Grey Skies Above

There was a somberness to this morning's school run. Newspaper headlines about Boston shoved through the mail slot. Black motorcades roaring toward Westminster Abbey for Margaret Thatcher's funeral. A bit of mist and cool darkness.

Clad in his navy blue, Biggest Brother said, "The sky looks like how everyone is feeling today."

We've talked a lot in the last few days about how goodness far outweighs evil and how ordinary people can make the world better. The triumph of light over dark and seeking out the good in others. Finding the helpers as Mr Rogers suggested.

Sometimes it is tempting to try to find a way to demonstrate good with a grand gesture. Some big, giant initiative to set things more right than wrong. But this week the most right thing to do seems to be to celebrate the good. To strive for good in our own house, in our little corner of the world and for those we touch. With hope that those small lights make a big spark.

We have that bright and shining hope.

Three is a Magic Number

Baby Sister reminds us most days how fantastic it is to be three. And to have a 3 year old in your midst.

Just last night, upon seeing a fried egg on her plate, she exclaimed with pure glee: "AHHH!  How did you make an egg do that?!" You should know the Mister made that egg. Heading out to meet a colleague for dinner, he overheard my plan to serve breakfast for dinner and the kids ordering fried eggs. Sensing my panic, he volunteered to whip them up! That's my guy. I stood nearby for a lesson should they request that specialty again. Cooking is not my forte. I'm better at hairdos.

But still. It is so good to have 3 year old.

As she was helping me load the washing machine, Baby Sister giggled in anticipation. "Wait, Momma! Here comes the WATER!" she cheered, happily bouncing around. Not an ordinary chore, but an exciting, fascinating experience. She then declared with admiration for the whole shebang, "I wish I could be the soap and go into all that water. And be bubbly with the clothes." Not since the artist in the Corduroy at the laundromat book has anyone taken such inspiration from the washer.

She said, "Thank you, Momma for buying me fancy tp!" upon spying Christmasy toilet paper in her bathroom (bought in a pinch and needed this week when we ran low). Who appreciates their tp?!

Here she is dressed in her bunny pajamas waiting for the right moment to serenade Biggest Brother on his birthday. She "wrote" out the lyrics to Happy Birthday and was eager for her cue.

Without a doubt, she can wear me out in her own special way, but most days, living with a such a little person is a real treat. Never dull and oftentimes funny. Filled with unintentionally wry and witty observations about the world. Aware, observant and appreciative of the every day. That's 3. 

And that's our Baby Sister. Hooray!

Anything Goes

One of the best parts of living in London is people watching. It seems there is almost nothing you could wear that might attract noticeable attention. Crowds of women are routinely dressed in costumes going to Hen Parties and hoards of fashion students wear the latest trends and of course, everyone else is in their usually fashionable garb and European chic. Also to be fair, some are wearing animal costume-like pajamas.

Maybe I'm missing something, but I think few dress to impress. They just wear their clothes.

My European friends - especially the French moms - confess to complete ignorance of their amazing sense of style. Au contraire. I watch you popping berets on your beautiful, reluctant girls and envy their lineage of perfectly understated chic.

Before there was a perma-chill here, one school morning I showered too late to blow dry. So I pulled my hair back and tucked it under a bandana. More Marsha Brady cleans the attic in a kerchief than Axl Rose, but so not something I would attempt in another locale. I'm pretty sure if you ran into me in such a state you'd find a way to...well, comment.  Not here.

Even my embroidered capris don't merit mention here. My lime green pants did in Illinois. A dear friend and I were once chatting on a La Grange street corner when I was wearing those pants. She waved to a friend driving by and said to me, "He's also from Virginia. He probably knew you were, too. From your pants."

In London, you should know that "pants" mean underpants. I was indeed, in British terms, wearing lime green trousers.  Did I also tell you that once I shouted across the Marylebone High Street to a friend — a man to whom I'm not married — that "I LOVE YER PANTS!"?  Interestingly enough, he was wearing kelly green trousers.

