A Little Journey Is Good For The Soul

Remember when I was breathing heavily into a brown paper bag,
fighting off the incredible anxiety over taking a trip...ALONE?

I never subjected anyone to the home movies, silly (only to me) travel stories, the hundreds of slides!

Since you're here, have a seat and a cuppa while I regale you with my trip to IRELAND.


oh, ok. Just a few stories and photos then...

It was a dark and dreary night.... No, really, I got there after the sun went down and it was raining. I was in unfamiliar territory looking for my B&B in a not-so-small city. On a Friday. When people love to go out and make traffic just to thwart solitary travelers.

After navigating dark, narrow streets past drivers who knew what they were doing and where they were going, I was a bit on edge when I arrived at my lodging. The lovely young man that greeted me and showed me my room (and the safest place to leave my rental car) was kind enough to share a bit about his hometown and gave me tips how I could spend the next day WALKING to various points of interest since I never wanted to get behind the wheel again.
The Giant's Causeway that I had come for could wait.

However, after a good night's sleep and a light breakfast, I felt a bit braver and decided to give it another go. I took take the Causeway Coastal Route and found myself arguing regularly with the satnav as it seemed to want to take me away from the ocean rather than alongside it.
My determination paid off. Eventually I saw this amazing site.

Just there, jutting up out of the sea, all by it's lonesome. I parked the rental car ON THE BEACH (the road did take me down there, I assumed others have done the same, although the beach was deserted this morning and I had no one to follow).  Like a child, I ran along with the waves for a bit, watching my footprints disappear under the frothy fun.  Unfortunately, the jitters hadn't completely left me and I started getting worried that the car would sink or a tide would come in too fast, so I cut my sea play short and attempted to get as little sand as possible in the car.

Back on my route, I immediately discovered that my exciting, architectural find could actually be seen up close AND I happen to be a member of the National Trust so my visit would be free!


Welcome to the Mussenden Temple and Downhill Demesne.

Temple

House

When traveling alone it is mandatory to take lots of self-portraits. Refuse any help, it's more fun this way.

more house

Incredible house. Incredible temple (although it was rather rude that someone was planning their wedding and therefore in my way while I was trying to be a tourist). I was buzzing now. "Bring on the rest!" I practically cheered as leaving the car park.   

Reader's Digest version, right? I told you NOTHING about this site. See? I can do slide shows without boring you to death...


Feeling a bit more courageous, I actually turned the car around, drove back, found a place to pull off (not easy) and walked down a dangerous road just to get a good picture of this sign...

Good information to have, thought I may not be the only one who needed this advice. Thank goodness someone thought to put it on a sign just off the road for me.

Oh, and another sign, this one in Gaelic...

I didn't mind the strange looks I was getting from men on tractors or the pretty little leg blisters from the stinging nettles. It was worth it...



Awww, leaving already? I was just getting to the slides of the Giant's Causeway!

Maybe next time?

Do Not Open Until December 2013

Dear Me,

You do NOT like Christmas baking. Before the delusion sets in- that conviction you have of the smell of fudge, sugar cookies, toffee and teacakes making your life complete, please stop and ponder Christmases past. Remember what this time is REALLY like.

Inevitably, as the holiday rush bears down on you, someone will contract head lice and the entire house will need fumigating once or twice or fifteen times, or some lovely child will give the gift of the flu bug to your children and the entire linen closet will go through a few washings.

The kids' Christmas parties (football, ballet, church, school) will be overshadowed by all of the birthday parties they are invited to, and none of them are within 20 minutes of driving time to your house.
You won't remember to book your hair appointment for December, so you will be forced to continually try to push your hair out of your eyes while dragging every cookie sheet out of the far back recesses of the lower corner cabinets (clue number one that you don't really enjoy baking or they might be easier to get to). 
And that great plan you have of setting aside a few days JUST for baking and addressing cards? Someone will need an ambulance ride or, the husband who feels he hasn't done enough to help you for the last 15 years recently, will book all of the kids' dental appointments for those days.

Because you tend to convince yourself that it is not Christmas until those 2-day Sugar cookies are properly frosted and delivered to people who probably are beyond their fill of baked goods and sweets, you will forge ahead late into the night while your family sleeps. You will snap at them all in the morning when you are too tired to show any patience. Your daughter's school uniform will have missed the wash because you were so distracted with baking. Despite your late night bake-fest, one plate will be missed or left behind in the rush to get on the bus.

