They're Baaaack!

The final day of our holiday...

...we have one hour to see Kennilworth Castle before they close, so we go into crazed-tourist mode. We have exactly fifteen minutes to get to the gatehouse before it closes, and that's the exact time each child decides he needs the toilet-- of course, not all at once.

Our revolving bathroom break behind us, we run towards the gatehouse, open map flapping in the ice-chilled wind...
only to find the employee working the gatehouse must have a really hot date because she has locked that building up tight.

It's ok. It only houses the last letter that Queen Elizabeth I kept (written to her by Robert Dudley) by her bedside until her death.

It was only just recently restored after a multi-million pound investment.

It is only the sole reason I convinced the Hubby that Kenilworth was indeed on our way home from CADBURY WORLD (it was on the way home if you were planning to drive east on country roads before heading south).

I am undaunted.
Staring at me is majestic castle ruins, just beckoning for photos.

Within fifteen minutes of arriving, the skies open up and
the rain begins to painfully slam us.

I knew my lens would get wet.
I knew the shot would probably be
rubbish.
I didn't care.


Welcome to England.




HaPpY HalLoWeEn!



Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Out To Lunch, uh huh, yes I am!

In honor of reaching my 300th post (yea me!) and because I am away on holiday (floating in Willy Wonka's chocolate rivers, thank you very much), I am revisiting posts from my first few months of blogging. Please do leave a comment to let me know you came by and I'll respond when we get back (unless an Oompa Loompa gets me!)

Mrs. Air Force
January 29th 2008

SO not my title.

My husband entered the service as an enlisted grunt. He enlisted as someone who had earned a AA & an AS (in a CCF degree-- see below), graduating with a 4.0 (enabling him to wear all sorts of cool ribbons during graduation). THIS would make it easier for him to "cross over" to the officers side when he was ready. It also helped him towards earning his Air Force brownie points, so basically he was on the " Fast Track" for promoting (and supposedly gearing up to apply for Officer's Training School-- or OTS see below).
I started calculating our future pay.

One year passed.

"Um, dear, when do you start doing the stuff for the Officer thing?"

Years 2 through 5 went buzzing by before I realized this guy had no intention of crossing over. There were all sorts of reasons. One time he told me that if he became an officer, there would be things expected of me as an officer's wife.
"Huh, Wha....?" "EXPECTED of me? Have you ever seen my reaction when told I have to do something?"

My mom says I have always been this way, kind of rebellious, strong-willed with a "sure sense of self". I had always thought that was a compliment, but as I get older, I'm thinking maybe not so much so.

Anyway, the way I saw it, I didn't sign anything and the TI in basic training kept reminding the new airmen that "The Air Force didn't issue you a wife!" so what did he mean, "expected" of me?!

There's a certain amount of dedication that is required to be the happy, bubbly woman left commandeering an entire squadrons' better halves, while smilingly supporting her guy in all that he does.
She's got to look you in the eye and appear thrilled that you are having another Pampered Chef/Tupperware/Happy Homemaker party that you want her to attend. She will be the one calling you when your husband is deployed and handing you tissues while bouncing your snotty-nosed kid on her lap at the deployed spouse's monthly dinners-- that she helped organize. and baked for. and attends. every month.
She will be required to participate happily in gathering funds for the parties, gifts, etc... regardless whether or not her kids schedules are killing her or she's just too blue to do it.
She will look impeccably coifed at all times. Even at the gym.
She will never be found standing in the post office queue with two children hanging from her leg while the baby in her arms is stretching her blouse out just so to show everyone how she should've bought that new bra... a year ago.

No thank you. Keep your pay.

Of course, there's not a handbook that says any of this.
Not that I'd be able to read it if there was.
The Air Force speaks a different language that I haven't quite mastered--I'm still trying not to sound daft speaking Britain-ese.
They speak in acronyms. Really.

A conversation could go something like this:

"TSgt , have you prepared for your TDY to the NCOA?"
"Prepared, Sir?"
"Have you made sure your wife has a POA so that she can take care of your POV for your PCS?"
"Uh..."
"C'Mon TSgt., she'll need it for TMO and FMO if you're going to make your NLD for this PCS".
"Sir?"
"And she may need it in case anything goes wrong with your FSA, BAS or OHA-- too bad you won't be getting any SDP on this one."
"Go by legal and get this taken care of ASAP. You know this PCS is going to be great for you, the COLA where you're OCONUS is high ...oh, and for this TDY, don't forget to pack your PDG"

To make things worse, my husband works in an area where they use initials.

Our first duty station was an eye opener for me. Someone rang the house asking for "Airman Diaz". I told him there was no Airman Diaz there. Do you know how bad it is for an airman when his commander can't reach him because he's given them the wrong number? I felt so awful for the guy.
I don't know when it finally occurred to me that they were calling my husband. DS.

So, Mrs Air Force I am not.

I whine when I'm sad and I whine when I'm not. I begrudge him his extra time doing his "brownie point" duties and get a little resentful as he stacks his accolades. I would've sucked as an officers' wife, but maybe I'm ok as an enlisted guys wife. The reason he didn't want to cross over?
He loves his job and wanted to do it as long as possible-- he would've been behind a desk as an officer. I told him the pay didn't matter as long as he was happy in his job.

Although, that extra OHA and BAS would help me hire a M A I D......

Out To Lunch... yes I am.

In honor of reaching my 300th post (yea me!) and because I am away on holiday (floating in Willy Wonka's chocolate rivers, thank you very much), I am revisiting posts from my first few months of blogging. Please do leave a comment to let me know you came by and I'll respond when we get back (unless an Oompa Loompa gets me!)

Snogging
December 14th 2007


My kids are at that age...

and apparently I am my mom's age now.
You know it, it's the exasperated, "You two would argue with a brick wall!" and
"Don't make me come in there!" as well as all of the other things Mom said that I swore I wouldn't.

AND to make it worse, there's the Grand Canyon appearing between my eyes. I used to think those faint lines were from years of sunbathing at beautiful Lake Powell, but I haven't seen the sun for about a year (The U.K. opted out of having summer this year) and they're much deeper now. Sunglasses can't save me now.
I'm afraid these lines are the Don't-make-me-kill-you-can't-you-see-by-this-look-on-my-face-that-you're-
living-on-the-edge-mister?! lines.
I realized tonight during our dinner prayer that I make this face almost on a permanent basis.
Do you know how irreverent a room can get when one little boy lets one rip? It's hard not to laugh right along with them, but I have to teach them how to behave in public right? I mean we wouldn't want him trying to fart along to the elevator music would we?