Here I feel like pausing and mentioning that the Mister was wearing a pair of khaki shorts embroidered with red lobsters the day that nearly 10 pounds of Baby Sister rocketed into an Illinois hospital room. His East Coastness caused great excitement among the Midwestern nursing staff. They huddled all around his cute get up. The Mister was never more interesting than when I was moments away from delivering a baby. No one noticed poor ole me. Way too busy with: "What are on your shorts?  What are those, crabs?! No, Shirley, I think they're lobsters?!" I pretty well suffered from antenatal and postpartum benign neglect as I delivered my 4th baby into the world. Virtually alone. Without any medical assistance. But to a father wearing cute shorts. Harummph.

For our school's international night here, we were dressed full-on American. I wore a pair of corduroy patch plaid Lilly Pulitzer pants that most sensible Americans wouldn't wear to mow their lawn, Big Brothers and the Mister in USA shirts and baseball caps. The girls in red, white and blue. As we got off the bus in front of Selfridges, Big Brother said, sheepishly, "People must think we're TOURISTS!"

Really, the only thing I wear here that has ever merited mention was a ball cap. I have worn one exactly twice and in similar emergency hairdo status as described above. It was then that my girlfriends agreed at the school gates that I did indeed look American. I'm so terribly sorry for all my fashionable American friends, that this is apparently a legacy we've dispatched abroad.

I've got a few more months to do us all justice.  Here's hoping!

Keeper of the Flame

This guy turns 11 this week. He's long been the QB our team, king of the castle and all around BMOC of our brood. He is adored and adoring.

Biggest Brother is also quite possibly one of the very nicest people on the planet.  He gets that from the Mister. He's even tempered (see also: the Mister), helpful, sweet and also really funny, too (it is that last bit for which I'll take a little credit).

This time last year we celebrated his birthday in Scotland in an old house. The Mister taught him how to build a fire in the fireplace and tend it. And this guy loves, loves, loves a job of any sort. Who knew how handy that skill would come 12 months later in a 250 year old farmhouse in Normandy?  Surely not us, as when we booked the house we were hoping more for luxury than rustic.

But I digress. When I get through the mountains of laundry we brought across the English Channel, I cannot wait to tell you about our third (!) and most recent trip to France this week.

Meanwhile, it is safe to say that when we brought this little guy home from the hospital, we thought ourselves a bit brave for being an hour and half from our families. Who knew a decade later this "baby" would have adventured throughout the US and across Europe?!

I've started telling him recently how much I really like him.  He thinks that's funny and I suppose that is because I've not quite explained myself:  I surely love him, but it is also that I hugely LIKE to be with him. Remember those Greek variations and nuances of love? One of those. I'm not going to look it up, but you're with me, right? I would genuinely choose to be Biggest Brother's friend. I enjoy and seek out his company (as does most of Our Sweet School and all of Our Sweet Family) and am so happy when we're together. I love Biggest Brother, but I also like him a lot.

He's a super keeper of flames to boot. That guy knows his way around a coal-fired something or other that did a marginally good job in heating a charming house. He has added paraffin heater skills to his repertoire, too. I'm telling you, in 10 years - maybe less - this is the guy you want with you on your European travels.

More soon on Normandy. It was spectacular. Even if it snowed. And is snowing in London still.

And They're Off

So begins our nice, long Easter break. It was a wonderful day wearing their own clothes to school and even an early dismissal. We braved the chill and enjoyed an afternoon park date with school friends. The best of my day was seeing them play together with friends and siblings. Big Brother's friends playing with Big Sister, Baby Sister being see-sawed by Biggest Brother's friends. They are friends en masse. We are so fortunate to have these families in our lives and hope they'll come visit us in America. I'm hoping to have a spare bedroom to encourage friends from Our Sweet School to come abroad.

