The Next Tanya Harding?

Margot & I hit the ice rink at beautiful but chilly Kew Gardens today. We met with some friends who, due to their Canadian upbringing, had an unfair advantage. My friend mentions to me as I wobble onto the ice, clutching Margot, "I used to do some figure skating, eh." Oh dear. I'm just trying not to topple over and crush my child.

Margot had a blast. She thought she was ready for me to let go and take off on her own. She wasn't. It was fun, cold and over in an hour. Then, we had the requisite hot chocolate.

Kew Gardens looks great. We plan to go back - when it's warm.

A Very Disco Christmas 2007

We had the pleasure of company for Christmas in London this year: Susie and Andrew. They made the most of their time and explored all the major tourist attractions - Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, Globe Theatre, Imperial War Museum, London Eye, etc. They saw a Tottenham Spurs game and caught a show in the West End.

Andrew was a good sport about sleeping on the couch. This involved staying up really late watching bad British TV, then being accosted in the early morning hours by our well-rested children. He also demonstrated the ability to drink several beers with ease. Hmmm...what have those crazy teens been up to in Farmington?

Auntie Susie was a hero, bringing Margot her own copy of The Snowman and the DVD and doll, to boot. We've watched it endlessly. I tried to pack it away with the Christmas boxes but she managed to fetch it out. She came laden with gifts from Grandma and Papa as well.

We had a really nice Christmas Eve and Christmas. Margot must have been a good girl this year because Santa brought her a bike. Owen got a new pacifier and some blocks - he's easily pleased.

It was especially nice having some family here to share the good cheer. The highlight, of course, was our Christmas disco party. Susie and Andrew can really bust a move.

Who's on board for next year?

Here are some photos.

Twinkle Toes 2007

Margot finished her first term of ballet with a recital today. We specifically picked this ballet class because it's very laid back. Basically, the girls just want to wear their spinny skirts and twirl around a lot. I heard horror stories of super-strict ballet instructors and 3-year-olds complaining about sore muscles. So, we were happy to find a low-key, fun class.

The highlight for all the little girls (and one boy) was that the daddys were coming. A bunch of Dads tumbled in, sneaking out of work early for the performance. It was hardly a blockbuster, mostly a regular class with the exciting prospect of some post-party pizza for the kids and a bottle of wine for the parents.

They started with a poorly coordinated modern dance that involved some jazz hands and pretending they were stars. From there, they performed two Mary Poppins numbers - "A Spoonful of Sugar" and "Let's go Fly a Kite." It was all pretty random and sweet.

The highlight for us: Margot was so hungry after the show that she ate three slices of pizza. Anyone who has seen Margot eat (or avoid eating) knows this is incredible.

A few photos here.

The Nativity Play

We've been listening to Margot sing her nativity songs for months now. I hear them in my sleep. Today, we finally got to see the whole production in her nursery's nativity play, "Whoopsa Daisy Angel."

Margot was a snowflake. Not sure how many snowflakes there were in Bethlehem, but I was pleased she wasn't selected to be the donkey. Anyway, being a snowflake involves wearing a white, sparkly outfit and twirling around in circles. The snowflakes were drilled in turning in one direction, then switching to turn in the other direction. Apparently, in previous years, the snowflakes all twirled in a single direction and got nauseous. She twirled with abandon.

They also had angels, manger animals, sheperds, the Three Kings and of course, Joseph, Mary and a baby doll Jesus. One of the highlights for me was when Mary fell out of her chair and Jesus tumbled across the floor. That barely beat out the wayward donkey who kept trying to storm the altar. Or, when one of the Three Kings stood up and announced, "I need to take a wee."

Fortunately, the nursery hired a videographer to capture the entire event on film so there were no parental altercations regarding cameras.

The kids were adorable. The teachers incredibly patient. And we were proud of our little snowflake.

By the way, Margot claims next year she's going to be Mary.

See some photos here.

Meeting Father Christmas

We went to visit Father Christmas today, Santa Claus to us Americans.

Last year, our visit went all pear-shaped.  We planned a lovely family day at Harrod's to meet Santa Claus.  It ended with Margot crying inconsolably, terrified of Santa Claus.  Filled with 9-months-pregnant hormones, I started crying too.  Andy tried to manage the situation and rush us into the tube and get us home.  My ankle was caught in the train door, swelling up black and blue.  I  sobbed and snorted loudly throughout the trip, causing great discomfort to all the Brits sitting near us.   It was a disaster.

