DairyLand (no really)

Sound the trumpets: We have been in the UK one month today. And during those four short weeks we have schleped, packed and unpacked into two hotels, one flat, one long-term rental and now, one vacation home. But it has been surprisingly manageable and a jolly good time thus far (short one bureaucratic snafu.) 35 to go.

Since arriving in Cornwall, a verdant landscape with sheep on EVERY bend (a cow, udders full, was heard mooing in our kitchen this morning. I thought the kettle was ready, my mistake), Charlotte has longed to be one with the livestock.

To help her in her noble quest, Paul took the kids to DairyLand (it is really called DairyLand, I couldn't make that up), where my daughter got to live-out the ultimate little girl dream: she rode a pony. A PONY! Harry needed some prompting, but he too mounted a tiny steed. But really, what moved him were the pint-sized tractors, which he got to drive himself, from pedal to steering wheel, around a little farm track. Really, truly boy bliss.

Charlotte's Aunty Jessica (Paul's sister), is no stranger to the jodhpur crowd, not long ago having purchased a horse for her then 16-year-old daughter Sarah. She says we're "in for it." I am already researching how old children must be to join the Cambridge pony club. When in Rome, I say. Or mabybe it's mom who wants to saddle-up again (I still have my tiny velvet helmet). My thighs quake at the prospect, and not in a good way.

Mom wasn't at DairyLand, instead on a mission of girlfriend mercy, in neighboring Truro with The Bean, who has had a last minute job interview scheduled for Thursday in Paris and needed something other than shorts and a tee to wear. You think? We are very cross at the headhunters who are working to ruin her vacation here in Cornwall, but very hopeful she gets this dream job.

Independence Day

The 4th takes on considerably new meaning when you've returned to the mothership. One is fairly certain that theirs will be the only celebratory BBQ, the only fireworks...that you will be the only one putting together apple pie and ice cream for just such an occasion.

Happy birthday America. We don't miss you, yet. But we love you.

Tintagel Castle

We spent another gorgeous afternoon, today at Tintagel Castle, which stands on windswept cliffs in North Cornwall on one of England’s most dramatic coastlines. The castle (the literature boasts) is believed to be the birthplace of King Arthur who, as legend has it, was protected from the evil magician Merlin by his magical sword, Excaliber.

It was our first castle (one of many, many, many for sure) and a real watershed moment when mom and dad discovered that a scintillating locale can prompt a toddler (who generally moans about exhaustion during a two-block walk) to run and lope uphill for a mile, never a complaint, never a puff or a withering look. Just the desire for more, more, more.

The views were spectacular. While there isn't much left of the castle, it is a wonderful piece of history on a spectacularly beautiful bluff. It reminded me so much of the Cape of Good Hope, like standing at the end of the Earth. Harry was captivated and wept when we descended the hillside and didn't continue down to the beach to enter Merlin's cave (the mule train was waiting and bad mommy blamed it on Aunty Bean's "exhaustion." I may never be forgiven- by either of them.

Rock Beach

We had super weather yesterday (really super-duper for the English seaside) and spent the afternoon at Rock beach where the tide was waaaaay out (the boats lay on their sides in inches of water). We piddled and paddled and sloshed through the tide pools until the sand had adequately rubbed our two toddler heinies raw.

That evening we rung up a proper English nanny and headed out for a dinner at the St. Moritz hotel where we enjoyed cocktails (The Bean had a margarita in a martini glass - I still don't know what to make of this) and a stupendous dinner (raw oysters, mussels in a light broth, tender lamb neck, chips fried in goose fat (yes, Eliza...goose fat, read it and weep...Kristine insists they were worth the day's calories), and a dessert of mixed cheese, the names of which

really drove home the fact we have moved, I recognized nary a one of them.

Lanhydrock

We visited Lanhydrock today, a magnificent late Victorian country house with 49 rooms, extensive servants' quarters

and gardens on a wooded estate. Not sure what impressed us most - the open-hearth spit in the kitchen that once cooked entire cows, or the enormous, shaped topiaries that sprout up like asparagus in the front garden. Lunch consisted of english sandwiches (egg salad

and watercress, with a scone and clotted cream chaser...yum, and so low-cal, uh huh).

We returned back to the cottage late afternoon to enjoy a pitcher of Mother's Little Helper: Pimm's

The Body Electric

Paul took the kids into the neighboring lettuce patch this morning to tromp. He couldn't figure out why Charlotte kept bursting into tears. Fine one second then crying. Fine, then crying. Funny thing those English gardeners and their distrust of furry little bunnies. Seems this one erected a tiny little electric fence to protect his greens. Zaaaaap!

European Vacation

To futher confuse and disorient our children, we left today for a week in Cornwall (in Rock ), where we're sharing a beach house with my friend Kristine (AKA The Bean). I'm told that beach trips here are a different sort - part swimsuit, part wellington boot, flying kites, chasing waves, and tromping through the fens. It is officially our first UK road trip, a 5.5 hour drive. Pray that we don't get trapped on the roundabouts like Chevy Chase and Beverly d'Angelo.

Our first evening in, the kids are gaga with sandy joy, as are we. The cottage (exposed beams, a chicken coop in the garden and amber waves of grain in back) with modern amenities, is perfect (just check that view, lovely, and only two minutes from the beach). It's not North Carolina (no sandy dunes, no dudes, no roaring surf, bonfires, no drive-thru breweries) but tonight I find myself happy for the change. We are all about change right now.

The drive was effortless, except for the last nail-gripping 14 miles of two-way traffic on a single lane. Even the rest-stops (or as they call them 'welcome breaks') are like being on Mars for an American (think: families picnicking on the grass, ponds and fountains, a Waitrose (Whole Foods equivalent), fresh flowers and Starbucks with plushy sofas)...Where ARE we?

The Bean must be credited, once again, being our bestest resource and friend this side of the pond -- arriving at the house with bubbles, sand buckets and shovels and chocolate mousse for the kids. We are working to clone her.