Tuesday was the school's Easter Celebration in which the oldest children told the Easter story to a hall crowded with parents. Big Brother had a last minute speaking part (subbing for a classmate who was sick) and Biggest Brother played guitar and drums. They both sang. I mostly held Baby Sister on my lap and cried into my trusty bandana.

The kids meditate at school. I had the chance to meditate with Biggest Brother's class yesterday (before making kites with Big Sister's class -- it is a good life I lead!) and am determined to add meditation to our to do list over the break. No better time than Holy Week to spend quiet moments in reflection.

There was no quiet reflection at Thursday's Easter Fayre. Mostly because the Mister spun such great tunes. Face painting, games, all sorts of treats. My favorite part was the Easter bonnet parade. Here are my favorite entrants. How much do a love that I put supplies on the kitchen table and they crafted cute hats? Each one a bit different and quirky. Just like my little people. And it says something about Biggest Brother that he not only took great pride in making his, but proudly danced in it, too. He cracks me up!

Biggest Brother got to wear his own clothes to celebrate his birthday this week. When they're back to class they can start wearing their "summer uniforms" which means we've likely seen the last of the smalls wearing their school ties together. Just like their crisp British diction, I hope they'll not forget how to tie a necktie when they're out of practice.

A dear (high school) girlfriend described this as our "senior year" in London and I surely have to watch my heart getting stuck on the countless lasts that we're experiencing. I want to take it all in without hearing the ticking of a countdown clock.

Meanwhile, we're thinking of you and wishing you a very happy Easter.

A Different York

In a bit of odd timing, just as we learned we were not moving to New York, we were off for a weekend in old York. By train of course. We See Britain by train.

All good trips start with a pub lunch. Baby Sister was having much more fun than she let on. She was grumpy waiting for bangers and mash.

Sartorial side note: I am wearing a great ebay find - the JCrew La Parisienne sweater, which is sadly obscured by 2 pints in the above shot. This treasure is completely unappreciated by my people. The Mister asked whether the woman intarsiaed (Perhaps you can conjugate intarsia better?) was supposed to be Phyllis Diller. Baby Sister declared her a scary monster.

But back to York. We hit all the highlights. The Viking Museum is fantastic if you like narrated, slow moving roller coaster-like cars and uber, uber realistic talking animated viking models. The female passengers in my car were a combination of fascinated (me) and borderline haunted house terrified (the girls). Thanks to the Mister for raising the camera above his head to get this hoot of an action shot!  ahahaha!

Really. These talking mannequins were everywhere and although very educational, I'm glad we visited this museum early in the day. I was fairly sure these guys were going to have starring roles in 4 sets of bad dreams back at the hotel. Big Sister is reading this over my shoulder and said, "Oh. You should say that I was scared!"

The National Railway Museum was also super. The kids would tell you about favorite trains, but for me the best was the vintage signage, royal cars and warehouse collection. None of it for sale. Prrr.

We toured the Shambles and the Minster. Bundled up against the cold, wet, and eventually, snow.

We found a quaint, warm shop for tea and sweets.

Our own tiny Crystal Gayle.

And coming full circle, we closed out the weekend in the train station pub. Having "chips" and a Guinness on St. Patrick's Day.

Then we came home to our new reality -- that we're moving to Nashville in August. That requires lots of warm embracing.

And surely embracing the glorious and unknown.

World Book Day

In celebration of World Book Day today, students, faculty and staff at Our Sweet School came dressed as a favorite book character. You should have seen the whole staff in Alice in Wonderland costumes! The Head Teacher the Queen of Hearts.

My little characters have my heart and even more so that they're still recovering from being sick. They all look a bit thin and less sparkly than usual. Wan. But they had great fun choosing their costumes representing some of our favorite books.

(Peter from the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe) 

Our bedtime routine has hardly changed since Biggest Brother was an infant. We read a book or chapter together before prayers. We're now reading another of Judy Blume's adventures with Peter and Fudge and just finished The Mouse and the Motorcycle. Even if I edit some of the words while I'm reading (no calling each other "stupid") I'm laughing as hard as they are and tickled when they ask to hear another chapter.