This year, I was almost relieved when I went online and found that the Santa Grottos at Harrod's and Selfridges were all booked (by late October, I heard).   Still, Margot was determined her three-years-old self would not be scared of Santa. We needed to see the old guy.

We found out that Santa was coming to St Pancras station, recently refurbished to house the EuroStar trains.  (It's even faster to get to Paris now, people.  The station is really close to us and you can be sitting in Paris in just over two hours.)  The appeal to Mom & Dad was the world's longest champagne bar.  So, off we went.  It was great.  We were in and out of there in no time.  Margot had a good chat with Santa.  She asked for a new bike and on behalf of Owen, a new dummy (pacifier).   No incidents.  

Unfortunately, the champagne bar was mobbed.  We'll have to go back for that.

 

Daddy's Little Girl

Yes, he's actually giving her a pedicure.  Enough said.

British-isms

We've come to appreciate that British English and American English are too very different languages. Lately, I've been enamored with two new phrases.

I spend a good amount of my time waiting outside Margot's nursery for drop-off and pick-up. This is when I get to chat with several of the other parents or carers, many of whom are British. Most of us are lugging along well-bundled babies as well. The most recent topic was how our little babies - most six to eleven months - are growing up so fast. Soon, they won't be babies anymore, but toddling about. The inevitable next question is, "oh, are you feeling broody now?" I, of course, thought they meant that I was looking moody and gloomy. That's just what I look like before caffeine. Apparently, the other meaning of broody is wanting to have more babies.

The other expression is "things went all pear-shaped." As in, I brought the kids home from nursery seeming fine, then things went all pear-shaped when Margot spiked a fever and Owen had horrible diarrhea. Things went sadly wrong, awry.

So, am I feeling broody? After about two weeks of things being all pear-shaped, I'd say, "certainly not."

The Tree-Lighting Ceremony

We went to the annual Hampstead Christmas Tree lighting ceremony again this year. In Britain, you aren't held to the politically correct notion of representing every religion or non-religion. So, just a meagre-looking Christmas tree and a bunch of school kids singing Christmas carols.

Margot recalled that they passed out chocolate coins last year so we had to rush and get there. Sadly, no coins.

Each year they have a local celebrity host the countdown to lighting the tree. Last year, it was Emma Thompson. This year, it was some British comedian that I recall seeing on "Celebrity Who Wants to be a Millionaire" but whose name eludes me. He was quite talented at impersonations. His favorite target was President George Bush. Here we go.

He did the countdown as George Bush and at "one" as they lit the tree, he yelled "Happy Easter," in his best feeble-minded George Bush voice. From there, he and his co-host went on a five-minute comedic rant on the stupidity of Americans. The first few jokes on Bush were fairly amusing. Then the fairly large number of Americans in the audience started to cringe as the jokes started to turn on us.

Anyway, Margot didn't care. There was a lit Christmas tree and a dance floor. A bluegrass band came on (yes, an American-style bluegrass band) and we all danced like fools. Then, we went home and ate some chocolate.

And, the season begins.
See some photos here.

AAA-choo

Everyone is ill all the time. Or, as they say here, "are you feeling poorly?" I’ve been told that happens when your kid starts nursery. But honestly, all the time? We’re going to start anti-bacterial dips at the front door soon.

We’ve been trying to get Margot to cover her mouth when she coughs. Here’s our latest attempt:

Margot: cough, cough, cough
Me: Cover your mouth, please, when you cough. You don’t want to spread germs.
Margot: But if I don’t cover my mouth, my germs will go away and someone else can have them.

You've got to appreciate the logic.

Guest Blog: The Scottish Laddies

We have a guest blogger today, Andy. He regales us with his golfing adventures with Jim K in Scotland last September. I would like to note that he may now appreciate how long it takes to write, edit and add photos to these entries, as it now late November. Enjoy:


Ahhhhh… Scotland. The land where haggis, whiskey, the breech-loading rifle and the great game of golf were all invented. Coincidence? I think not. As I was not able to attend the traditional Buckwheat festival in upstate New York this year, I convinced my brother-in-law, Jim, to fly over for a trip north of the border.

