-09-10T07:23:00.001-05:00

Something happened today at school that made me decide to make some big changes. I don't think they should wait till December 31st rolls around again.

This morning I was stopped by one of the Trendy Moms, (in the UK she'd definitely be a Yummy Mummy, complete with a really cool job) and while we were talking, another TM comes along, stands right in front of me and begins a brand new conversation, which didn't seem to include me. Most of the time mid-west Americans talk so fast that I never quite know whether I'm included or not because I miss the first half of the sentence, but the body language today suggested not. No "Excuse me", or "Can I just butt in" - nothing. Now, I'm 5'7" and of medium build so I'm nowhere near invisible and not that easy to talk over. TM #1 didn't even try to let Interruptor know that in fact, she might at least wait till I had finished my sentence. (Incidentally, what kind of lesson are they teaching their kids?)

Normally, I wait around with an embarrassed second-class citizen sort of smile on my face, patiently listening for a cue that their trendy talk is over. When it becomes clear that they aren't going to curtail their important conversation on my account, I usually start backing off and then pretend that I've seen someone else I need to speak to, or just get out my phone, (when I've remembered to bring it along). This morning however, I just walked off. I wasn't in a huff (actually I was rather seething inside but didn't want to appear petty), yet something came over me and I thought "No, not this time Missy!" I don't think they even noticed my departure though.

So this school year kicks off a new attitude by moi! No more pandering to the ridiculous social needs and insecurities of others. If you don't speak to me on a regular basis, don't come making nice on the odd occasion I've been on TV or radio, or you've read something I've written. I'm still the same fairly boring, somewhat strange English lady who rarely gets manicures, doesn't go to the trendy gym and can't really advance your social standing in this city. And if I have a party, I'm only inviting the people I like; not the people that I "should" invite or who might find out about it and be offended, many of whom never seem to have parties and certainly don't invite me. (I do realize that I'm at least half to blame for that situation.) If it's not a reciprocal relationship it's not a relationship!

What else? Oh yes, if your kids interrupt me when I'm talking to you, and you don't try to make them wait or say "Excuse me", I will simply stop the conversation and walk off as above. It's rude, it's teaching my kids appalling manners and if I condone it, I can't expect them to behave any differently. And besides, it really, really gets on my nerves!

Gosh, I feel so much better! I think I'm going to enjoy this school year!

Thanks a lot....

2008-09-07T15:40:00.008-05:00

As promised, I'm including a few photos of my birthday stash. I got quite a few nice bits and pieces, especially the fabulous choker which I chose myself in Colorado.

It has a certain rock-chick look to it (which I'm all for) but also looks good with more sedate garments, which is just as well as I have about two things that could qualify as remotely rock-chickish.

I also picked out a fab watch to add to my collection. This is a terrible photo and doesn't do it justice - sorry. It has mother of pearl and other sparkly bits in. A definite Art Deco look.

The piece de resistance however, came from my mother. She sent me some Next perfume which I had asked for, but it was the "surprise" part of the gift that took the biscuit.

Now, as most of you will appreciate, having three huge babies (two by c-section) tends to play havoc with the sillouette, but really! Can you make it out? Have you cottoned on yet?

Not one, but two pairs of Marks and Spencer "FIRM control knickers/panties!!!

All I can say is, they'd better bloody work!

Happy Birthday

2008-09-04T10:35:00.003-05:00

..to me. I genuinely forgot that this glorious back-to-school day also happens to be my 28th birthday (I'm going backwards). Apart from having to wake up at the ungodly hour of 7am, I'm fine. The 5 year old is still hanging about, as we have a classroom visit this afternoon at 3pm.

We are in the middle of making my birthday cake (packet mix), and at some point will have to venture out for frosting and sprinkles. We are experiencing Hurricane Gustav rain today so I'm not sure when that will be.

I can't believe I'm as old as I am. Where did the time go?

And now, the end is near....

