Bugging Out

Pink please

We spent time Friday undoing the bit of order we'd achieved at home - dumping closets out, throwing clothes out of the dressers, emptying drawers so that the nice people at RAF Alconbury could reclaim our hideously ugly loaner furniture (I can only describe the aesthetic as "early American cruise ship"). All of this is in preparation for the GLORIOUS arrival of our shipment from America, which comes to us tomorrow. Words can not describe the collective excitement to be reunited with comfortable sofas and rugs to dampen the echo-chamber that is our dwelling. Of course we have entirely too much stuff, much, much too much stuff. I think Monday's exercise will be much like stuffing rosy-cheeked performers into a clown car. But that, my friends, is what storage is for.

So, rather than sleep on hardwood floors, we have decamped to Marlow and the home of The Bean, who has done nothing but endeavor to make us fat and happy: a Cinderella DVD for our little princess and a mani,  a massive pub lunch for Paul at the Royal Standard England, a pedicure and a late-night stitch and bitch session for the girls (just like old times back in 1997 when we used to drink gobs of wine and noodle over patterns - wild girls, we were). We remain ever grateful, plotting to return the favor one day.

We leave here tomorrow at 5 a.m. to beat the movers back to Cambridge. Consulting bookies in Vegas to establish the over-under on breakage.

So Cozy, So Crazy

Trust me, every fashionable soft-boiled egg is wearing one this season...a cozy. That's according to British knitting sensation Debbie Bliss, who included this pattern in her newest book "Knitter's Year," an early birthday present to myself. And of course, I'll have to knit a few more so that a whole family of eggs can be warm, lest we have to share one little chapeau. My embroidery skills leave a lot to be desired, you can see my bunny looks rather like a mustachioed bat.

My next project, a teapot cozy, to round out that cozy feeling. I've selected another Bliss pattern (at right), this one in moss and eggplant. The Bean will be knitting along to clad her own pot in wool.

I assure you that in the UK this behavior is not so seemingly psychotic.

KaBOOM!

What is the sound of one hand clapping? Don't really care, but I can tell you what a PC sounds like when it explodes. It's loud and there is much smoke. Thus was the fate of our 6-year-old desktop, which I plugged in at Harry's behest (I've been using my new laptop), and BOOM! It now resides in the trash.

Seems there's a wee little button on the back that, if you're informed, is supposed to be switched over when you plug into a 220 outlet. Ahem....Didn't know that.

But why stop there? I cracked the glass on my iPhone and today discovered a nail in Mrs. Tweedy's sidewall.

Best to go back to bed.

The Normandy "Experience"

This week we visited the last of the eight hangers at the Imperial War Museum called "surface warfare." Not just an amazing collection of tanks and missiles, but warfare sets complete with a running stream, ultra-realistic foxholes and mannequins, one of which made Harry jump a mile when we walked through a landing craft en route to the beaches of Normandy and stumbled into a bloodied soldier (my photos don't do it justice). Lemme tell you, after being blanketed by bombs, they don't sugarcoat war (which I appreciate). Still, Harry is not much for emotional gravity (as pictured above).

Visiting offered a great snapshot on the male and female brain, hardwired as it is: Harry ogled the tanks, Charlotte skipped through a war-torn Korea singing to herself about princesses.

Because I'm still so impressed, I leave you with a photo of our museum lunch: a "jacket" potato (baked) with white cheddar cheese shredded on top and a side salad with no dressing. There was not a burger, hotdog or nasty caramel dipping stick to be found.

Little Merman

We resumed swim lessons today, more than a year after we stopped last summer, and, well, it showed. Our very patient, very handsome, very Russian instructor gave Harry lots of one-on-one in a clinic of seven children.

Our little guppy was super enthusiastic, listened about 70 percent of the time, and in true ultra-stubborn Barnes fashion, simply did not care to put his head in the water -face up, face down, you name it. In fairness, it was his first time swimming (not fooling on the beach or splashing in a paddle pool), since last year. Our summer schedule hasn't helped him much. We'll be in the class every morning for the rest of the week. I expect rapid improvement. But don't look for us crossing the English Channel this summer.