Tonight J2 told me, "I like your hair... I like how it goes back on this side and it's poofy on that side (??my hair is poofing?!)" My lines are showing again, but they've taken on a lopsided, confused look. "...and you've made it go up (I curled it today), it doesn't usually do that, I like it".
"Well," I stammered, "I'm letting my grey grow in and I thought I should at least look like I cared about my appearance, so thank you".
He's observant.
He's complimentary.
I am molding the perfect future husband!
Then he adds, "Most old people keep their hair short".

But the biggest issue here (causing Mom to grow old quicker) is the bickering. They WOULD argue with a wall, I know now why that phrase has lasted through the ages.
"You like Emily."
"No, I don't."
"J2 loves Tabitha."
"So."
"J2 and Tabitha were snogging".
Hmmm, now they have MY attention. "You and Tabitha been snogging?"
"No! Gross!"
Ahhh, the answer I want to hear from a 9 year old.

Snogging here is kissing. Serious kissing.

I'm not naive. I know that there is a huge difference from his 9 and my 9--only 20-some-odd years ago (stop)-- but I like that he still thinks like a little boy. I know it won't last much longer.
Probably about as long as my remaining tan lines will last here in England.

Out To Lunch

In honor of reaching my 300th post (yea me!) and because I am away on holiday (floating in Willy Wonka's chocolate rivers, thank you very much), I am revisiting posts from my first few months of blogging. Please do leave a comment to let me know you came by and I'll respond when we get back (unless an Oompa Loompa gets me!)

I'm A Stranger Here Myself
Jan. 20th 2008


It has got to be said, and today is as good as day as any.
There is a woman here who hates me, and she hates me (not "because I'm beautiful"--does that commercial still run?) solely because of my place of birth.

About a month after moving here to Norfolk, this woman came to my house, sat on my sofa and trashed my President (currently my husband's head honcho if you think about it), the school system from which my children came, my language etc. She did it all with a smile, so to be quite honest, it was two hours AFTER she left when I realized that I was agitated and couldn't put my finger on why. Then I realized I had been insulted. A lot.
Ok, so I am not the sharpest tool in the shed these days, and maybe that's good. I have this ability to accept just about every person from every walk of life and if you're nice to me, I will be your most loyal friend. If for some reason, I don't like you, I won't pretend I do and call you over for tea. You have to work really hard to offend me (mostly because I can be a little distracted and may miss subtle hints completely) and I kind of expect that in other people.

But never mind that. The damage she caused was that I believed what she said. She really was one of my very first visitors and had plainly told me that general British sentiment towards Americans is that we're greatly disliked.
So, I stood in the queues at play group and didn't speak to people for months (I didn't want to appear the pushy American). I walked on eggshells trying to make sure I never said something that would cause offense, and I did my best to just blend in.

So, with that stated.
After several months I figured out that this woman was really the exception. Most people are very warm towards us and on things we probably wouldn't agree about, they use that wonderful British humour.
My children attract kids who want to know more about the US and who like their accents. One friend loves to sit in my living room and listen to the Hubby and I talk because she loves the phrases we use.
In the meantime, I have heard about others' run-ins with the visiting meanie and pretty much decided her dislike for me is definitely not my problem. I have attended "crops" at her home (invited) and smiled through all of the little jabs-- I get a page or two done in my scrap books without Miss Ky pulling the table over, I don't care what the hostess feels about me.

The most recent said event was yesterday. Imagine my consternation when everyone I asked told me they weren't going. My heart sank when I pulled up and saw that I would be the only one there and it was an 8-hour crop!
Sometime around October-ish (during the wanderings of my husband) I went to something she hosted and came out determined never to attend another thing. I was beaten, I was tired and a little pissy to be perfectly honest. It was hard doing everything with my husband deployed and setting myself up for the constant verbal attacks was plain stupid. But, here I was. alone.

THAT my friends, is a die-hard scrap booker...

Yes, mingled in with the "I'm really pleased you came"s were, "We don't really get involved with football (soccer)" (after her 12-year old commented about my husband and boys all attending a match while I cropped, "Well, maybe your daughter won't like football so that you can have one intelligent person in your home" -- did I mention the kid was playing video games almost the entire time I was there?).

But what I really wanted to share was today.

We really had a nice church service. We had lots of visitors and had a terrific feeling with us, ready to face the week with cheerfulness and optimism. As my husband was making his way towards the door after several attempts to herd our bunch the same direction, I started walking behind him with my head down. I wasn't doing the submissive wife thing (wow, SO not me), I think I was watching my feet or looking at my bag, I don't know. But he stopped short, right after pushing the door open, and I almost slammed right into him.
That's when I looked up and realized it wasn't my husband (thank goodness I didn't pinch his rear). It was the husband of the visiting meanie--who also hates Americans.
I laughed and said, "Oh! I thought you were my husband!" To which he replied, "NOT a CHANCE!" and walked away.

Two points here.
These people consider themselves very educated.
They also consider themselves Christians.

ok, maybe there's actually three points.
Why did I let it agitate me the entire day? Any comments?

There's Glitter In Them There veins!

In honor of reaching my 300th post (The political post I promised not to do) (yea me!) and because I am away on holiday (floating in Willy Wonka's chocolate rivers, thank you very much), I'll be revisiting posts from my first few months of blogging. But first, there's something you should know.....


Shhhhhh! I have a secret.

I have turned into...

a girl!

Don't laugh. I've had several stages in my life. We'll just skip over the eighties, shall we?

I have been a hiker/camper/ backpacker.
An artist/painter/college student.
A Mom ('nuff said).
A house painter/Lumberyard employee/bartender.
A military wife.
None of those things require heels.

Worse,

I was born to people who should not have procreated. One could use my sister and I for prime examples of arguing the missing link theory.
I never looked like those other girls-- blond, blue-eyed, smooth-armed lake beauties.
Nope, I was the orangutan floating on the inner tube, newly sprayed with a concoction of baby oil and peroxide to bleach the arm hair while cooking my skin in the sun.

So the girly look really never suited me and truthfully I observed it with disdain.

Then along came Miss Ky.

And I purchased pink things. I purchase hair things (for a baby who would take 2 years to finally grow some hair). Miss Ky has a few tutus... but she's not in ballet (yet). She has a few tiaras and her room is all things Princess.
There's no limit when it comes to girly-fying her living quarters.

