Pink. With Sprinkles on Top

We're all jumbled again, telling you about our last week while enjoying this one. All part of a mixed up summer schedule, right?!

Our summer schedule - or lack of one - means that today, Big Sister drowsily emerged from her room more than an hour after we would have left the flat on a school morning. And don't get me started on bedtimes. The Olympic excitement makes it too hard. At least the Mister and I've stopped waiting up for John McEnroe's antics on the BBC's end of day show - ripe for a SNL skit. 

Anyhow. We drew "bake" one morning last week and our assignment languished a bit while we bounced on Stonehenge, checked in at the library, went to a birthday party, and took advantage of other adventures. Then a cool morning presented itself and baking popped back up on our itinerary. Also that the kids were chanting "when are we going to BAKE?!" whenever there were two quiet moments strung together. I do love that they enjoy something I like so much. It also justifies my bringing 4 boxes of cookie cutters abroad. One day we'll bake more and more complex things again. I find myself into quick and easy baking of late. 

Quick, easy, delicious and these smiley faces in the kitchen?!  What could be better?

It became sort of a team event. The girls made pink lemonade cookies (thank you, Kappa Prep!) and the boys whipped up iced brownies. Big Brother apparently feeling like Isaac Washington in the kitchen.

Baking always makes for a great maths lesson and usually results in a some conversions, too.

The desserts were just as pretty as they were delicious. The Mister was asked to judge. I believe he declared a tie. He is a diplomat, our guy.

I never did get to take a picture of the platter. We gobbled up the goodies all too soon.  

Yesterday we watched the Triathlon in Hyde Park, had lunch at Kensington Palace, and toured the new exhibits in the reopened palace, too. We should someday be experts on royal lineage. My camera battery died just as we followed this big crowd to watch the swimming. Biggest Brother helped me take palace pictures on my phone and hopefully he can also advise me how to download them, too. 

How super is it that a pair of brothers was on the medal stand at the triathlon?  How sweet it is, this summer!

And another thing, since we are talking pink sweetness. Apologies for discussing both the medical and the edible, but I have to confess that still reigning over our summer is my bothersome eyes. I will not go into the extreme yuck of it all, but will say that I am beginning my own campaign against the darling sounding "pink eye" (what's next? Polka dot mumps? Glittered gangrene?) when what I've been slogging through is bright red, zombie movie, swollen, teary peepers. That are now sensitive to light. I may be the only one who was squinting in the shadowed darkness of Kensington Palace. Don't get me started on having missed an already overdue hair appointment and going 3 weeks in glasses and no makeup because of my eyes. Vanity was my first symptom. 

So thus far, our summer: very sweet, but definitely not pretty. Now, who saved me a brownie?!

Little School Girls

I tried to post these last weekend and I'm hopeful they'll show this go 'round.*

These girls look like they could be friends. They both like to pretend, read, dance, dress up, do all sorts of art projects, and play with their siblings. I think they'd like to play together.

  

In fact I'm sure of it. It is what makes me extra glad that we had a lazy (even if it was raining AGAIN or should I say STILL!) long weekend - hooray, British Bank Holiday!

*if it doesn't work just picture it in your head: School pictures of Big Sister and me at the same age. Wearing our school uniforms. Looking like we could be pals. Because we are.

And about the weather. Even our British friends are threatening to emigrate. We're going to do so temporarily for the beaches of Spain before too long. Sounds like we won't be alone.

I'm Melting. In a Sea of Gold.

Big Sister threw a temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums today. The likes of which I can honestly, no exaggeration, say I've not seen in the near decade of my own child rearing and 39 years of living on this planet. At a new friend's house. For a sustained 15 minutes. Nearly 20. I know what you're thinking. I should have just left the play date. Yes, Smartie. I would have. If only I could have gotten Big Sister dressed. She was melting down while wearing only panties. And although I was mightily tempted to walk out the door with her just like that, I'm fairly certain that might have run me afoul of British authorities. And maybe even in a way that would have had my UK visa revoked. And where would we be then? Deported in our knickers, that's where.

Loyal readers know that I think making new friends in a new city is akin to dating. And you should know, too that underpants aren't called that but I keep confusing the terms and end up calling trousers panties or some such nonsense. Anyhow, in every language, today's hysterics were the equivalent of Big Sister melting down at the loudest volume you can imagine (No, much louder! For an endless 20 minutes) in front of my newest crush.

Fresh off a wonderful field trip to an art museum with her sweet class, I was excited that Big Sister and I were off to a quiet ladies' afternoon with new girlfriends. This never happens so nicely for us and it promised to be delightful. Baby Sister was home with a babysitter, a friend was going to deliver Biggest Brother home for me, and Big Brother was at an after school sports club. It should have been a perfect afternoon with 2 moms, a little brother who wasn't ours, and 2 sweet little girls. Only my girl went very, very sour.

My new girlfriend who was our hostess chaperoned the afternoon field trip, too. She and I had about 30 found minutes after the field trip before it was time to retrieve the girls after school.  So we ducked into a coffee shop, just us grown ups, and got to know each other a little better. It was a nice date. My lovely new friend is honestly just that. She is French and very dear. I know you'd really like her and want her to be your European friend, too. She left an exciting career when her first child was born because she'd so fallen in love with her baby that she couldn't imagine going back. Her plans changed on the fly and she's happy to be home with her little people. She likes breastfeeding. She supports her girlfriends with nannies who send their kids to fancy schools and a kazillion classes, but prefers a simple, close knit, less scheduled life for her own brood. We laughed about how often people ask us if we "have help" and how many ways we could answer that creatively! Down to earth. French me. Just really pretty and impeccably stylish. One of my girl crushes and one of the women to whom I'm grateful for making us feel so at home here.

