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

Christingles and Ambulance Rides

The kids celebrated with their second Christingle service yesterday in the beautiful church in Shipdham .
They prepare their Christingles in advance and practiced their parts diligently. This is A2 LAST year when he participated with his Pre-school. There's something about small children and fire that frightens me, but over all, this is a pretty neat experience.
Now the reason you are seeing LAST year's photo is because THIS year I had my hands full. The #1 son is home, but incredibly jet lagged, so he watches movies all night and sleeps all day (yeah, I'm not buying the jet lag thing either). Dad is due home TOMORROW NIGHT, but that's after all of the main events have been completed by me, the chauffeur, aka:pack mule . So, I am tired, I am overwhelmed and I don't feel like I can be everything to everybody right now (or anything to anybody), but the show must go on, right?

Let's back up a bit, shall we? On Sunday night, J2 was participating in the local Church's Carol Services. A woman had knocked on our door a couple of weeks prior and told me that she had 'heard he plays a mean trumpet and would he be willing to participate?' I told her he would, and then added it to the monster-sized white board in our kitchen.
So, Sunday night after popping a pan of cinnamon rolls into the oven, I glanced up at the board and said, "OH NO! We have to go!" It was 5:30 and the Carols started at 6pm. I gathered the little missy up from her high chair, bundled her up for the cold church, sent the boys all in to add another layer of clothes for warmth, grabbed the video camera and my SLR and loaded everyone into my husband's beater (because my car was holding the Jolly Old Elf gift stashed under a blanket). I ran back in to pull the rolls out of the oven and then off we went. Miraculously, we made it in time. However, Miss Ky was wound up by the excitement and spent the service trying to wriggle out of my arms while I desperately tried to video J2. Most of the service we were outside in the cold, listening to the trumpet through the painted glass windows.
It would've been a beautiful experience, standing there under the clear, crisp sky with the stars twinkling, basking in the glow from the candles flickering in the windows while Silent Night echoed through the stillness... but it wasn't. I was mad. I was mad at her for making me miss yet one more thing of the boys'. I was mad at their Dad for leaving me to handle everything on my own yet again. I was mad that I was in England to experience these beautiful traditions and wonderful cultural experiences, but couldn't because I was chasing a toddler around. I am ashamed to say that the sentiment is recorded for all time as I turned the camera on this fuzzy little pink thing and said, "and here I am outside, missing J2's performance because of this one...." I am adding this picture of her in her fuzzy coat so that you can really think poorly of me (who could be angry at this face?).

So, back to the Christingle. J2 would be playing again. So I took the push chair (stroller), maybe to keep her in--which is a joke, video camera and SLR.
I managed to get quite a bit recorded of his playing, while she toddled around some other children in the back of the church. I then held her under one arm while I escorted A2 up for his song, video'd A1 in his human representation of a huge Christingle (he was the orange) and even managed to watch A2 have his Christingle lit. After watching all of the flames be extinguished without any mishaps, I breathed a sigh of relief and A2, Miss Ky and I made our way back to the back of the church for the prayer.
While the children were leaving the church with their teachers, the rest of us were
asked to stay behind to make the exit smoother. I stood by with the SLR ready to shoot a couple of shots for Dad.

I managed to get a couple taken when I heard it. To my left I heard the smacking sound-- like plastic hitting hard concrete and my mind instantly had several thoughts: Miss Ky and A2 were sitting at the little children's table colouring, they were sitting on plastic chairs. Miss Ky LOVES climbing and often tips chairs over.
So I turn around and immediately hear her scream. She's face down (all I can see is her little pink fuzzy form) with her head located on a hard concrete step. I am not sure what all happened in what order, but I know that my digital SLR went down hard, I lifted her and before I could get her up three inches, saw blood dripping on the step. I also know that I turned her over, hoping the blood was coming from a lip or maybe even her nose (yeah, like a broken nose is a good thing...) and saw that her forehead was split.
Bystanders are telling me that at that point I went white as a sheet. I know that I yelled, "Somebody help me!" as I locked eyes with a woman still standing in a pew a few feet away from me (she later had to go looking for her house key that she threw as she rushed to us). She led the two of us running through the church to the back where there was a kitchen. I was just about hysterical watching Miss Ky bleed so heavily, it was pooling around her eyes whenever I tried to hold her back where I could see her.
Well, several kind and calm people ended up huddled there in that kitchen with me, as someone called the ambulance. They arranged the retrieval of my other children at the school, drove my car to the surgeon's and someone pushed the stroller all the way there since they couldn't figure out how to collapse it.
It was quite an experience. I later took a picture of her coat and mine, covered in blood, but I'll spare you those pictures. She's ok, a VERY resilient baby with a hard head like her momma. My SLR seems ok and I am back on track with what matters in my life. again. Until next week when I need the lesson again....
And as a little add-on note:
My "neighbor" (a woman about a mile from me, whose children play with mine and gather at the same bus stop) met me on the road home. She flagged me down with a panic stricken face. The news was out through the bus people, the Head Teacher etc... and she was mortified. She was hoping that the story had just been growing and there really wasn't an ambulance. She had been there at the church, but had somehow missed all of the commotion because she was dealing with her own. Her little 3 year-old had set fire to a little girls' hair.