2008-09-01T07:52:00.002-05:00

...I mean the end of the vacation.
We've had a great three months,
Despite the rain, (oh weren't we patient?)
I've been a model mom/mum
I've driven up and down the highway
But now, it's time for me
To do things my way

Yes there were times, I'm sure you knew
When I bit off, more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I buttoned up and took them out
I faced it all and I stood tall
And now it's my way

Regrets, I've had a few
But then again I'm not denying
I did what I had to do
And saw it through, (and sometimes smiling)

I planned each jolly day
Each careful step along the byway (whatever that is)
And now, it's time for me
It's time for my way

For what is a mom/mum, what has she got
If not 'ME' time, then she has naught (you have to say that in an American accent)
To do the things that must be done
Like trim her hair, go for a run

(Big finish)

The schedule shows, that off they go
To school on THURSDAY.......!

Yahoo!

What's in a Name?

2008-08-29T11:35:00.005-05:00

I'm sitting here in Colorado blogging and watching TV, (the kids and Ball & Chain are playing golf). John McCain has just announced that his running mate for VP is the little known Governor of Alaska, Sarah Palin. (Don't worry, I'm not going to go all political on you.)

She has just introduced four of her five children. All very nice. Her eldest daughter, I swear, was introduced as Bristol. Yes, Bristol. Now for us Brits living in the States, strange and made-up names are nothing new. I once worked with a woman whose grand-daughter was called Tangeria. Many American children are given names that sound more like surnames - usually because that's exactly what they started off as. And yes, there are boys and girls walking around with geographical names like London, Dallas, Kenya, Savannah etc.

But Bristol???!!!

I think perhaps someone should take them all aside and have a quiet word. For anyone reading this in complete confusion, I should explain that because of Cockney Rhyming slang, the poor girl might as well be called Boob, Tit, or Knockers. You see, in Cockney rhyming slang, Bristol City is the phrase for titty, and it's often shortened to Bristols, as in "Nice pair of Bristols".

That's all. Tee hee! (I just hope, for her sake, I misheard.)

Mother of the Year?

2008-08-23T05:36:00.002-05:00

I have been a rather fabulous mother this past week, I have to say. Before you splutter at my arrogance, let's remind ourselves that this is by my standards. I'm the one whose modus operendi is usually "If you ignore them for long enough they'll go off and entertain themselves." (It works a lot of the time too.) We were at the beach yesterday, Navy Pier the Day before, the Field Museum on Monday, swimming and golfing on Friday - usually with at least one other child in tow. Not quite sure what brought on this fit of maternal joie de vivre and it took the kids by surprise too. Could be the impending end of summer, which usually sees me spiralling down into a fit of SAD, or whatever that light definiciency syndrome is called. You have to experience a Chicago winter to really appreciate what I mean.

Anyway, glutton for punishment that I seem to be, I'm off to Colorado on Sunday with the kids. The Ball & Chain claims he has to stay behind and work although I know it's because he wants some peace and quiet! He is actually joining us the following Thursday for the Labour (I mean Labor) Day weekend.

Up in Colorado, (Copper Mountain, to be exact) there's lots to do in the summer, and the entire weekend is one giant rodeo. Having been brought up in the American south west, the B&C cringes at the calf roping, bull riding and all that stuff, but the kids and I love it. When in England they become quite English, eating fish and chips, salt 'n vinegar crisps and drinking Robinson's juice. Similarly, when near cowboys, they re-discover their yee-haw roots and start saying y'all. Well not quite. (Their grandad and his ancestors were real cowboys. There's also one outlaw in the family that ran with the Dalton Gang and was a founder member of the Wild Bunch, but that'a another story.)

I won't have access to a computer until the B&C shows up, and even then it will depend on which neighbour's wireless signal we can hook onto. When we get back I must stop all this merriment with the kids - they might start thinking I actually like them or something!

Oh, do keep up!

2008-08-19T08:40:00.001-05:00

Conversations with a five year old can sometimes be long, agonising and complicated affairs. Mine yesterday went something like this:

Five year old was sitting on the Ball & Chain's lap, stroking his face.