Jim arrived Friday evening and I picked him up at Heathrow. Since he had to sit an hour on the tarmac, I figured he could use a beer. I bought some traditional English bitter for the ride home, which he promptly spilled in the center console. I knew sitting on the other side of the car was going to be stressful, but I’m not that bad a driver. We finally made it back to our place in Hampstead where Christine had some tasty snacks awaiting. After a few bites, Jim and I headed up to my favorite pub, the Holly Bush, for last call. Fortunately pubs close early over here as we had a 7am flight on Saturday.

The next morning we drove an hour up to Stansted Airport and became intimately familiar with Ryanair. Jim put it best when he called it a Greyhound bus with wings. They manage cheap fares by playing advertising over the loudspeakers at every possible opportunity. We scrambled into the exit row seats, so at least we had extra legroom for the flight to Prestwick. We met a great Scotsman and avid golfer in the seat next to us who gave us all sorts of tips. He was a bit impressed with our itinerary of Turnberry and Royal Troon. To our great surprise our clubs arrived on the baggage conveyor so we were all set. With no map in the rental car and many road-signs warning us about otters, we finally made it to the resort at Turnberry.

The Turnberry Ailsa course is rated in the top ten in the world and known as the Pebble Beach of Scotland. It is also host to the 2009 Open Championship for those that want to see what we experienced. Our room was not quite ready when we arrived, so we changed at the clubhouse and had what we thought would be a quick bite at the bar before our afternoon tee-time. Apparently they forgot about our food as we continued to order pints of Tennants ale and lager. One hour later our meals arrived and to our delight, the resort picked up the whole tab.

The weather was beautiful for our afternoon round on the Kintyre course, which is arguably as nice as the Ailsa. We both played a bit erratically, but I was pleased to only lose three golf balls. After 18 holes of golf and another pint in the clubhouse, our room was finally ready. We cleaned up as much we could and wandered up to the hotel for our dinner in the main restaurant (our room was in the outer lodges so someone must have tipped them off to potential noise problems). We both decided on the lamb chops and washed them down with a nice bottle of 1991 Rioja Gran Reserva.

Turnberry Day Two… After a quick breakfast of sausage and eggs, we were set to tee-off on the Ailsa. The weather looked a little bleak during breakfast, but it turned out to be a beautiful day. The course was great and we both had some good and very bad holes. I, for example, got stuck in a pot bunker that took me about six strokes to get out of… these courses can do some serious damage to a golfer’s handicap and confidence. I learned quickly, it is best to just leave the bad shots behind and enjoy the view. We both played 18 extremely well, which gave us a bit of a boost heading into the clubhouse for a late lunch. After another great meal and a few pints, we decided to see what it would cost for another 18 holes. It turns out, they have a great afternoon rate so we grabbed a cart and cranked through another 18 on the Kintyre. We finished in about three hours, utterly exhausted.


Back to the room, and to my dismay, the mini-bar was locked with all of OUR beer inside. A quick call to the front desk solved the problem so we were able to enjoy a little
NFL (yes they show that over here) and a few beers before dinner. We had dinner at the clubhouse bar and convinced them to turn on the NFL so we could watch the NY Giants game. We ended up socializing with the staff quite a bit. They seemed to relate better to us than the regulars. Hmmm. I missed the second-half Giants comeback, but it was probably for the best as we had a big day at Troon ahead of us.

We packed the car and went to check out of the hotel. There was a bit of confusion with the bill because they thought we drank the entire mini-bar… we finally convinced them that we had simply removed the items to use the fridge to keep our beer cold. I am not sure they really believed us, but they made the necessary corrections anyway. After a few detours to avoid all the otters, we arrived at the Royal Troon. Jim and I were paired up with another two Americans and set to tee-off. For some reason, I had the honor of going first. Surprisingly, I smacked one straight down the middle. I started bogey, par on the first two and then the rains came. I’m talking serious, sideways rain with gale force winds. Unless we were playing in an actual hurricane, the conditions could not have been more challenging. I was playing some of my best golf and only managed a 50 on the front. I don’t know if it was the previous 63 holes of golf or the conditions, but my game completely disintegrated along with my scorecard on the back nine.