But new friends or old, moms are moms. The good ones anyway, not just to have a crush on, but with whom I want to have a long term relationship. Twenty minutes into Big Sister's underpants clad, red faced and sweaty mania, our time together was slipping away as I was due to get Big Brother from his club. My sweet new friend hustled me out her door, smoothed Big Sister's hair, cut paper hearts for the girls to color, and served a homemade snack. Maybe better, she gave me a few minutes of fresh air to retrieve Big Brother, knowing I was mortified and angry. She also gave me her house keys so Big Brother and I could let ourselves back in her flat quietly with the assumption that Big Sister would continue to be soothed.

When I returned just in time to dash back out with Big Brother and Big Sister to go home to the others and relieve the babysitter, my new girlfriend sent us home with big pieces of the cake she'd baked this morning that we didn't get to enjoy together. She pledged that we'd do it again. Without the hysterics. She loved Big Sister and me. She made it all okay.

We could rehash the how and whys of the tantrum, you and I. Trust me, I already have and I know will continue to cringe when I think of it all. I sent Big Sister straight to her room when we got home. I peeked in and saw she spent most of the time sitting on the floor staring at herself in her closet mirror. I went in to tell her it was time for dinner and to talk to her quietly. I asked what she was thinking about and what she saw in that mirror. She said simply, "God."

When I caught my breath, we talked for a long time about how God thinks we are wonderful. Always and without exception. No matter the worst of all of our possible deeds, way worse that temper tantrums, God knows and loves us. But also that the rest of us, people, we only get to know each other through our actions and deeds. Heavy stuff in my tiny girl's head. No wonder she can't manage to put clothes on. Think of all that she is carrying on her heart.

Make new friends. But keep the old. One is silver and the other gold. I know that is meant to say old friends are gold and new ones like silver, but today, a shiny, little piece of French gold glimmered for me. She glimmered for Big Sister, too and showed me the face of God. And Big Sister, when her tears dried, saw God looking at her, too.

If the hours are rough in my job, the on the job training is worse, and the work it entails some days is more than I think I can manage. But, my gracious, the rewards. They are greater than any others I could hope for.

That being lovingly said, I think I'm due some combat pay today. In gold. Maybe platinum.

In With the New

I love the clutter that comes with Christmas.  The new toys, errant bows, ornaments hung from doorknobs and cherished members of the Nativity scene that seem wander off and befriend LEGO minifigs.  I love decor where there is normally none and nothing brightens a room like a fresh Christmas tree.  I love that all up to a point.

Today we went merrily sailing way, way passed that point.  Everyone camped out at the table writing thank you notes and the boys worked on their 2 big homework assignments.  One of those projects involved paper mache.  Can you start to see our things, already a little messy because we've been home playing for 2 weeks?  Now lighted coated in a gluey paste?  Including Baby Sister's hair.  Perfectly content, the girls opened a play restaurant in the kitchen.  I think it was called "Chez Benign Neglect" because the entire floor of the kitchen was covered most of our pots and pans and serving utensils.  All at once, it seemed that most every belonging we had was on the floor.  Strewn all over our flat.  It was as if the Christmas tree and every drawer and cabinet had held a contest to see which could make the biggest mess.  It was a tie.  We lost.

Then, racing the clock, we went our separate ways to the skateboard park and to get the all important snacks for a family New Year's Eve party.  I'll leave it to you to guess who went which way.  All around was evidence of our being stricken with acute onset hoarding.  If I am brave enough, I'll add a picture of the mess.  The skaters started out ahead of the shoppers.  Because it was of critical importance, once the flat was cleared of most of the people, I got down to business.  The business of making our January wreath.  Because isn't it critically important to announce our new year's cheer with door decor?! Of course.

It should also be noted that I like order.  I want the waste baskets emptied at least every day. Sometimes more often.  I scrub bathrooms before we leave on a trip and feel best if clean clothes are all tucked away in their drawers then, too.  I worry that someone will even once have to come into my unoccupied house and decide just what makes us all tick by the relative mess we leave in our wake.  Pitiful but ridiculously true.  When the police raid someone's house in the movies, I'm always yelling to the Mister, "SEE?!  This is why you have to make the beds every day!"  So today, it was all I could do not to park Big Sister in front of a library dvd and whirl around making order out of chaos.

But our new wreath was made and London awaited. Big Sister and I knew we'd be back before too long and exhilarated by the afternoon of skateboarding, others would be on hand to bring sense back to our home.  So we left this note.

And what a joy it was to be with Big Sister solo. Made especially dear as we were bustling through our new city in the last hours of the year.  Usually parked in the front seat of the stroller quietly observing, today she busily chatted, skipped and pushed her doll baby in a little stroller on and off buses and along the Marylebone High Street.  We had a sweet afternoon out, enjoying each other and the New Year's Eve excitement. I honestly lost count of how many people talked to Big Sister about her baby.  Our last stop was Waitrose which was only open a few more minutes and very crowded.  A woman passed Big Sister and me and told me how lucky I was to have such a nice helper.  I couldn't have agreed more.

The others had already started cleaning up and ordered the pizza for our party by the time we were home.  After dinner and a movie, we started to undo our Christmas decor.  We're thinking about waking the kids at 5 a.m. to watch the ball drop in Times Square.  Just as long as they promise not to make a mess.