5 - "Daddy, what's all this prickly stuff?"
B&C - "They're my whiskers."
5 - "What will happen to them?"
B&C - "Well, I can shave them off or grow them."
5 - "I think you should grow them down to here", (Points to ever-expanding stomach area).
ME - (Sitting bolt upright) "Oh no he won't. He'll look like an old man".
5 - "Yes, and old people stink."

The B&C and I looked at him, then each other, with confusion and alarm. None of his grandparents smell, and he doesn't have much contact with any older people. Well, there's an older couple up the street but he rarely sees them and I'm sure I would have heard about it had he told them they were stinky. I had to get to the bottom of this, if only to prevent him from addressing the next octogenarian he meets as "Smelly butt". As usual however, it wasn't easy.

ME - "Which old people are you talking about?"
5 - "The ones when we were at that house with the curly haired man who had a cat and a dog?"

I can't even think of anyone we know who has a cat and a dog, never mind being old.

ME - "Have we seen them recently?"
5 - "We saw them at the same time that we saw grandma."

I then had a horrified vision of him telling one of my mother's friends that he or she was stinky. Or even going up to grandma and asking why one of her friends stank. It's bad enough going to England with American kids who treat everything as 'finger food', hold their knife and fork all wrong when they ever bother with cutlery, and don't say "please" anywhere near enough, but to insult family friends on top....Agh!

ME - "Were they at grandma's house?"
5 - "No, it was after we were at grandma's house. The lady and man with the curly hair."

Penny slowing dropping. A ha. The bed and breakfast we stayed at near Stratford. Another horrified vision of him telling our landlady that her husband was stinky. Not to mention the fact that this lovely couple were probably aged around 50, tops.

ME - "But they weren't old, and definitely not smelly."
5 - "Nooooo. The house we went to see where the old lady was talking to me. She was smelly."
ME - (Relief and understanding flooding over me.) Oh, you mean Shakespeare's house? Where the lady was dressed up and talking about his bedroom?"
5 - "Yes. She was smelly."
ME - No, it wasn't her that was smelly, but the house was a bit musty. It's more than four hundred years old."
5 - "Oh. (Pause, think, think, think.) Well, it needs a good washdown then!"

That we got from daddy's prickly face to Shakespeare's House in less than ten questions is rather a conversational feat. I assured him I would write to the Shakespeare people and tell them to give the house a thorough hosing.

You kiss your mother with that mouth?

2008-08-15T07:24:00.005-05:00

I caught this photo of dear old Paris on my MSN home page yesterday. Ugh! Ugh! and Ugh again! Given that every move this woman makes is artfully posed and designed for maximum hottie effect, what is this message? In fact, why do normally sane people think it's okay to kiss on the, well kisser, an animal known for licking its privates in public. Do horse lovers engage in this habit? Perhaps Mutterings can enlighten us, but I can't immediately picture a photo op of the likes of Zara Phillips posing like this with one of the Arabian stallions.

Now don't get me wrong, I love dogs. That's why we don't have one despite all three kids begging me on a daily basis to get one. They take a lot of looking after and I still have one child at home for part of the day. We live in the city; a city which doesn't allow dogs off the leash anywhere, ever, end of story - unless you want to pay the $200 fine every time. Oh there's one dog park somewhere, but it's full of dog poop! In addition, the temperature in Chicago in the winter sometimes drops so low that the weather people tell us not to take children and dogs out. Then where would we be? Climbing the walls I should think. Or away with the showfolk, as my gran used to say.

Anyway, I digress (but feel a lot better.) Back to dog-smoochers. I think it's because my mother was always adamant that we should not let the dog lick us on the face, that I have this vomit-urge when I see people almost french-kissing their pooches. Can you imagine if you were the person Paris was meeting for lunch right after this photo op? Even if she didn't want to french kiss you, would you want this mouth anywhere near your face immediately thereafter? Does she go off into a bathroom somewhere, rinse her mouth out with Listerene, re-apply her make-up and pretend it never happened?

Paris love, we know you don't have a beau at the mo' but please!!

What's new pussycat (wo-oo-oh-oo-oh-oo)..

2008-08-12T07:46:00.002-05:00

So what hit me as "new" or "different" on this last trip to the UK?