It grew on me.

I now love all things girly and feminine.
I love feathers, fur, sparkles and shoes (most specifically, these shoes).
If my eye makeup shines like a disco ball, all the better.

So you'll understand why I nearly had an out of body experience when I entered this shop....



My Hubby immediately saw the danger his wallet was in, but foolishly let my FIL, who was visiting last week, take Miss Ky out of the shop so that I could freely walk around petting everything lovingly.

I think I told him several times I wanted to move into the shop, but I can't be sure since I was suffering a
texture induced euphoria.

See that bedspread? (hopefully below, you never know with blogger)
Dupioni silk my friend.
You know how I know that?
It's what my wedding dress was made of.
The bed it's on? Only £4000.00.
I thought we should get two...

I didn't buy the bed, but this is the shop where I purchased my ornament for

The Secret Ornament Exchange
over at Abbily Ever After.

What's that you say?

You haven't entered?

Well you'd better hurry because

the deadline to sign on is Halloween!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have bonbons and chocolate to consume.
I wonder if there will be anyone to fan me while on holiday?







*All photos taken with the permission of the shop personnel of Unique Gifts and Treasures

The Party's Over. Now Go Home.

I'm breaking my promise to keep away from political posts... sue me.
Actually, I thought this would be better to say now instead of saying it after the elections. It may seem more sincere.

Fast Forward please to November with me:

First of all, I'd like to congratulate the next President of the U.S., and if he was your man of choice, congratulations to you too. I can safely say that my candidate did not win this campaign. My candidate didn't make it to the conventions. I was forced to research who I would be the least unhappy to vote into the position and made my choice believing he was the right person for the job. Please don't think I am slamming the candidate you proudly stood for, I am just saying neither man was my first choice.

Now that all is said and done, can we bring out the sweepers and clean up the mess? Can we all get behind the man who is leading our country and stand as a nation united?

We don't have to like our president. We don't have to agree with him. But we, as a nation need to show a unity to the rest of the world.
Let's put the mud back outside for the kids to make pies in.
Let's stop slinging nastiness at the wives, the VP choices and children of the candidates -- oh, and each other.

If you have issues with the new President of the United States, handle it like a grown up. Take that wonderful blogging talent you have and write your Congressman/woman. Write your Senator. Write him. Make your voice heard.

May I remind you...

Then join hand in hand, brave Americans all, By uniting we stand, by dividing we fall; In so righteous a cause let us hope to succeed, For heaven approves of each generous deed. -- The Liberty Song by John Dickenson, 1768

We're a great nation, now let's act like it.

God Bless America!

You Had a Bad Day

Karma is attacking you from all sides and you don't know why.
So, you've slipped inside your too-tiny-for-your-family cottage and try to hide.
You take a few moments to post about your bad day because it's good for the soul to get it all out. You'll feel better.
But in the background you hear...

crinkle crinkle crinkle
tink tink tinktink tink tink
thump thump thump thumpthump thump

????

crinkle crinkle crinkle
tink tink tinktink tink tink tap tap
thump thump thump thumpthump thump

The day has been less than perfect, so even though you know the toddler is probably up to no good, you really don't care. Just about everything is cleanable since Magic Eraser came onto the scene.

crinkle crinkle crinkle
taptap tink tink tinktink tink tink
thump thump thump thumpthump thump

Oh... Miss Ky has found the Halloween candy... this is what six snack sized bags of Sugar Babies look like when they're converted to a tea party.
She's proud of herself and not tired at all after all of that running to clean up the wrappers. Addendum: While I uploaded this post and photos, she took her baby Einstein dvd out (the one I thought would hold her attention for five minutes), got the dvd player stuck in the "open" position, took the card out of our satellite box and got out some Wii games with the guitar saying, "I play Guitar Hero". She may have forever altered our surround sound, I cannot get it to make sound for the dvd anymore. She also took my baker's Torch out of the kitchen cupboard-- she had to climb to get it. Thank goodness I keep the fuel for it in a separate place!


Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

There's Order in Romance

Boy sees girl. Girl sees boy. They like each other. The day is now filled with electricity. Usually, the boy approaches the girl and they agree to spend some time together. It's all based on the feelings that are building between them...



oh, it isn't?



J2 has a new girl friend.






If you need the Reader's Digest condensed version, at age 9 he had a girlfriend. He and the girl were exclusively happy little critters.


It was very unusual and they were very dedicated, our families enjoyed one another's company -- until the new girl came. Mini T was dropped like a
hot bag of fish and chips.

Even though the new girl played football, her reign was short lived. She only lasted until the French girl came to his school for a 3-day exchange program.

Mini T has slowly recovered. She handled the break up with great dignity. She became friends with the new girl (who found another beau).
The French girl is long gone, but my now 10 year-old speaks of the trip his school will be taking to France early next year and the possibilities of seeing her again.

Today J2 came in and said, "Your wish has come true."

Me: "Which wish is that?"
J2 pointing with his head towards the school: "That wish".
Me-- being very careful how I answer this. He's got a silly grin. That means girl. He knows the two families were sad when he and Mini T split. I cautiously venture, "You and Mini T?"
J2: "No, not her"

Dang, who else have I "wished" for?

Ahhhh, it comes to me. Once there was a sweet little thing that played opposite from him in Mid Summer Night's Dream and I had said, "Oh, she's cute. Have you ever liked her?" To which he replied with a resounding "NO".

Me: "C?"

He's really goofy now. I struck gold!
So he tells me how it came about.

J2: "I told her I liked her shoes. Then someone came up and asked if I liked her. They went back and told her. Luke likes her too so she had to vote."

The funny thing is she didn't actually vote, her friends did!

Aaaaah, true love strikes again.

Can the day get any better?

I thought there was a weird vibe to the day.
I've been on edge. All day.
Hubby just called with the news he's deploying again.
I think I'll go back to bed and see if tomorrow goes better.

My Package Lies Over The Ocean

It's been one of those days and it's not even 11.

Several weeks ago, you remember I had a giveaway. I painstakingly wrapped 25 little packages and one big one. The big one went out through the US mail with it's customs forms and all. The rest were to be mailed out from my local post office.
Then the flu hit. First one child, then a parent, then another child, then the man cold etc...
Two weeks of being trapped in my house.

Then my in laws came and we were cramming all of the castles and local area in that we could around the boys' football schedules.

I managed to get 5 packages mailed during that time.