Windsor Castle

We traveled to Windsor Castle, a new spot for me (Paul sang in the chapel as a lad). It was both a fun trip (we spent the night at The Bean's home in Marlow, just a skip from the castle) and a very good learning experience for Family Smith Barnes.


Key Lessons:

1. Do all high-intensity museum visits BEFORE 2 p.m. when Charlotte starts to unravel.
2. Always check for advance ticket sales (lots of them here), to avoid waiting in lines with the little people. (Good advice for everyone, right?)
3. Feed, feed, feed the children, stuff them senseless, before dragging them anywhere (especially a crowded chapel, wall-to-wall with tourists, to visit the grave of Henry VIII, Jane Seymour and the like).
4. Why travel to high-occupancy spots during the summer when we have all winter to enjoy them? Windsor, in particularly, makes you pay (a lot) for admission, but lets you come back as many times as you'd like for a year on the same ticket.

The kids LOVED Queen Mary's exquisite, totally over-the-top dollhouse (flushing loo?) and the mounds of shining armor. I was particularly wowed by Henry's head-to-toe rig. And the gold tankards. Really? I don't think I could lift one empty, let alone full.

(Yes, it does appear we're making it a personal mission to feed our children ice cream outside every historic monument in Britain).

God Save the Queue

Queuing made not-so-simple at On The Roundabout, a new blog about surviving in the UK.

Paddle, Quack and Moooooo

So, would you believe this is a no-charge "paddling pool" attached to a public park? This picture only shows a small fraction of the pool, which is HUGE. There's a shack at one end that sells ice cream cones and huge inflatable pool toys. How cool is that?

After wading in the very brisk water (yes, there are benefits to a DC heatwave), we dodged cow pies to visit some milk-makers, waddled through a gaggle of geese and enticed some ducks with roasted peanuts.

The party was over when poor little Charlotte got nailed by a stinging nettle leaning over a footbridge to spy a snake. Ouch.

Oh Yes, You Gotta Have Friends

It's been a banner day for making those essential connections we call "friendship."

The houses here sit back to front, so it's not uncommon to seldom see neighbors. But today I met our next-door neighbor, who is absolutely delightful, and, who I learned, has a daughter Harry's age. Huzzah! She was all help and smiles and very happy to hear we'd moved in. It's about time, people!

While we hear our friends back home are suffering through a 100-plus-degree heatwave, we put on our raincoats and headed to the indoor pool for an exploratory swim. And who should we meet in the pool (IN the pool), but our would-be babysitter Erin, we've been talking via email for a week, she's exceptionally nice, works as a nanny for our landlord, and her charge, Charlie, who we've met several times before. He's 4 and he and the kids got on super well. So we're planning some play dates. Yea, again! (well, yea except she looks wicked good in a bikini. Glad she's not MY nanny!)

The kids were pooped, but not to let a good thing slip away, I drove them to Lammas Park for an ice cream and some more play. We quickly met Noah, 4.5. He and Harry got on like a house on fire, attacking a make-believe alligator, who we pelted with imaginary apples, pizza and tomatoes. Our pirate ship (pictured right) ran aground in Turkey, they told me, where we took imaginary naps and then hid under the boat to escape a hurricane. Even Noah's mom couldn't deny how well the kids gelled, so SHE suggested we exchange information and get together again. Our FIRST, ORGANIC friendship in the UK. We did it!!

PerKelt

I'm not one to go bonky over street music. The kids like to stop and listen, we toss in coins, a good distraction. But today we happened upon PerKelt, this very crazy looking band of musicians who play "medieval celtic fusion" and it was good. Good enough that we stopped twice during our afternoon journey in city center to listen and then plunked down 10 quid for their CD. Their sound makes you want to hit Renaissance Fair, eat a turkey leg and fights some dragons. I'm in. You can watch them here.