- Well, my paid-up, unexpired credit cards were refused on more than one occasion (usually in Tesco) because I don't have chip and pin. I didn't even know what the sales assistant was talking about the first time my card was handed back to me, I just made sure she said it really loudly so that the people queueing behind me would know I wasn't about to be hauled off to debtors' prison. In the US, your card is usually handed back to you before you've even signed anything, so I don't think the added security of chips and pins is going to make an appearance any time soon.

- It's a hands-down win for the UK as far as ordering and paying for meals is concerned. Having said that, the length of time it actually takes someone to come to your table at all is still just that bit too long, especially when you don't even have a glass of water plonked down in front of you. (Do I sound like a whining American tourist or what?) Anyway, I was most impressed with the hand-held device used to take orders. The waiters even read back our order just to make sure it was correct - now that's progress. What's even more impressive is that when you hand over your card to pay it's all taken care of right before your eyes - the card is inserted into the device and your payment goes through. No more hanging around waiting for your card to be returned. Well done. (And they aren't all bent out of shape about chips and pins either.)

- The TA option on the car radio comes in very handy, especially given the traffic problems everywhere we went. (TA presumably means "traffic announcements", and if you're listening to a national station like BBC Radio 2 with Steve Wright in the afternoon, the local radio station will interrupt whenever there's a problem to share.) Now this is great in theory, but if you're lost in the memory of "Seasons in the Sun" (or whatever golden oldie Radio 2 is playing) it can come as a bit of a shock when the local area DJ, usually much louder, breaks in over the air waves. It also tended to happen when I was in full vocal throttle, warbling along to a real tear-jerker, forcing me to choose between continued bliss or a potential two hour traffic jam.

- And what the hell's happened to crisp bag colour-coding? In my day Salt 'n Vinegar was always, I mean always, blue and Cheese 'n Onion was green. Given that any flavoured crisps are a novelty in the US unless you count sour cream and onion, I allowed my kids to guzzle British crisps to their hearts' content. Unfortunately, when making the purchases, muscle memory kicked in and I inevitably ended up handing out Cheese 'n Onion (in blue bags) to a disgusted flock in the back seat who were all craving Salt "n Vinegar. I mean, what are the crisp marketing people thinking of? Salt and Vinegar (I mean "n" Vinegar) just conjures up blue sea water doesn't it? Well, the salt part at least. Cheese can be moldy, which is green - ergo, green packets. Harrumph! I will have to write in and get the powers that be to correct this before my next trip back.

Lots more to write about but I'm not good at blogging on ad infinitum without boring everyone to tears. More next time.

Tea and Sympathy please

2008-08-08T06:38:00.001-05:00

A recent post from Potty Mummy about having time to oneself without any kids prompted this blatant plea for tea and sympathy. Now while Potty Mummy was able to throw off the shackles of the dreaded to-do list and treat herself to a well-deserved spa day, (which I fully but enviously support), I just wish I could have a day without kids, full stop/period. I am knackered.* It doesn't seem to be on the horizon - at least this calendar year.

Yes, I've just had a month in England, but most of that was without the Ball & Chain, making me the round-the-clock entertainment director for three kids. On top of that the 'holiday' also involved having the five year old in my room every single night. Not being used to the ungodly hour the sun rises in England (when it's around, that is) the little one typically woke around 5.30am and just started talking. Fortunately it was about nothing in particular so a response wasn't usually required, although every so often he would sit up and say "You're not even listening are you?". "No", I would respond between sobs, "I'm trying to go back to sleep."

We've been back in the US a week now but Ball & Chain disappeared on Sunday to take oldest son to sleepover baseball camp and hasn't been seen since. That means that I was here on my own to deal with the jet lag. I say 'on my own' even though the queenager is here; since she makes an appearance five hours after everyone else and promptly lies down on the sofa to watch re-runs of "The Golden Girls", we won't count her in on this. As you'll know if you've travelled westwards to the US, the jet lag means that you can't stay awake past about 8pm and wake at 3am on the first morning, 4am the next day etc. Wednesday we had breakfast at about 5.30am and this morning little man didn't wake up till 6.30am. He didn't actually come into my room, (is he finally learning something?) but could be heard sitting on the floor right outside. The monologue went like this:

"All is lost. I am bloody starving. No, seriously, my stomach is rumbling. My stomach is really rumbling". (He's five remember!)