Today, I reluctantly carried the rest in . I say reluctantly because Miss Ky was in rare form. She's started that "I'm going to bolt and you can't stop me" stage. Drives me nuts.
So there I was, juggling these little packages, my wallet and a toddler determined to destroy the greeting cards rack --in between mad dashes to the door (where she nearly knocked over an elderly woman with a cane). This is AFTER bolting out of the bank while I was trying to deposit much needed funds into my account. The tears were just sitting behind my eyeballs waiting for someone to open the gates...

With Ky now pinned between my legs and my wallet raining coins all over the counter the post office woman (different from the one I usually get) informs me that I must now fill out customs forms.
You might be thinking "duh", but I have been mailing things from here for a year and have NEVER filled a customs form. I wondered why it was, but hey, who was I to judge?
So now she tells me that the packages I have already sent will not arrive because they will be hanging out at the customs office.

When posting from here, most people do not put a return address. You can, but it needs to be on the back. The back of my packages were tape. I did not put a return address.
I have no idea where my packages are, except for the pile taking up permanent residence in my car-- I know where they are because they mock me every day, "Hah! Here we are, four weeks after you said you'd mail us!! Ha hahahahahahahah". cheeky packages.
Today, ONE was mailed.

So what I am saying is. I suck. I tried to share the fun and it came back and bit me in my behind.
Please forgive me, but until Ky's 18, I am never taking her out in public again. Really. Never.

It's Officially Unofficial!

This is my life.
Nothing is ever planned, because planned things go awry.

The estate agent has informed me.... drum roll please...

that they are taking the house off the market.

(booo)

Estate Agent: I don't know if you understood when you were seeing the property that Mrs. ____ has not determined where they're moving to yet. It's based on the school she wants to put her child in and she has to wait for approval (from the council...etc...etc...) she feels really bad and has asked us to take it off of the market... she feels like she's leaving you kind of hanging.

~pause on my side, I'm still making my way through the accent and old brain cells~

EA: "Do you feel like you're left hanging?"

Me: "Uh, well, yes, kinda" (I'm not really sure what she's saying, I'm still trying to decipher).

EA: "She didn't want you to put your notice in when she can't give you a definite answer of when she's moving".

Me: "...oh...ok, I understand..."

EA: (realizing that I'm not quick like a bunny, I only reproduce like one) "She wants you to have the house, but she can't commit to being out in January. So she wants to take it off of the market and as soon as she knows when she's moving for sure, you will be contacted. She's not showing it to anyone else, so when the time comes, it's yours if you want it, but she understands if you make other arrangements"

~hey... this isn't the gloomy cave I thought we were conversationally heading towards~

Me: Well, we weren't really looking for a place (I think she hears it in my voice, the rise, the I'm-about-to-jump-up-and-down and-shout-"YeeHaw!-but-not-100% sure-I'm-understanding-her lift). We just saw this house and... it was actually putting us in a little bit of a spot because we wanted to give our landlady a heads up.."

EA: "Well, I am going to take it off of the website right now, I didn't want to do that until I talked to you, but it's yours when she knows more about her own move."

I excitedly got the rest of the pictures off the site while she finished talking to me. Nothing like planning a move when you can't remember what the house looks like.

So it's unofficial.
We're moving!

some day.

Is My Phone Broken?

Remember when that one special guy looked at you? You knew he was looking at you and you knew he knew who you were. You went home and waited for the phone to ring.

Well, I'm waiting. I'm about to chew my hands off waiting.

We knew when we fell for that house that we would be the ridicule of the village. Our friends would up and move in the dark of night just to keep us from asking them to help us move again. But I told you about it and you were so encouraging and supportive. Never did I ever imagine I could find so many kindred spirits (and really good people willing to smile at my ridiculous ideas and accept me for the flake that I really am).

So now I am waiting. Waiting for the Estate Agent to call me back and say, "She wants you in her house, she said yes, Jan. 1st is perfect!" (I'll settle for "fine", "ok", "it'll cost you"-- anything but this silence).

She said she'd call "Next week". What does "next week" mean?

Addendum: She called!! and I wasn't home. and her message said she'd call again tomorrow...

Closed Doors Build Good Families

My mother never closed the bathroom door when we were growing up.

Not for showers,
not for the deed.
We watched her apply lipstick, take spiky curlers from her hair (or spray the beehive), apply a sweet cloud of Chanel No 5 and told her our dreams while she relieved her bladder.

I didn't know this wasn't normal.

You can't really fault her. This was the woman who went into labor with her first child in a Kentucky outhouse and the door got stuck. Maybe she was traumatized by toilets and forever had to leave a door open.

Somehow, this little apple fell far away from that backwoods tree (and maybe even rolled down the hill a bit), because not only do I close the door to the bathroom, but every door leading to the bathroom. Unfortunately for me, all of these critters I'm rearing know how to open doors. (My attitude is, if you walk through a closed door in this house, the burned retinas are your problem not mine).

When one has children, there's some things one will tell them about their ancestry:

"Grandpa Gene once bowled a nearly perfect game, served in the Korean War and Budweiser was his religion".
"Did I ever tell you that your Great Grandfather died from serious burns when a pack of matches he was carrying in his pocket caught fire?"
"You're fortunate to be 'stuck' sitting around a dining table for supper. When I was a child, we rarely ate together".

You don't always think to tell them about the quirky traits:

"Aunt B always spits in her soda before putting it in the fridge so no one will drink out of it".
"Uncle Rob will forget his wallet every time he invites you out to dinner".

It may be fortunate that our memories are somewhat selective...
then again, maybe not.
I didn't think to tell my adult-aged son about my mother's open door policy.
He discovered it first hand the summer he stayed with her after leaving us here in England.

I don't know if his eyes will ever be the same.

Tell me, what quirky family traits have you closed the door on?

The Most Clever People Live in Blog World

Can't get much past you, can I?

Several of you caught on (rather quickly) to my thinly-veiled confession of being a one-family freak show.

Yes, we are considering moving.

I know we just moved here and you don't have to remind me, there's still tupperware that has never been unpacked.

It's just that we found another house...

These aren't my images, I pulled them from the estate agent's site (shhh, don't tell).

It's been said that a military member's best place to live is the one they've just left or the one they're heading to. We are living proof.

When we moved to England, I just wanted a British cottage-style house. We found one that charmed us. O.k., the garden charmed ME (and since no one's happy if Momma ain't happy, the Hubby quickly agreed that a home with one bathtub for 7 people would suffice if Momma liked the garden).
When we met with the Landlord, 6 people tumbled out of our car. One had a red mohawk and another was hugely pregnant. I can't even imagine the first impression we gave that poor man.


