The Fitz

I had much hope that the Fitzwilliam, Cambridge's largest museum, would be our answer to the Smithsonian (free, big, lot to see, presumably). But our visit this morning was a bit lack-luster. Might have been the many school groups crowding about the small collections, might have been the prickly women at the front desk (not helpful ladies, not helpful, recommend alternative day jobs), might have been my tired children.

I give the museum high marks for its collection of armour, which is quite imposing. Harry was so impressed I think he was actually a little scared, we'll definitely be back for that. But the next time I talk up Egypt with the kids I'm taking them to British Museum.

Am I Blue?

Oh, you betcha. I was blue, Harry was Blue, Charlotte, also rather royal. Got a roll of tape and built a playhouse with some of our packing boxes that turned out more of a Quonset hut. We took to it with markers and then, ugh, a bottle of water-soluble blue paint that was left in the house (the ONLY thing that was left in the house, I have no idea why). And it got everywhere. IT'S NOT OUR HOUSE, I kept telling myself as the paint hit the tile grout. Long bath, followed by toddler mani-pedis ensued.

Knit Your Bit

Harry returned from Cornwall quite insistent that he begin knitting, and I quote "a sweater, a hat and socks." Which might have seemed understandable a year ago when I was knitting every week, but I haven't picked up my needles in at least six months, so I'm not sure where this desire has sprung from (possibly Wallace and Grommet...Grommet the dog knits).

Harry didn't just ask, he begged and bothered and insisted until I took out some yarn and needles for him, cast on a few stitches, showed him what to do (not that he paid any attention) and let him "knit." After about 10 minutes he suggested that maybe I should knit his sweater "with a steam roller on it, please." But lo, the following morning, he was back at it, demanding to know where his knitting was.

The day after the knitting frenzy kicked in we were at Wimpole farm where we watched two ladies (think: Strega Nona and sister), work freshly shorn lamb's wool into a spinning wheel (think: sleeping beauty and the pricked finger) and then create two-ply skeins. It was fascinating, having just seen the sheep. But a note to my fellow knitters - this yarn was SO nasty rough and coarse, the epitome of "steel wool." I got shivers touching the knitted garments they had out for display. Pity too, it would be so nice to buy yarn straight from the farm.

Mama's Got Game

I'm not the immodest type...only at my husband's expense. Our driver's test smack-down ended today when I took the exam and passed with a score of 92 percent (I will be polite by not mentioning my husband's passing but not-quite-as-high mark).

How odd that I drove 30 miles to take the Air Force-administered test. Beforehand we visited the bank on base, where the teller told me she took the driving test six times before cheating to pass. It's a common story (everyone has a breathless tale of multiple tries, mostly, I think, because they figure they can drive in the US and don't bother to study...I mean how hard can it be, right?) But consider this: the drivers' manual pamphlet you pick up at the DMV is a paltry 32 pages, if that. The manual in the UK is a tome, 14 chapters, 500-plus pages, and that's just the theory test. We didn't have to take the official UK licensing test, which also includes a hazards test and a driving test. My hat's off to UK drivers who master the book and the state-authorized test.

The rules here are vast (there are no less than five colors of roadway reflectors, each with their own meaning. There are sections in the book on treating an unconscious accident victim, the right and wrong way to shift gears on a hill in snow (a real problem question, I suspect, for those who drive automatic transmission cars), how to load trailers, auto mechanics and the proper way to approach animals - sheep - on the road (no matter what...don't honk!) It goes on and on.

Here is a sample question from my test - one of the four I got wrong. See if you know the correct answer:

When must you not overtake a cyclist:

1. On a one-way street
2. Before you turn left
3. On a dual carriageway
4. On a left-hand bend

Prize forthcoming for the first two to answer correctly. (Contest not valid for those currently holding a UK license..you know who you are).

Wimpole Farm

We visited another National Trust property today, this one in Cambridge, and much-admired by the under-6 set. It's a sprawling estate, with a house for touring and manicured gardens, but the big draw is the farm, which, if you can get over the major threat of hoof and mouth disease (sanitizing stations at every turn), it's a super landscape: tractors for straddling, a piggery, hatchery (meet your Thanksgiving dinner!), cows and donkeys and ponies, you name it.

Charlotte and Harry got to pet a turkey chick. Great fun until you realize the same Turkey will be up for sale come the holidays when the farm offers you a chance to pick and pluck your dinner. While I have no problem with the idea (I might even do it), this kind of get-to-know-you, now-I'm-going-to-eat-you dogma wouldn't fly at the National Zoo.

I loved the farm and I'm sure we'll go back many times. But I am also starting to realize how lucky we were to have the free and low-cost entertainment options available to us in Washington courtesy the Smithsonian Institution. We have paid 80 pounds for a family membership to the National Trust, and it does afford us free parking to its many properties, but it does not mean free admission to things like the farm. Instead we get heavy admission discounts, but still, you pay. So, short of walking through a grassy field, everything here costs (a lot).

Mrs. Tweedy and Punker Man

Buying a car in the UK ain't nothin' like purchasing one in the US, where the salesmen trip over themselves asking, "what would it take to get you into a car today?" While we purchased our vehicles almost two weeks ago, it is only today that we picked them up (and still had to wait for them to be cleaned). Nevertheless, Mrs. Tweedy and Punker Man (Harry's suggestion), are "in the driveway" or would be if we had a driveway. They're on the curb anyway and I think we will say our goodbyes to the Double Car van on Monday.

For my part, I am officially driving solo, though I rely heavily on the instructions of TomTom for roadway directions. I hope that in a few months I might be able to make it around the corner to the grocery without her assistance. Harry very much enjoys parroting her directions "Left mommy!! Left!"

Got it.

On the Road to Nowhere

Our drive home from Cornwall took an interminable 10-plus hours (it took a mere six hours to get to the beach). We blame traffic tie-ups and an over-eager TomTom (navigation device) that encouraged us to take a detour when the M5 was allegedly closed for a 78-minute backup. Should have stayed the course. Soon we encountered another accident (digital road sign was good for some head scratching, best we could tell it read 'Slow Down, car overturned, divide by π'). But truth in advertising - we did indeed pass an overturned car. Now about that pi...

The only, only, only bright side (I'm really stretching here), was our unexpected drive by the one-and-only Stonehenge. I'm hoping our next visit to the world-famous landmark will include more than a distant snapshot. But here it is in the distance.