DON'T DO IT! The family will be happier. The poor friends and neighbors forced to smile and act like they look forward to your labor of love will appreciate your decision to take the year off.

And you, my well-meaning self, can sit down with a nice hot chocolate and watch It's A Wonderful Life and realize...


that it is (when you slow down and live in the moment).

The Only Thing Constant in the Military Is...

I've always thought I was blessed to have a mind that can't hold on to things. I can hear jokes several times over and still laugh as hard as the first time, I can be slighted and not hold a grudge (can't hold a grudge if one can't remember the slight), and skimming through older photos is sometimes like I've never seen them before. It's almost magical looking at these beautiful photos of when my kids were younger.

But then there's the downside. Like how I will never learn that in the military, you never make plans until the hard copies are in your hands.


Job assignments have changed drastically in the last 7 years. Everything is now received online and it's up to the troops to print it out. My husband has been patiently waiting for some of the 'steps' to show up on the Virtual MPF site, but we discovered yesterday why they hadn't.
We're not going to the Azores.

We could be going to the Azores.

Only HE might be going to the Azores.

We won't even know what our options are until after January.

Welcome to the budget cuts in the military. Funny thing, If I were running the show, I could tell you where the waste is-- the guys pushing the beans don't ever get it right in my opinion.

In 2001 when we lived on the island, housing was just fine-well, except for the section that tested high for asbestos- but in 2005 they rebuilt it all. I can imagine that they have since upgraded the perfectly fine school as well, and while we were there, they did build a new BX. All infant-aged family-oriented buildings on this tiny military base where they've just determined that it will be from now on, an unaccompanied tour.

The assignments made over the last six months must be in a state of chaos. There are people due to arrive with their families from February on, and now families are supposed to be cleared off the island by 2014. The school is closing in 2014. That's where we don't really know what's going to happen. They could give us the go ahead to go since we will JUST make the cutoff time (July), but it means we'd move us all there, place the kids in a school where everyone has short timer's disease (you tell me that my kids are going to get the BEST education in a place that's focused on closing shop), and then move again in a year. It takes a military family 6 months to acclimate to the new surroundings. The next 6 months would be preparing for the next move.

The poor oldest. The one who has pulled every string he could find to assure that he would follow us over in October. His wife would have to stay behind in the States.


So, I never learn. Hey ho, right? It's the life we signed up for. The life I agreed to. I just wish I could remember that BEFORE I drag everyone else along in my blissfully ignorant happy dance...

Ye Olde Christmas... Warning: Photo Heavy

It's that time of year again, when British children-or American children in British Church of England schools- begin performing their Nativity plays and practicing their special Christmas numbers for the orchestra performance (that will take place during the special Christmas dinner at school).
 They are all happily making their Christingles for the service to be held in the village church and have decorated trees for the local church's Christmas Tree Festival. It's a busy buildup to the big day and I love how it all helps the children to remember what the holiday is all about.
We've been very fortunate to have our kids in the Church of England schools where the day starts with prayer, they celebrate the birth of Christ and God is welcome. I love the school!

Who am I kidding, it's not just the school- I love everything over here. 

Rudolph, Frosty and Santa Claus is Coming to Town take a back seat to Dr. Who, East Enders and Downton Abbey Christmas specials. The Hogfather, a twisted Christmas tale by Terry Pratchet should make it's annual appearance soon. The basic plot: The Hogfather, the Discworld equivalent to Father Christmas, has gone missing and Death is forced to take his place while his granddaughter Susan attempts to find out what happened.

Country-wide, churches open their lovely heavy wooden doors and offer mince pies and hot tea for carol services. The first carol service I attended was not the peaceful, wonderful experience I had expected- with a husband in Iraq and very wiggly toddler who kept me from watching my boy play the trumpet in the service. I distinctly remember standing outside crying through part of it while looking up into the starry night sky.

So this year, when I heard about St. Mary's carol service, I insisted the whole family would go--and enjoy it.
St Mary's church is located in a small village called West Tofts. The unique thing about this village though, is it is mostly deserted. During the war, the military took over the village (and several others), turning it into a mock-Nazi village for training. Unfortunately, after the war ended, the military didn't give it back to the community-it's most recent facelift was to turn it into an Afghanistan-like battle ground. But, the British Army hold an annual carol service to welcome the public back into the gorgeous, 19th century building.