As he walked us through his cottage, he kept saying it would be too small for us.
I can take a hint.
He kept going on about another property he had, but knowing he would do the, "I'll ring you about it later"-while-he-disappeared-forever ploy, I politely nodded and tried not to show my disappointment.
However, as we tried to shoe horn our family back into the car, he explained,
"If you'll follow me, I can show it to you. It's just up the road."

So we followed
and our jaws fell open. Of course we said, "We'll take it!" without stepping inside (we did see it later after making an appointment with the current renters who were preparing a move).
Long story cut not as short as some would like, it fell through when the renter's home purchase fell through. They had to renew their lease. I was gutted.

The house hunting was left to the Hubby while his cranky, pregnant wife sweltered in the temporary living facility on base.

The house we ended up getting was gorgeous. We had great landlords and a wonderful time, but I spent the first year morning "the house" (as did the oldest son and my husband). We loved where we were living, but it was a Spanish style, sprawling place. I never could make it "home".


Then we found this place. Right smack next to the boys' school. It was about half the size of what we were living in, but we were smitten and 2 weeks after spotting it, we were in it.

I'm thinking it's a sickness. This house should've satisfied us for the next two years. I should never have gone onto Estate agents sites.
I found my current flavor of the month playing around on the internet. For giggles we went to see it (please don't lecture me about wasting someone's time, it will fall on deaf ears).
One step into the kitchen, I wanted it. Not necessarily the kitchen, but the lifestyle.
The house is from the 1840s, and the owners have decorated it farmhouse style. See the hops hanging from the beams?
We came home, ran through the "pros and cons" and then reluctantly, sadly, dejectedly rang the agent.

"We loved the house. We would be thrilled to live in it, but the timing isn't right. Even though our lease is coming up on the 6 month renewal, financially we'd need to wait until after Christmas".

Know what she said?

She didn't say, "You no-good Americans out wasting people's time! You have a serious problem, you know that? You must shop around for houses like other people shop for boots!"

Nope. She said,"Oh... well that may just work out perfect! The owner was hoping to wait until January to move out!"

So,

We haven't signed anything. We're waiting to speak again with the owner and to have another look through with our real eyes on, and then....
I may ultimately be moving to here:Still want to come over for a visit? There's plenty of room in mental institutions.

Mom, She's Copying Me!

It's been said that imitation is the best form of flattery, so I'm here to follow the lead of David at Authorblog and Kathryn from Seeking Sanity. Both gather the best posts throughout the week and share them with others. I read two this week that I really hope you'll check out.
The first is about politics, and you know I won't hash this campaign here. I'm not going to argue the injustice that is occurring before our eyes, but SHE did and I believe every woman should read it. It is not meant to convince you to change your vote, it's meant to wake you up to something that should never happen in our country. Ever.
The next one by Pinky is a wake up call to all of us who frequent anywhere the food is unenthusiastically pushed across a drab counter by a pimply faced teenager who wishes you would go away so she could stare at a wall in peace.

Go, be free. Get mad and then get enlightened.
I'll see you Monday!

Restless Yanks Should Stay Off Estate Websites

Do you suppose the owners of this cozy little cottage are flakes?

Do you suppose they woke up one morning and said, "Hey, let's switch houses every time we replace toothbrushes!"?
Maybe they said, "You know, I'm betting there's a house only 6 minutes from where we are with a bigger kitchen (that doesn't smell like grease) and a garden suitably sized for three football-freak boys. It may even have a treehouse and a garden filled with so many lovely fruit trees and flowers that our princess could hide for hours while making fairy houses".

Yeah, I'm betting there are flakey renters like that. Somewhere. Maybe even in Norfolk England.


Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

You've Got to Go....

...here: Journey to Family's post about identity theft.
Run do not walk, and maybe you'll protect 200 dollars while passing go...

Don't say I've never done anything for you.

Love's Not Blind, But It May Have Macular Degeneration

Karen over at The Rocking Pony got me thinking with her current post (the Joke is on Me). Her 5th grader son is reeling in older women (if you saw his beautiful little face, you'd know how).
I let her in on a little secret.
I'm older than my husband.

I know, there are lots of people older than their spouse, but let's put this in perspective, shall we?
This was my Husband in 1982and this was me in the same year...

Ignore the sweater, what was I thinking?

Sure, I didn't DATE him in 1982, but have you ever wondered if somewhere, sometime in your childhood, you and your spouse crossed paths?
I have to wonder if when we had a serendipitous encounter if it's because his dad and I were at the same party out in the desert. Or maybe his mom was one of the girls I bumped into at the mall.
YIKES.

Our first date was at a Thai restaurant. We worked together and had spent a lot of time talking and getting to know each other, but our very first date was dinner. When the check came, he said, "Wow, great year".
Cluelessly I asked, "Why?"
"It's the year I was born". That number wasn't 196_(any number).

I think I choked.


In my defense, he's an old guy (computers will do that to you, as will 5 kids), who grew up on the same music I listened to. We have the same values, same views on politics and rearing children. There's not many times when we feel the age difference. When our children feel the need to point out that I'm older than he is "by ___ years!", most people are shocked to know that we have such a gap in our age (it helps if you act like the spoiled child like I do).

My questions for you: Are you older/younger than your significant other? How would you react to your son or daughter coming home with someone not quite their own age?

Letter I for Insane

Dear Head Teacher,

Please excuse J2's mum from all future sanely-based conversations.
She's not been herself for a couple of months and the added stress of a ten year-old bordering on juvenile delinquency has nearly pushed her over that proverbial precipice. In addition, please excuse her recent melt down at the end of last week when she wanted to remove her child from the school to sell to a local band of gypsies.

Thank you for your patience and understanding,

Sincerely,

Not J2's Mum, but someone really close to her that's not too embarrassed to talk to you now.


Monday Mission from Painted Maypole this week: "write a post in the style of an excuse letter" . Feel free to play along, click on over there and sign the Mr Linky.

Is There a Baby in That Car?

I had a dream.
I take my dreams very seriously. Well, not the silly ones where I go to school on the day of finals and I suddenly remember the math class I've forgotten to attend all semester.
I pay attention to the ones that seem real.