Even in the worst conditions, Scotland golf is a great experience and I cannot recommend it enough. I am so pleased Jim made the trip over and I am sure we will be reminiscing about this trip for years to come (of course over a few pints). Enjoys some photos here.

Happy Halloween

Halloween is not a British holiday. Our neighborhood is so filled with expats, however, that it is catching on. Margot was Cinderella for Halloween. This was quite easy as she dresses in her gown most afternoons anyway.

We attended a Halloween parade two weeks ago, where all the American kiddies marched up and down the High Street in costume. Moms, American Moms, dressed as witches were stationed at key spots to distribute candy. As it was October 13, we got a lot of confused looks from the locals. Then, we all marched to the local cinema where they had a screening of Monsters, Inc. Margot loved the event, but any holiday that involves chocolate is a sure-fire hit.

Margot, Owen & I went trick-or-treating on Wednesday night after tea (translation: tea=dinner for kiddies at 5pm). We finally got a glimpse inside the gorgeous house on the corner of our street. Now I can stop peeking through the fence wondering how the other half lives. Very nicely, apparently.

We heard scoop of which streets actually “do” Halloween. We wandered over and joined the masses of Americans and “new adopters” of our spooky holiday. Margot had been practicing saying “trick-or-treat” but didn’t get up the nerve at any of the homes. “I’ll just smile at them,” she told me. That worked.

We collected about 10 pieces of candy when Margot became aware of kids in masks, followed by a freak-out. The timing was perfect. We went home. It was all over in about 30 minutes.

Oh, and Owen was a dragon. Margot collected candy for Owen, and decided she could eat it for him. So thoughtful.

Enjoy some photos.

God Save the Queen and the NY Giants

So the NFL came to London last week. Granted, I generally run in American expat circles, but there was quite a bit of buzz about the game from both locals and foreigners. True American football fans go to great lengths to follow their teams back home.

Andy has ransomed his life to Yahoo! to watch the Jets game each week. He gets the game on the PC, then connects the laptop to the big-screen TV to watch the action. He’ll put up with pixelated images, screen-saver interruptions and full-on crashes just to glimpse Chad throwing another too-short pass. The games run late into the evenings for us. Most Sunday nights he stumbles into bed in the wee hours, cursing another fourth-quarter debacle.

Occasionally, our preferred team will be on Sky Sports, which syndicates games from the US networks. They don’t show American commercials, but fill that time with horrible montages of cheerleaders and highlight reels from past seasons. Inevitably, one highlight shows the Jets blowing some play. The announcers are British, which is odd, or former players-turned-broadcasters who were rejected by the American networks for good reason.

Thousands of Americans flew into London for the big game, including Grandma and Papa and Mary S. When Grandma and Papa passed through customs, the agents were still buzzing about the Miami Dolphins cheerleaders who arrived en masse the day before. I imagine them wearing their sparkly, midriff-bearing outfits and bouncing their way through the line (the cheerleaders, not Grandma and Papa).

On Sunday, we took the tube to the “new” Wembley, only one stop from our home station. There was great excitement as we approached the stadium. People were talking of “history in the making” and flashes were going off as everyone was taking pictures of the stadium, the crowd, the football banners and the giant animatronic Miami Dolphin player.

We split into two groups. I was fortunate to be in the group with Grandma and Papa. As I sat down, I couldn’t help but notice that the 50-yard line literally ran through my seat. Nice. We met some entertaining folks from New Jersey and New York around us, all bemoaning the horrible state of food in London. The place smelled like a KFC as everyone was eating fish-and-chips.

The game opened with the typical fanfare. We realized how many Brits were there when the crowd sang a rousing rendition of God Save the Queen, much louder than The Star-Spangled Banner (but honestly, who can sing that song anyway?)

The football game itself wasn’t all that great. The Miami Dolphins have yet to win a game this season. Our biggest concern was that the NY Giants not lose. The highlight, for many, was the streaker who stole the spotlight during halftime. I missed his performance but Grandma managed to catch him with her digital camera. Good work.

In the end, the Giants won. Grandma collected the names of people in our section who wanted a copy of the streaker photo. A good time was had by all.

Get a better view of the streaker here.

Would You Like Some Fairy Dust with That?