We got there early and found a pew. My children began bickering within 5 minutes of sitting down. Miss Ky was in full wiggle mode within 10 minutes.
We only had 20 more minutes to go before the service would even start.

During the service, the military brass band accompanies the carolers and readings of the nativity are placed throughout. Towards the end, a collection comes around for church restoration and other causes.  It's an incredible experience being here in England for Christmas and it's hard not to get melancholy knowing this will be our last.

But, nevermind. You came for the photos, so let's get on with it!

 Miss Ky is wearing her brand new Christmas coat. She hates that her coat is "puffy" and has been complaining for 2 years now (yes, I buy big and make it last). So, I found this beautiful wool coat and was going to give it to her at Christmas, but just before the carol service, she wore her "poofy" coat out into the garden and rolled in the marshy wetlands that we call our front lawn.

So, new coat. Happy girl.

The church is lit by candles...

ooooh, aaaaahhh.

A2 getting a "tour" of the tree.

Where did everyone go? Off to eat mince pies. I took photos

Do you suppose his gown was designed by Cinna?

Posers

And so... 

after an evening of telling my kids to "Sit down", "Quiet down" "This is a prayer, quit rustling your programme!" "Stop looking at her!" "Stop annoying to him!" "Would you LEAVE your sister alone?!",

we stopped by the base where I was reminded how blessed I am to have tired, hungry children at Christmas time.

Our heartfelt prayers go out to the Newtown community and the families and friends who are mourning.

We got home after 9.30pm. My exhausted little ones brushed their teeth and I peeled Miss Ky out of her clothes and into her pajamas. We hung her coat in a special place so that she could look at it and her brothers wouldn't dirty it with theirs. As I tucked her into bed and leaned down to kiss her goodnight, I told her, "You really shouldn't keep so many of your babies in bed with you, it would be terrible if you got head lice again and they all had to go back into the freezer all at once".

To which she replied,

"Oh, speaking of that... my head is itchy".

No, I am not joking. I wish I was. Friday evening after the terrible, tragic news coming out of CT, we had put our two youngest in our bed with us. Saturday they ended back up in there for a good cuddle. Miss Ky and an older brother like to have cuddles on his bed as well. We often find them heads stuck together playing a DS or reading...

We began the combing. I found no less than eight pteradactyls on that child's head.  Everyone's bedding was removed. The mattresses were vacuumed. All clothes, hoodies, pillows, stuffed toys left the bedrooms.

Miss Ky's new coat has gone into the freezer for the next two weeks. It will be there for Christmas.

My laundry room looks like Kilimanjaro. I am itching as we speak.

So at this time, I think I would like to recount my earlier comment. I do not love EVERYTHING about England (or more specifically, the school and their head lice policies). Some nasty little things I will be happy to leave behind....



HO, HO, HOOooo

America Is Again on My British Newstation

I'm sure you all are feeling the same shock, grief, horror as I am. 5000 miles across an ocean does not lessen the blow of such tragedy. I can't seem to stop crying. My husband, the giant marshmallow, has chosen to tuck the horror away and not think about it. There will be no more news playing in our house. He doesn't want to talk about it. It didn't happen as far as he's concerned. However, the man who views our bed as "scared" and "not to be disturbed" by kicking bed hogs, didn't say one word when I put our two youngest in bed with us last night.

And of course, there are those tragedy vultures who swoop in and begin their Anti-American hate tirades instead of offering up prayers or hope, so I find myself swinging bipolar-like between desperate sadness and anger. When I turned to FB or Twitter to talk with friends (since the Hubby is in his emotional cave), the shared feelings of desperate longing to bubble wrap our children is sadly peppered with those who feel disgust for our nation because apparently, this is what we as Americans ask for.

I know I didn't ask for this. My views of gun laws may not be your views of gun laws, but I can't imagine any of us would ever want 20 precious children to die along with innocent adults. So can we just leave the politics out of it? Just for a little while, can we come together and grieve for these poor families whose Christmas trees shelter wrapped presents for babies who are never coming home?

I keep thinking about the mornings I send my little whirlwinds out of here with nothing but an exasperated kiss and less-than-sincere, "Have a great day" followed by a plop down into a chair in exhaustion. I swore yesterday that I would never do that again. No matter how much they bicker or annoy each other just before the school transport comes, they will get a mother who is fully present.

Some of us woke up very blessed this morning and will still have little hands cutting paper snowflakes and little faces glowing at the thought of surprises awaiting them under the tree, may God comfort those who won't. #prayforNewtown