'I'm a Princess!'

That's about all we're hearing from ms. Charlotte, who is modeling for you the dress she has begged to wear (and mostly won) for a solid week. Accompanying the dress are her "sparkly princess shoes," which she has taken to presenting to us at 5:30 a.m. Also on her very short list of favorites is her one-and-only nightie. When it goes in the wash there is great toddler distress, often tears, always howling. It is safe to say we have entered the 'do not touch me with anything resembling pants' stage.

It should be noted that every morning I am beseeched to also wear MY princess shoes, which are three-inch heels and unsuitable (I think) for walking miles pushing a stroller. Silly me.

Will He Bend it Like Beckham?

The Barclays Premier League Trophy is on tour around the UK, and unlike most who stand in line for a chance to see this highly guarded prize, we stumbled into it. I was oblivious (soccer is not yet my bag...now if it had been the Tiffany-made Vince Lombardi Trophy or the Heisman, well...). Rest assured my peanut butter-stained son was heavily guarded, though they very kindly offered him a chance to sit beside the very shiny cup. If I hadn't mentioned the sponsor's name you would surely have had a difficult time figuring it out from the photo.

Here are a few facts about trophy:

The Barclays Premier League Trophy was crafted in 2004, when Barclays became title sponsor of the FA Premier League.

Due to its value, the Barclays Premier League Trophy is always flanked by two security officers when on display, The Trophy is officially classed as 'priceless'.

Cast by Asprey and Garrard, the Crown Jewelers, the main body of the trophy is made from solid sterling silver. The crown is case from 24-carat silver gilt, to a depth of half a millimeter.

The total weight of the trophy is four stone.

The base of the trophy is made from malachite, a semi precious stone found in Africa. The green color of the opaque stone represents the field of play.

The trophy design is based on the theme of 'The Three Lions of English Football'. Two of the lions can be found above the handles. The title winning captain is the third lion.

The Trophy Stands two-feet five inches tall and twenty-four inches wide.

Lammas Park

Cantabrigians mean business when it comes to parks. Today we tried a new one, Lammas park, during (drum roll please) a play date! We met Gayle, an American here with her husband and three children, a few weeks ago and we joined them today at Lammas for a few hours. The park is one of several we've visited with a splash pool (this one was literally Olympic sized), play equipment and lots of room for picnicking. Also a lot of bees, but you can't have everything.

Our new friends are only here for the summer but we might join them for some swim lessons next week.

The above was Charlotte's "mommy I'm ready to go home" look. A classic.

The Imperial War Museum

Motherhood, I have decided, is all about merit badges. Today, I was awarded the "keeping cool while son pukes at 70 mph on the motorway." We were headed to our second day oogling at planes at the Imperial War Museum in Duxford. Europe's premier aviation museum is just a 15 minute drive from our house, but Mr. Harry apparently felt a little queasy this morning (he didn't mention this until his breakfast was making a repeat performance in the backseat of Mrs. Tweedy).

Not to be thwarted, I used a full pack of wet wipes cleaning out the booster seat (new), the car (new) and my son (not new, but coating in puke). We marched inside the museum, bought a tee-shirt, and I washed harry's shorts in the loo sink. While the hand-driers are powerful here, made by Dyson, they did little to dry Harry's pants. So we squished around the museum and shivered, but he had a very good attitude about it. I think he deserves a merit badge too.

The museum is a must-see for visitors who like aviation or find themselves glued to BBC war documentaries. Historic planes zip up and down the airfield all day, and there are no less than eight hangers filled with planes, subs and the stories of WWII. I actually got the shivers standing next to one Nazi fighter plane. The Battle of Britain exhibit was particularly great...the "Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few" script, with bomb shelter exhibits and period ambulances and firebombing displays.

We bought an annual membership and barf aside, I can tell it's a place we'll be visiting often.
Here are just a few photos of this amazing spot.