Margot was on term break from nursery this week so we were looking for some activities to fill our days. When Margot was staring into the window of the local Mystical Fairies store (again), we noticed a flyer for Fairy School: two hours of learning to be a fairy, with crafts, cupcakes (aka fairy cakes here), dancing and general fairy-ness. It all sounded like a nightmare to me, but perfect for Margot. So we signed on.

Inside, the fairy store is a floor-to-ceiling pink, sparkly, girly world. To Margot, it's pure magic. It looks to me like someone vomited Pepto-Bismol. The sales people are dressed as fairies. When you buy something, they ask cheerily, "Would you like some fairy dust with that?" It's all I can do to say, "uh, no thank you" and not run screaming.

Anyway, we descended into the cellar, Fairy World. The walls are murals of flowers, stars, fairies and such things. Giant flowers emerge from the walls. It's not a large room and they pack in 20 wannabe fairies and their carers. It was suffocating. My head started to throb. We signed up with two friends: one a potty-training no-show and the other bailed early claiming a pending fever. Cowards!

Each little girl borrows a fairy dress, unless her mom already shelled out 60GBP for one upstairs. Margot elbowed out some other girls for her selection. We soldiered on with sparkly crafts, disco dancing, singing, story-telling, hand-painting (Margot doesn't do face-painting) and fairy-cake decorating. The three fairies who run the event are either great actresses or take some sort of mind-altering drugs. They kept the little ones enthralled and completely believing they were fairies.

Margot had a fabulous time. I didn't deck anyone. We even managed to leave the store without any fairy dust.

Owen is Nine Months: Help Us

At nine months, Owen is a one-man wrecking crew. I’d put him in a playpen if I didn’t think he’d plow right through it.

He is now cruising, pulling himself up on anything, whether it can bear his weight or not. He thinks he can walk which causes considerable problems. He finds himself standing alone and then drops like Marie Osmond in Dancing with the Stars. (Yes, they have it here and I watch it religiously.)

He has sustained his first major head wound, a good bleeder on the eyebrow, crashing into his sister’s closet. Actually, it fits him in some way: The Brooklyn Bleeder.

He recently crawled into my bathroom, pulled himself up on the bidet, lifted the drain out and stuck it in his mouth. His mother screamed. This is a typical moment with Owen.

Luckily, he’s a very happy kid for the most part. He is fighting constant colds, mostly derived from his sister’s germ incubator (aka: nursery). So, he’s not sleeping well which means no one is sleeping well.

Owen constantly pesters his big sister, who is learning the old “shove-and-run.” He appreciates any attention from her, even if it is a kick in the side. He can take it.

Here are a few photos.

Chalk and Cheese

As in, when a British friend of mine saw Owen she said, "Wow! Your kids are chalk and cheese." (Translation: They couldn't be more different.)

Owen is eight months old today. He's officially speed-crawling. If there's some overlooked crumb, choking hazard or Margot toy, he's on it in a flash. He stalks Margot, chasing her around, trying to play with her. Occasionally, she obliges. Mostly she bellows. Fortunately, she's at nursery for three hours every morning so I let Owen play with her stuff then. I'm fully aware that will cause me trouble later.

When Margot does acknowledge his existence, Owen beams. He flashes his four teeth and giggles uncontrollably. It's just hysterical when they both get the sillies.

We think Owen is approaching 22 pounds and Margot is nearly 26 pounds. We might need to start a pool to see when he overtakes her. They've started wrestling. Margot sits on him, and I panic. "Be careful. He's just a baby." Owen just cracks up and gives her the straight-arm. He's not exactly delicate.

We're just entering the clingy, Mommy stage. When I leave the room, he freaks out. As he's generally pretty social, I'm hoping this phase will pass quickly.

Here are a few slice of life photos.

The Harvest Festival

Margot's nursery held their annual Harvest Festival today in the Anglican Church within which school is held.

The kids decorated shoe boxes and we went to Tesco and found some non-perishables to put in them. I explained to Margot that we were going to have a ceremony and offer thanks for the food and donate it to the needy. I went on about how there are people without Mommies and Daddies to make them nice meals and they go hungry. I talked about how nice it is to have a home where we can stay warm and dry. And, I reminded her that they were going to sing songs to make some needy people happy and know that they're loved. She thought about that for a minute. Then, she turns to me and says, "What do you wear to something like that?" She decided a dress might be appropriate. She thought some more. "Will there be clowns?"