Last night I dreamed I stopped by my old landlord's place. His father died earlier in the week (in real life) and I wanted to see if there was anything I could help with. He's always upgrading his house, and there were signs of recent construction everywhere. I set to work cleaning the drywall dust off his cabinets (no wonder I'm always tired, I even clean in my sleep).
While I wiped, he opened up and talked about his dad. Eventually his wife came in, and then his daughter and her kids.
That's when I remembered that I had brought my two youngest with me and had left them both been in the car, since I was only stopping to give my condolences. In the car, the whole time I had been there.
In the dream, I ran screaming towards my car (slow motion running) telling myself all the way that there was no way they were still alive. It was a hot day.

For a moment, I had a glimpse of what the "innocent" people must go through. I'm not talking about the morons who need to be eliminated from the gene pool-- those people who leave their kids in the car while they attend a party, I'm talking about the Dad who offers to take the baby to the day care and since it's not his normal routine, forgets. Statistics show that deaths increased when it became mandatory to face the seats to the rear, babies not seen are forgotten.

Last night made me realize how easily that could happen in our chaotic schedule.

There are folks trying to come up with a solution.

Kids and Cars is urging a system that would sound some kind of alarm, Audi and Mercedes-Benz have incorporated a ventilation cooling system for their top-of-the-line cars (although some experts argue that parents would feel that with such a device, they would think it was ok to leave the kids in the car).
The Baby Safety line seems to have something with a device that looks like a long phone cord (remember the kind you would rap around your finger as your best friend spilled the latest gossip?). It connects your keys to your baby's seat, and when you leave the car, you remove it from your keys and snap it to the car's dashboard. It's a reminder that you have company.

The idea that I thought our family could utilize regularly is the Teddy Bear/doll routine.

Each car carries a bear or large doll in the car seat. When the baby is placed in the seat, the doll moves up to the passenger seat. After the baby is removed from the car, the doll is replaced. A front seat reminder is better than a quiet, sleeping, rear-facing baby.

It's a solution everyone can afford. I don't see us owing a Mercedes-Benz in this lifetime, but we do have a few Teddy Bears hanging around the house.

What safety measures have you incorporated into your life for your children? Do you have talking fire detectors that alert the children of danger in your own voice? Do you have a car seat system?

It's Been Said That Money Can't Buy Happiness

But these feet will tell you differently....

Don't they look Euphoric?
They're practically shouting, "Sexy Guy, take me dancing!"
OHmommy had a giveaway for a pair of these beauties, You by Crocs, and guess who won?!
Not me.

But she set me in a frenzy to find my own pair (after a testimonial like this, "I cleaned the house in these puppies late Sunday afternoon and Lola asked, "Why are you wearing heels while dusting Mama?" I smiled and said, "Because I can! They are super duper comfy.", who wouldn't want a pair?).

I found them in online from Europe for 175 Euros. I found them online in the States for $150.00. (choke, cough), but yesterday, while taking the grown up Miss Ky shopping for her birthday, I found a pair for me.
Bargains-r-us my friends. I found my You by Crocs for a scream and a dance and I am the happiest woman in the gutter today.

Do You Think It's Irrational

To buy a plane ticket to the U.S. for November 21st?

Officially a Terrible Two!

Our "Surprise!" child is TWO today

Keeps us on our toes.
Yells louder than her brothers.
Loves only as a little girl can.
Eats like she has a bottomless pit.
Instigates mischief.
Growing too fast for our liking.
Heaven's gift we still don't feel worthy of.
Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Taggity Tag Tag

I don't want to speak too soon, but I think we're going to survive. At one point I was ready to post a "help me" as my post. I can't be positive (because Ky's taken off with the measuring tape again), but I think all of my walls have scooted in at least two inches since the cold/flu first hit our house.

So, in lieu of coming up with something witty, snarky or anything resembling to have required thought, I am fulfilling my promise to play tag.

I Scream, You Scream We all Scream When We Get Tagged --Part Deux

firelein tomfoolery got me (ok, ages ago and she's a saint for patiently waiting).

i am: growing older every day.
i think: therefore i am

i know: dark chocolate has less fat than milk chocolate

i want: to sleep.

i have: too much scrapbook paper

i dislike: peach yogurt (but love peaches)

i miss: my dog. he's in NM.

i fear: not being able to protect my kids

i feel: did I mention tired already?

i hear: the buzzing of the fridge. Which is total bliss. Everyone but me is gone for a few minutes.

i smell: lavendar/vanilla scented oils. We can use them again now that Miss Ky has stopped eating them.

i crave: whatever I'm reading-- scones with clotted cream if it's an English novel, chocolate for Harry Potter.

i cry: boy do I. On the emotional roller coaster since Dave was killed. Dreading the Christmas Coffee commercials.

i usually: have a nervous breakdown by 8 pm

i search: google. a lot. I love google.

i wonder: if I will survive parenting

i regret: lots of things. It's sad, because at 30 I said, "I have no regrets". In my 40s I have several. Mostly with how I prepared my oldest to live in the world. Some with giving up dreams.

i love: the moments when I can just breathe in and experience the moment-- a child's scent (not the stinky, they-didn't-wipe-so-well-today smell), fresh rain etc...

i care: about people, what they're going through, what they're hurting over. People who hardly know me-- a little too empathetic really.

i always: sleep on my left side. Can you imagine what the mattress has done to my face?

i worry: about unintentionally offending or hurting someone

i am not: the mother I'd like to be

i remember: dancing. and having nice legs.

i believe: there's good in everybody. Or at least something to like. Except maybe politicians ;-)

i sing: much to my children's dismay

i don't always: control my tongue

i argue: with myself more often than I used to.

i write: to vent. to discover. to persuade. i write, therefore i am-- wait, I said that already.

i win: oh yes i do. and truth is, i don't care if i lose, i just usually don't.

i lose: not board games (HAH!). my patience. used to be my keys, but now that I'm good at keeping track of them, I lose my mind instead.

i wish: there were no divisions (can you feel a John Lennon song coming on?)

i listen: to what people aren't saying.

i can usually be found: here. Typing. when there's a thousand other things I could be accomplishing.

i am scared: of warping my kids, regretting things not done.
i need: a girl's get-away.

sometimes i forget: to look my little ones in the eyes when I'm upset with them.

i am happy: when I'm doing the things I should be doing

i Tag: no one. You're safe with me today.

From The Color of Home

BearNaked Tag

What are your nicknames?
People don't nickname me. Not to my face anyway...

What TV game show/reality show would you like to be on?
Don't even have to think about this-- Amazing Race. I need some notice though to try to see if as an adult I can run further than a block without throwing up.