Tiny Toes

Charlotte is desperate to resume her ballet lessons, which won't begin until September. It's very hard to find activities for the under-three set here. So in the meantime we do a lot of dancing in the house and garden.

Punting on the Cam

After making the kids suffer through hours at John Lewis where we had to order curtains (zero fun under any circumstances), we went punting on the Cam. It was the perfect weather day to be on the river, a trip we've been meaning to take for a while and one we will repeat many times (most notably when visitors come calling, hint hint). It's an hour ride, a guided tour by a guide who poles you down the river and give you an insider's view of Cambridge's many beautiful and historic buildings and bridges. Punting is the only way you can glimpse parts of the university, which are off-limits if you don't attend.

And some of the stories are funny (students scaling the perilously high buildings at night to place Santa caps on the spires), scary (students jumping to their deaths after bad exams) and simply interesting like the Magdalene Bridge AKA Cam Bridge. Historically the area around Magdalene Bridge was the most important bridging point in Cambridge. The Romans build a ford through the river at this point and the town's first bridge was built here in 731. This was called the "Great Bridge" and later "Cam Bridge," after which the town was named.

Note to future punters: when they say "keep your hands inside the boat," they mean it. It's like a crash-up derby on the river, half the boats being poled by drunk visitors. Quite entertaining.

Some pictures from our trip, the lovelier ones are courtesy The Bean.

The Jungle Book

Today the little people went to the Cambridge Arts Theatre to see The Jungle Book (part drama, part musical, a few puppets). It was definitely their first real actor-driven performance, in a venue I look forward to returning to soon for something a tad more adult. It's definitely not stress-free taking kids to a show (harry has entered the "why why why" stage, which makes for a lot of, well, answering and Charlotte is usually squirm-free for the first hour or so) but I'm trying to get them accustomed to going. And they really seem to enjoy it.

After the show The Bean and I took the kids to Valerie Patisserie for tea and sweets. But the big revelation of the day was going to an evening flick at the Picturehouse Cinema (Bridesmaids) where you buy your tickets from the BARTENDER!! who offers you wine and beer and assigned seat. "It rocked!! Really starting to enjoy living in Cambridge's city center where it a 10 minute walk to everything.

Funky Fun House of Love

It looked like rain, so I took the kids to the Funky Fun House, billed as Cambridge's "premier children's indoor play center." Their mascot is Harry the Cat, how bad could it be. It was an eye-opening trip on many fronts.

1. This contained, huge, padded spaced where moms sip complementary tea while their children run wild, is a popular spot for playgroups. And today I really missed mine, particularly since my attempts to chat-up a few ladies were largely brushed aside. No, don't cry for me Argentina. I expected it. It's just that way here. People aren't cold, they're just not very inviting. Better luck next time.

2. Harry and Charlotte of course loved it. We spent four hours at Funky, where (grrr) you are not allowed to bring any of your own food. Admission is 3.75 quid a kid, then if you stay long enough to recoup your admission price, you buy lunch. But what I was happy to discover is that these British mums have it down. No hotdogs and crappola. This place serves a hot lunch to your table, which is not segregated from the play area, but right in it. The kids had homemade chicken tenders, peas and chips. Harry actually gushed "mommy...this is DELICOUS!." If only I had made it myself, I'd have been moved to tears. So why don't we have this kind of play-place set-up in the US? Please, someone, start a franchise.

3. My daughter is a minx. Just before leaving, Charlotte introduced me to Sawyer, her 4-year-old beau of 5 minutes. Sawyer was positively taken by my girl. Now if you'll please read this quote with a pre-pubescent British accent, Sawyer wrapped his arms around Charlotte (a hug that was returned in full) and pleaded "would you like to go to my car for a cuddle?" I DIED! Paul is ready to book our tickets back to America. As we left, little Sawyer begged Charlotte to visit again, more hugs, more lament. The pint-sized lothario is pictured at right, snuggling with my baby. I'm not sure I've yet recovered.