So, the parents arrived at the church today and waited for the entrance of the students. They marched into the church carrying their decorated boxes with food, and they each placed their gifts on the church altar. Then, they sat in their seats lined up in front of the altar. The minister welcomed everyone and talked to the kids about food and the harvest, and the importance of saying thank you and sharing food. They fidgeted a lot. Then, the wee ones sang a bunch of food-related songs. Some yelled. Some, like Margot, sat like statues. But it was very cute.

The parents were all standing around taking photos and videos, myself included. Afterwards, one of the parents (a Brit) chastised another Mom (an American) for taking too many photos and using her Flash. He told her it was inappropriate and couldn't she just have waited at the end for a proper group shot (which never would have happened, by the way.) If his tone hadn't been so pompous, she might have let it go. Instead, she turned to him and said, "F*** you."

Ahh, so glad we're celebrating the Harvest together.

Rites of Passage: First Day of Nursery

Margot had her first day of nursery today. She's been in a frenzy all week about starting school. Every morning she burst into our bedroom at 6:30am asking, "Is today the day I start school?" Finally, the day arrived and she almost spontaneously combusted.

Nursery starts at 9:15am so we still had nearly three hours to go. I filled her with a big breakfast of pancakes, bacon and fruit. She fretted about her outfit, finally settling on hot pink t-shirt under a sundress with hot pink socks and hot pink sparkle shoes. She wore her monkey backpack and a purple sparkly headband (because the hot pink sparkle headband broke).

We took some pictures in front of our building and embarked on our 4-minute walk to school, with Owen in the buggy, oblivious to the major milestone. We arrived at school - the Crypt Room of the local Anglican Church - and waited for the doors to open. We were the first, but gradually a bunch of munchkins showed up - some confident alums and some nervous first-timers. The moms looked just as anxious as the kids.

The doors opened and the kids stampeded in. Margot found her hook and hung up her shoe-bag with a change of clothes, her jumper and her monkey backpack. She ran into the room and dove into all the activities - playdough, painting, legos, etc. She was frantically trying to experience everything in the first ten minutes.

A number of the new parents stayed for some transition time, including me. There are four teachers - three women and one man - for 24 students. Strangely, they never introduced themselves to the new students. Neither did they explain procedures like what to do if you have to go potty or that you have to find your nametag and drop it in the mailbox for keeping attendance. I mentioned this to some people, and they felt that was just typically British, fostering self-reliance. They are all kind and excellent caregivers, I just found that lack of structure a little disconcerting on the first day.

After about 20 minutes, I told Margot I was going to leave. She got a bit forlorn and her lips started to quiver. One of the teachers, Lizzie, immediately brought her to the reading corner and started reading her some stories. Margot was engrossed so I made my exit. I lingered outside a bit with some other Moms of new students, then we wandered away not sure what to do with ourselves. We went out for coffee and waited, checking our mobile phones for panic calls from the nursery. Nothing came.

We returned at 11:30am - school goes until 12:15pm but they had us come back early just in case. Margot spotted me through the window and made a break for it. As soon as she saw me, the tears started and we decided to call it a day. She was already clutching an invitation to a birthday party - a wizards and fairies party - in a few weeks.

When we got home, Margot tossed her shoes and backpack aside and threw herself on the floor. She looked like a hostage who, upon release and return to her home country, kneels on the tarmac and kisses the ground, shocked to ever be home again.

She seems to realize that she's going back to school on Monday and everyday. It's going to be a long week.

See more photos here.

Play That Funky Music White Boy

We went to the Prince concert last night at the 02 Millennium dome in London. What an amazing show. We knew we were in for a treat when Maceo Parker showed up for the first song. From the start, the platform-shoe'd-one - man, he is tiny - got the crowd all funked out.

The arena is the new corporate approach to concert-going. You arrive in a giant mall, with all these chain restaurants and bars in it. We ate at some generic Thai place. I ordered a vodka tonic with lime, and they have me a vodka tonic with tons of lime juice. I tried to choke it down, but it was gross. Guess you have to ask for fresh lime. We're still having weird ordering miscues at restaurants.