What was the first movie you bought in VHS or DVD?
Are you serious?
The first DVD was Dinosaur and we watched it on the Mac. It was amazing to see the difference and we went out the next day and bought a dvd player... which wasn't compatible with our tv and then we had to buy a new tv. we were poorer then and it was a huge OUCH, and very out of character for us.

What is your favorite scent?
food. I love food smells-- perfumes that have food scents appeal to me. Satsuma, vanilla etc...
I have a candle called Witches Brew (Kendell Mae's Kandlery) that is my absolute favourite.

If you had one million dollars to spend only on yourself, what would you spend it on?
land. land and more land. With the way things are going, it's the only thing I can see that will still be worth something when everything else has lost it's value. Since it has to be for me, land.

One place you've visited, can't forget and want to go back to?
umm.
Do you trust easily?
Depends. I think I do, and yet I have become very cautious these last few years.
I follow my gut and tend to do ok.

Do you generally think before you act, or act before you think?
You're supposed to think before you act? Hmmm, that explains a few things.

Is there anything that has made you unhappy these days?

yes, but I'm certainly not divulging it here.
Hint: I don't think I was cut out for this mother stuff. Babysitter, yes. Full time, 24/7 not so much so.

Do you have a good body image?
I am shocked when I get back photos and see the size others see. I still feel like my old size. I would never have an anorexia problem, I think I look great and I'm three stone heavier than I should be.

What is your favorite fruit?
Tomato. ok, pears. Juicy ones, not hard yucky ones. The kind that are speckley, yellowish and drips juice down your chin when bitten. They remind me of my childhood. I'm beginning to think it's an over-ripe pair (which tells me my mother packed me outdated things in my lunches)

What websites do you visit daily?
I've been eating up anything I can get on the area we're holidaying in soon. I'm so excited! (And no, I'm not telling because I'm cautious. :-)

What have you been seriously addicted to lately?
This stinking blog.

What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?

Ahhh, good question. I think she's thoughtful, sensitive, zany and fun. A person who can laugh at herself and whose laugh is contagious.

What's the last song that got stuck in your head?
That ridiculous Munster's Theme... why did I put that on my playlist?

Favorite clothing?
A corset. I'd like one for my hips as well please.

Do you think Rice Krispies are yummy?
Only when they've stopped crackling, buried under a mound of buttery marshmallow creme.

What would you do if you saw $100 lying on the ground?
Yeah, I'm the weirdo that will try to find who it belongs to...

Items you couldn't go without during the day?

um... unfortunately, this stinking addictive blogging habit.

What should you be doing right now?
Sleeping, since tomorrow begins another day of Barf-fest held bi-annually here in the gutter.

From Chris and Darla, The Seven Things (you never cared to know)...
1. I consider closing down this blog about once a month (and no, it's not based on cyclical moods)

2. I'm a painter. But I don't paint. My paints are caustic and I have too many kids running around eating my things. I love photography and studied for three years under a National Geographic Photographer. My favourite part is the darkroom.

3. I am also trained as a.... geologist. Now could I have possibly picked two university studies that could support me less when I entered the working world? Couldn't help it. I like rocks and the university wouldn't let me dual major Illustration and Geology, so I minored in it and took WAY more classes than I needed. And because my Art degree required an emphasis and I completed two, I didn't even need the minor.

4. I love going to school. Obviously.

5. I want to take a cooking class, you know, like in France or something.

6. I am afraid of taking a cooking class. Because I'm afraid it will take the fun out of cooking for me. I could settle for meeting Gordon Ramsey and not have him yell at me.

7. I sometimes teeter dangerously close to depression. That's not to depress you, but just know that sometimes behind the silly posts is a woman ready to check herself in to a nice white padded room. It could be just because I am desperate to go to the bathroom by myself once in a while.
8. Because that was a bomb to leave the list with, wasn't it? I had a poem published, and never bought the book it was in.

Wow. Am I caught up now? And if that wasn't enough useless information about MOI, I have a Blogiversary coming up and the floor is yours...anything you want to ask me?

Just for the record... if you've commented and I didn't reply... I'm not a jerk. I usually run in here, open up the window and invariably someone will hit someone or drop a jar of pickles or smash a hand in a door and I run back out. I have answered your comment in my head. Since I am "older"(clears throat), when I get back to the computer, I've convinced myself I did answer you. So. I'm sorry. (See first meme).

Some Things You Need to Know About Me...

...and a lot of things that you don't. That's what you get over here in the gutter.

But today you're getting nothing. As in nada, zip, zilch, nichts, niente.

The Man Cold turned -miserable woman cold, which led to multi-kid colds seems to be wrapping up in (frailboy) A1 feverish flu.

I will return with a self-absorbed frenzy because I've been tagged in every colour (funny how you can slip by months of tags and memes and then one day POW, right in the kisser).

Some people are frustrated with tags and memes and don't want any part of them. I personally find it a little Drew Barrymore-ish, Never Been Kissed-kind of flattering. People I like so much actually thought of me and tagged me (now that I think of it, that's a little more Sally Field-ish, "You really like me", isn't it?).
I also like reading these memes because it tells me things about you I might never have found out by just seeing your stunning photos or reading your witty, well-edited posts.

So, I'm in.
When I can come back out.

Sorry, I got a little excited and forgot a title

I want I want I want. I am drooling on the keyboard.


Remember when I begged for the new Photoshop for Christmas and my birthday?
Well...
Apparently that route isn't the straightest to my desired result. I've moved on to another plan. I have hopes, I have confidence and it can be won!!

And for my silly move of the day, I'm also telling you about it to so that you can enter as well. Go here to The Secret is in the Sauce and follow the simple steps. Just make sure you spell your name properly when you enter, "I-n-t-h-e-g-u-t-t-e-r".

Go on now, go enter!

Scrolling Saturday -- News Alert

Scrolling Saturday is a way to introduce older posts that flew under the radar -- you know, posts you wrote when only your mother was reading your blog.
Brought to you by:

Manners and Moxie and Rock and Drool...Mom Gone Mental

In honour of the cold spell sweeping through my little village as I post:

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

News Alert: UK becomes part of Antarctica

My husband is worried about my Clustr Map. He's an Air Traffic Controller, so Stress is his middle name-- but his concern about my map could be too much.
He mentioned today that IF some scientist in Antarctica were to read my blog, he wouldn't show up on the map. I wouldn't be able to say that I've had readers from all seven continents.