(Edmund from the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe) 

Happy today that there was no last minute drama like last year when Big Sister declined to participate. Until after she got to school. Funny that. She didn't remember her fussing last year, but only that I'd specially made her Olivia pig ears and that she enjoyed it. They say the mind represses trauma.

(Lettice the Ballerina Bunny Rabbit) 

And there wasn't even terrible distress that Big Sister wouldn't join the boys in their attempts to have a unified family costume. Baby Sister, once told she could wear something fancy, was entirely compliant with their plan.

(Susan from the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe) 

This was a fantastic way to start our day, but my very favorite part of today so far was the following exchange as we walked to school:

BABY SISTER: We are learning about growing in The Nursery. Yesterday we planted seeds.

BIGGEST BROTHER: It will be nice to see what grows.

ME: Tell us what grows.

BABY SISTER: We are growing. Animals grow.

BIG SISTER: Humans grow, we're animals, too.

BIGGEST BROTHER: We're part of the mammal family.

BABY SISTER: No we're NOT!  We're part of the [our last name] family!  [Left unsaid was "Sheesh. And I thought these guys knew somethin' about the world! Do I have to tell them everything? This is unsettling."]

So much to say and lots to learn. Happy reading one and all.

Just Pretending

This vintage flashcard has been perched over top of our front door in our last two homes. I found it at one of my favorite antique stores in La Grange and it is surely one of my favorite things.

The idea that We Are Ready? It usually isn't all that true. We're such posers. Pretending, but also aspiring, to be ready by the time we're gathered en masse (or almost so) near the door. Ready to greet the day and others. Cheerful and prepared. Just like the scouts. I think of the card as an affirmation like athletes tap on the way out of locker rooms before the big game.

My favorite part of school breaks is the relief from the (again, aspirational) military precision of organized belongings. Rucksacks, homework, reading books, permission slips, PE kits, coats, hats, gloves and scarves catalogued, piled, checked and rechecked. I am my family's Radar O'Reilly.

So this company clerk was delighted for a week's break from these piles and our alarm clocks. Then just one day back into our routine and  3/4 of the smalls caught a bad bug that got Biggest Brother on our trip. Sky high fevers, long pajama days on the pull out couch and seemingly endless naps ensued. Less like naps and more that they opened their eyes to cough a bit and were zonked again. For the rest of the week.

I became Hawkeye, Margaret, Father McCulcahy, and a bit of Klinger, too. Getting my troops better. And even if I spent much of the week as sleepless as a new mom, these are the days I'm grateful that I'm not juggling (other) bosses or a work schedule. Baby Sister must have moaned a million times, "I want Maaaamma" (mostly while I was rocking and hugging her and drying hot tears). She got me. I was ready. Completely knackered and in tattered loungewear, but available. Ready. I enlisted for this tour and I'm glad - actually grateful - to be in these trenches. 

Trust me, this shot is of Baby Sister when things were on the upswing. I swear she lost her baby face and belly in those days. She looks about five to me suddenly. Otherwise, proving that misery does indeed love company, Big Brother, Big Sister and Baby Sister displayed great efficiency, if not a bit of pitiful camaraderie, in being down and out together. Iced lollies all 'round!

And I cannot say enough how grateful I am for my girlfriends who showered my house with offers to ferry the well to and from school and activities. My urban experience has taught me that it is significantly harder to get sick kids dressed and on a bus or even in a cab than into the back of a preheated Suburban idling in your driveway. My city girlfriends know this and provided more than a few shuttle services for Big Brother, sparing the rest of us school runs. Just like that Girl Scout song, these friends have quickly become gold.

So it is that we're ready for a new week. To do our Lenten pledges earnestly. To hope for springtime and sunshine. We're ready.