The he went in for the jugular:

"I'm so hungry I will just have to go downstairs and make my own breakfast. Mommy won't mind. I wonder where the toaster is."

The thought of him either sticking a knife into a live toaster, or pouring cereal all over the kitchen floor was more effective than a cattle prod in hurtling me out of bed and across the bedroom.

"Nooooo," I wailed, as if in slow motion. "I'm up, I'll get you breakfast".

"About time" was his brazen response. Far too cheeky for his own good that one.

As I say, I am sorely in need of a day off.

* "Knackered" - (British English). Knackered people are extremely tired. Knackered things are broken. I am both.

You Gotta Have Friends....

2008-08-05T06:01:00.001-05:00

I was very fortunate on my recent UK trip to hook up with a few old friends and make some new ones.

Given that I only had a couple of days in London this year, where many of my friends live, I had to do a "come one, come all" kind of gathering on the Terrace at Somerset House. (A lovely place, right on the river at Waterloo Bridge if you're looking for a venue, by the way.) A mixed bunch of Uni and ex-work friends gathered, a few of whom I literally hadn't seen for over twenty years. Obviously, none of us have changed a bit. Among the motley group was my old partner in crime, Drunk Mummy. When I say "old", she's actually a couple of years younger than me, but we're both on the wrong side of 40 so "old" it is. Sadly, she continues her self-imposed blogging ban despite pleas from around the blogosphere, but admits to trawling around every now and then for a quick update. She has various other 'projects' on the go, so we may not have heard the last of her however. I will keep you posted.

Up in Northumberland, I had a lovely evening with fellow bloggers Hadriana, Muttering and Meanderings, and Mutterings from the Mill, (who is also under a self-imposed blog ban). I have to say for four women who'd never met before and on paper, had little in common, we got on like old mates and covered a huge range of conversation topics.

It was a challenge explaining to family members where I was going that night, without reminding them about my blog. Not that it's anonymous, and I know I mentioned it when I first took to the blogosphere, but I'd rather not alert them to its existence unneccesarily. My mother kept saying, "So who is it you're meeting tonight?". I knew if I'd said, "I'm driving up the A1 to a pub I've never been to before, to meet three other women I don't know and have no idea how I'll recognise them", I would have been in for a lecture on personal safety. I didn't want to use the B-word (blog, that is) so I said something about us all being writers and belonging to some Internet group. I think she thought I was seeing someone about a possible book deal so I shall need to come up with a "book deal update" soon. I see I'm becoming a tad free and easy with the porkie pies these days. (That's cockney rhyming slang for "lies" to any non Brits reading.)

Anyway, it was great to see old friends and a real blast (as they say here) to make new friends, especially via blogging.

Have I arrived?

2008-08-01T08:39:00.005-05:00

Obviously I have arrived back in Chicago. We had an easy flight back from Heathrow yesterday and the kids behaved beatifully. I suspect this is in part, due to our luck in having so many Ball & Chain-earned air miles that we can fly Business Class. I dread to imagine the scene if they were all crunched up ("MOM, ...he's touching me") and unable to have their seats almost flat. The B&C is making sounds about some type of retirement in a few years, but I'm afraid if the result is a reduction in accummulated air miles, I may well have to put my foot down with a firm hand.

No - the question "Have I arrived?" refers to something far more important. Something that I found amongst my gargantuan pile of mail (term used very loosely there) on my return. A Boden catalogue. It seems old Johnnie is now attempting domination of North America as this is the first time I've seen one of these, and believe me, if there's a catalog out there it's guaranteed to land on my mat.