Well, I've been outside today and I've watched the news. The freezing fog we have now, is supposed to come in (which infers that it will first go away) with a vengeance tonight and it's suppose to be -6º.
Do I really need Antarctica? I mean, I'm practically living there already.

Today's art project....

It's Not Easy Being Clean

Something happened when I moved into this tiny little home.

It appears my cleaning flair has been defeated. I'm not experiencing that "my-sinks-are-so-stinking-clean-I-can-eat-out-of-them" high anymore. Maybe because they never are. ever.
I don't follow my kids around insisting they wipe down the backs of the chairs they used and I don't freak out when a full bowl of cereal hits the floor (gasp).

We left the "mansion" because I was cleaning from the time I got up until the time I went to bed-- but then one could see a difference. I could smell the difference. I was the dirt conquerer.

But here...

There's the grease smell I can't beat.

There's the dog hair that threatens to eat my stove (and we don't have a dog).

There's the mildew growing around the tub that someone before us spared. Instead of killing it off, they chose to caulk over it-- with clear caulk. When that made for an unsettling view during bath time, they put strips of metal-looking plastic over it, so that new mildew could grow.

So I'm thinking... we're carrying this bunny hugging thing a little far, don't you think?

Until recently we were left to use natural defenses against lice over here in the UK. The I-want-to-kill-off-everything medicines available to us in the U.S. have only just begun to creep across the pond. I don't know why I should have to live with creatures that want to feast on my flesh and make me uncomfortable.
Just like I don't think I should have to share a bath with black gooey uselessness either.

I also think I should have a choice as to which critters I share living space with.
When Joe Satellite Dude came over to hook us up to our 20 channels of BBC, he informed us that he couldn't connect to the existing dish and would have to install a new one.

You want to know why?

Because a pigeon had nested in the dish. So huge new holes were drilled in a £250,000 home. To save a pooping machine.
Another mess I would have to clean.

When does this crazy green carny ride stop?

When someone shouts, "I'm gonna be sick!"

And I did. The Hubby donned his killing gear and eradicated the mildew from the bath.
The new white caulk gleams like fresh, sparkly toothpaste.

But I still don't want to clean it.
I've lost that cleaning feeling...
I guess the big question is, do I want it back?

Photo is pre-mildew murdering spree (you think I make this stuff up?)

PSF Might As Well Jump

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

See the little guy? He has taken a fearless, racing start at his big brothers' bike jump.

Can you see the concentration in his face?

Can you see where that front tire is heading?

The Hubby wasn't on call last Saturday. That's a good thing, because we had several events going on.
Unfortunately in the military, just because you aren't on call doesn't mean you won't get called in.
He ended up working nearly an entire shift on the ONE sunny day we had.

In an attempt to salvage the day, we walked down to the park to enjoy the sunshine. Miss Ky played on the swings while her brothers built little mounds to jump their bikes over.

Five year-old A2 was the first to try it out.
Again, see that front tire?
Right after this shot, that tire lands askew and Little Guy topples over his handle bars and does a glorious face plant on the hard dirt.

For all of my Bad Mommy choices, I stand proud telling you that I fought the urge to lift the camera and get the shot of his little brown nose (with dirt shoved up inside of it) and his dirt goatee.
My brave little boy was crying, and I held him instead of shooting pictures for posterity.

All Things British- Fancy Dress

For those of you that have been worrying about me, I have survived the woman's version of the man cold. And hear me now-- I will never make fun of my husband's suffering again.

Ok, he's left the room now, so we can really talk.

Here's how it is. When I'm sick, sick enough to go down, it usually means the laundry, the school duties, life will be waiting for me when I get up. And today was no exception.
It looks like the laundry fairy threw up all over my laundry room-- and boy has she eaten a lot in the last few days.

I woke up this morning from my NyQuil-induced coma in a panic. I remembered that yesterday while I was down, I needed to be at Tesco's buying my child things for his Victorian lunch (I'll get back to that). So now I needed to bake. Quick-like. With four mini-beasts circling me all drooling at the smell of food. I baked corn muffins and cake brownies and prayed my head cold wouldn't attack again until after I got the kids off.

Have I ever told you that when we moved here, I felt like I was coming home?
There's a number of reasons I've felt that way, but this time of year I'm reminded of something else.

I grew up LOVING Halloween. Living in a small town, we were safe trick-or-treating into the dark hours, really safe -- some homes actually gave treats like popcorn balls and caramel apples. We carried pillow cases instead of those silly little miniscule buckets and came home with them filled. The best part of Halloween night was coming home with first place of the costume contests. And I usually did. I say usually, because there was a fierce competition going on between my mother and another woman, both seamstresses. One year, my mom got REALLY perturbed with me because I announced to the class that I was going to be a bride. To my mom, it was a betrayal, and that year, I wasn't a bride after all. Despite this sick obsession (that somehow escaped my attention), I love getting dressed up.
When we moved here, you know, moved "home", one thing I was alerted to was the term "fancy dress". We began receiving "fancy dress" party invitations. Halloween or Fancy- I don't care, just give me a costume (me in glitter, soft fabrics, sleeky legs in stilettos= a costume)-- yeah, count me in.
However, I wasn't being invited, my kids were! Like I'm going to rent a tux for J2 to play football in or buy Miss Ky something glittery to get finger paint all over. whatever you crazy people.

A fancy dress party is a costume party. And the Brits like costume parties. I'm in Heaven-- I can buy costumes year round. There's even a special time every year, Book Week, when the kids dress up like their favourite book character. Many birthday parties are themed around pirates or princesses. There's more... like contests for example. Currently being held in the UK is a contest: Dress up like Angus from ACDC and you could win a trip to see the band! (If you're dressing like Angus regularly, you need a free trip to the fashion police station).

So what the heck is this post about anyway?

I'm trying to tell you in my own rambling, I've-had-too-much-NyQuil way, that I love living here. My kids are having some of the greatest opportunities of a lifetime.

J2 left for school today in a victorian get-up and was driven (by coach) with his classmates, to a victorian school where they had lessons, played games and ate their lunches of crusty breads, cheeses and chunks of meat (and a small cake) all wrapped up tidily in a tea towel.

The coach driver asked me, "You're not going?"
"No, I hung around and gave them lots of opportunities to ask me, but they just didn't"
"You have a costume?"
"Of course, doesn't everyone?"

Don't YOU have a tudor costume hanging in your wardrobe?

Well you'd better think of getting one if you intend to visit for any real length of time-- it's not just tea and biscuits over here!