Over the last four weeks, and in my general keeping-up with all things British, I am highly aware of Boden and all the implications therein. Hence my question -"Have I arrived?". These catalogue people use huge marketing lists to circulate their wares, and I am obviously in some category on one of them to have received the Boden USA version. I don't think I qualify as a Yummy Mummy although there is potential. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak, as they say. I do have a young child, kids in private school and a minivan (people carrier), so that may be what's done it.

Anyway, I flicked through the pages, and yes the clothes are very nice but nothing much different from some other brands in the States such as Flapdoodles, CD Kids and Gap. The prices are exactly the same as in the UK (I checked both web sites) and less expensive than I had imagined. I even looked at some of the women's stuff, which is a little different from what you can get here, so now I'm wondering if it's safe to order a few things before everyone jumps on the bandwagon. (I hate following crowds.) Would that label me? I don't really care that much about clothes, as you'd know if you saw me. What I do hate is, well, being a Boden-type if it's not a good thing. Am I making too much of this?

Over to you folks - I need expert advice here.

Oh, by the way, despite the appallingly soggy start, we had a nice time back home. (More of that to come.)

Britain in Decline?

2008-07-21T06:29:00.005-05:00

Came across some sad news today as I was flicking through my mother's copy of Saga magazine (as you do). Not that I'm obsessed or anything, but the subject of the piece was public conveniences in Britain. Apparently over the last ten years, the number of public loos in the UK has more than halved. All is not as bleak as it appears however, as the British Toilet Association (yes, there is one) will be highlighting the issue at the (drum roll)....

21st annual Loo of the Year Awards, (celebrating all areas of "away from home toilet provision") on December 5th in Birmingham.

The magazine goes on to reveal that there's even a category for Attendant of the Year.

Should you or a loved one consider yourselves eligible, the deadline for entries is July 31. For further details go to the web site (yes, there is one)
www.loo.co.uk

Could it be.....?

2008-07-14T14:11:00.004-05:00

Today we have had the first sunny day since we got here a week past Saturday. It had rained EVERY day up till today and I was seriously wondering what on earth I was going to do with three kids. There's only so much Top Gear they can watch - at least before I go mad anyway.

At the thought of a sunny day out, we piled in the car with grandma today and headed up the coast. I was planning to visit Alnwick Castle as it's a few years since we did that and the Duchess hadn't finished her rennovations then, (not that we were going for tea or anything). However, on the way up the glorious Coastal Route, I decided on Warkworth Castle instead as it's slightly closer. (We are spoilt for choice when it comes to castles up here.)

Spent most of the time yelling at 12 and 5 year old boys to stop climbing and pointing out the plethora of signs forbidding such activity. Little one can't read but big one had no excuse. I have to say, in his defence, that it was hard to tell the steps from the crumbling walls, but I could just imagine them causing the remains of the reamins of the castle to land in a heap at my feet. We then walked into the village for ice cream and I spied about five gorgeous large cottages that I can buy in another lifetime somewhere in the future.

Then over to the beach where it wasn't cossie weather and the water was a bit too cold to be tempting anyway. The kids found the monster sand dune (or goon as the little one calls them) and off they went. Alas, not two minutes had passed before I saw queenager searching frantically in the sand. Despite having handed over her dangly ear-rings for safe-keepng, she had forgotten about dearly loved, but too large ring, which came flying off the finger as soon as the first dune jump was attempted. A half hour search resulted in nothing, surprisingly. 12 year old then performed a foolhardy jump from a ridiculous height, hit his head on the sand and nearly killed a passing toddler when he rolled over his foot.

Impending grey clouds and a sorely tested ma and grandma made me bundle them back in the car, but not before I either encountered invisible nettles or midges, as my legs are now a fetching pattern of red welts and white bumps. It could also be something to do with the fact that I shaved them rather hastily this morning and slapped false tan on them immediately. When will I learn?

Tomorrow we are off bright and early to Bowness-on-Windemere, another of my fave places. The Lake District is known for its appalling weather so we are armed, but I will be p'eed off nonetheless if the sun doesn't make an appearance.
And now off to pack clothes for every climate!

One for the book.....

2008-07-10T15:35:00.005-05:00

Arrived safely in England despite yawning gap (impending death) between me and the Atlantic for most of the flight. Spent a few days in London seeing rellies and old mates. Got the biggest soaking of my life on the way to Earlsfield Station from the home of one of my ex au pairs, Nicky. She looked after my older two when they were 2 and 5 (they're now 15 and 12) and it was an out-of-body experience for everyone, but they still managed to talk her into a corner! I love the fact that we have kept in touch with most of our au pairs (4) and now their babies.

Got the train up from Kings Cross to Newcastle and a huge black cloud followed us the whole way. On my progress reports to mum, I was assured the weather was lovely, but within half an hour of us decamping at her house the heavens opened and it poured for 12 hours straight. I am sleeping with 5 year old in a lovely attic bedroom, but the roof is the proverbial tin drum and the rain pee'd all night. I finally had to avail myself of my United Airlines sponge ear plugs to get to sleep. Little one is either still a bit jet-lagged or developing a new habit; for the last three nights he has woken at about 4am, demanding to see Top Gear and unconvinced that it's the middle of the night (pretty much.) 'We' get back to sleep at about 6am. Knackered!

To my point about an addition to my book (see side bar) - my little one has almost killed himself getting out of the bath in England. Although I am there all the time, it didn't dawn on either of us that the bath is not level with the bathroom floor height. In the US, the tub and the floor are pretty much at the same level, so you just cock your leg over and get out. You can even do it without looking down! Not so in England. The bottom of the bath is significantly higher than the bathroom floor and little one was nonchalantly chatting to me while getting out of the bath. It was like watching someone step off a step they didn't know was there. Good job I was sitting right next to him on the loo (seat down) and had just put my wine glass down on the cistern top, so was able to grab his arm as he plunged inches further than he anticipated. He gasped slightly and then said "Thanks mom" before taking off, bare-bottomed into the living room to be lovingly towelled down my grandma!

And we're off...

2008-07-04T06:11:00.003-05:00

OK. Enough packing. I have tried to put together "outfits", ensuring that no piece matches less than four other pieces in my suitcase. Isn't that what all the magazines tell you to do? I always end up panicking and flinging t-shirts and trousers in, then looking like a bag lady at my mothers. You're also supposed to pack, then immediately take out two thirds of it as most people over-pack. I, on the other hand, never take enough and have to start scrounging garments as soon as I land at Heathrow. "As long as I have our passports", I tell myself, "we can buy anything else we need." These days, with the exchange rate, we had better be in dire need. We have two standard size suitcases for me and three kids, two of whom are taller than me. I don't think that's too bad really.

And now the flight. I hate flying, so have located my few last Xanex type pills, to "reduce anxiety". Why I bother I don't know. I am in sole charge of three kids so daren't take the prescribed dose of two in case they venture to the loo in barefeet (yuck) or stay awake watching movies all night. I therefore still feel like I'm always about to plunge to a horrible death, I just can't be bothered to do anything about it. Wine doesn't work as any turbulence will have me heaving over the loo, as well as fearing imminent death. This year, the friend I am staying with in the Lakes is a registered hypno-therapist, so I'm going for it. I might also try the "please make me hate all fatty foods and alcohol" session.

While I'm in London briefly, I shall me hooking up with my old mate Drunk Mummy . I wish I could promise to get her plastered and blogging again, but she has a steely resolve, so it won't happen. I will also be meeting up with new blogging buddies in Northumberland, which will be great fun. Potty Mummy and I have discussed having a London bloggers' get together next year, since I don't have time this year. We could have a competition to see who can identify all the anonymous bloggers. (Actually, feel free to go ahead without me if the urge is there - I won't mind, Sniff, sniff.)

I have no idea how "Internet connected" I will be in England (till end of July), so probably won't be posting inane comments on your blogs. I hope to be able to post the occasional piece on my blog, but it always seems a bit rude to turn up at someone's house and then commandeer the laptop. We'll see.

And now off for some real fish and chips. My kids, for some reason, have a great longing to hang out laundry on grandma's washing line (and then usually run out and hour later to retrieve it from the rain). I have photos of them doing it since they were very little. Memories.

Back properly in August.