Anyway, we had a blast. His tickets were only 31 pounds - not like these other geriatric rockers who charge hundreds of pounds/dollars, and they barely make it through the set. Speaking of which, we're supposed to see the Police next weekend. We'll have to compare our teenage heroes, and how they're faring in their boomer years.

The Birthday Celebration That Wouldn't End

Margot turned three this summer. All summer.

I always felt a bit smug when observing the over-the-top birthday celebrations so many parents throw for their children. I certainly didn't grow up in an Oliver Twist world, but we didn't really do much for birthdays. We had some ice cream cake after dinner and maybe a gift. My favorite birthday was when my mother took me and two of my friends to the roller rink. Little did I know she was panic-stricken the entire time. It seems the four of us were locked behind steel doors in the cellar of a bowling alley with no other means of exit. Mom sat there grimacing, clutching her purse and praying that no disasters befell us. We had no idea. We were rolling around to the fine melodies of Peaches and Herb. Reunited and it feels so good..

But I digress. I'm sorry to say I was a bit relieved when I realized that having Margot's birthday in July meant we could avoid the obnoxious birthday parties. You know the ones. Theme parties with expensive rides and games. Entertainers. Fancy party bags. Huge, costly cakes shaped like super-heroes or princesses. Tons of gifts. One friend threw a party for her son and the kids turned on her when she told them there weren't any party bags. Ungrateful mites. I managed to avoid parties for her first two birthdays as she didn't know the difference. We had small BBQs with a gift or two, mostly from the grandparents. Then, we entered her third year.

I was surprised to arrive in London and find that birthday extravaganzas are just as prevalent here. I thought that was another quaint, overly-commercialized and branded American tradition. Parties came up in conversation over and over again. "Where are you having her party?" "Have you booked anything yet?" "The good places get filled quickly."

Then, we started getting invitations. Margot's play-group is age-based so all the birthdays fell within a six-month period. Actually, the parties were quite nice and Margot loved every one of them. Birthday party became one of her favorite games. And, she began talking endlessly about her own birthday party. I was planning on my typical summer BBQ back in the States with some family. But, it became apparent that Margot wanted to celebrate with her new London friends. I felt obligated to return the favor (or is it?) to her friends who had nice, sane parties of their own.

So, we did it. A Cinderella party. We invited 13 kids, including three sets of twins. Eleven kids came, and one left immediately after vomiting all over her father. They re-enacted the Cinderella story, which was pretty hysterical. Margot's Creative Movements teacher ran the show and kept them enthralled for more than an hour. Margot wore a reversible gown: one side was Cinderella's rags and the other, her ball gown. She had sparkly slippers for the ball. We had tons of balloons. The kids decorated a giant banner. I cooked all the food, believe it or not. We were told that the Brits think it's tacky to serve peanut butter so we made jelly rolls, mini pittas with ham and butter (never mayo or mustard) and mini bagels with cream cheese. We had chocolate cupcakes with pink and blue frosting. My friend Chris imported Crisco from Minnesota for the super-sweet frosting.


Margot had a blast. She said throughout, "It's so beautiful. I'm so happy." At the end of all this, during clean-up, she turned to me and said, "So, Mommy, what do you want to do today?"

When we returned to the States, the party continued. We had the requisite family BBQ and Margot was spoiled rotten by all her aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents. Presents arrived for weeks. It was over-the-top. Guess I can't be that smug anymore.

Margot is already talking about when she turns four.

See bday photos here.

Back in the UK

We returned to England - after six weeks in the States - to rain. It's rained nearly every day for two weeks. And not just drizzling rain. It's been torrential, stay-in-the-flat, cabin-fever rain. We bought Margot a calendar to learn the days, seasons and weather. So far, the little rainy cloud velcro piece is permanently attached.

Anyway, we're back. After six weeks away, with no internet connection to keep abreast of happenings here, it was really strange to return. Not much changed. Everyone is bemoaning the weather. Most expats returned home or went on holiday somewhere fabulous so we didn't miss much. It feels home-ish (my new word) though. Our life is here now. Andy is at work, stressing over the markets. Margot and I are reconnecting with friends, going on play-dates. She starts nursery in September. Owen is rolling around, getting stuck under the sofa.

We spent a few days in our home in Brooklyn, and it doesn't feel as home-ish (again) anymore. Z, Mikaela and Thalia have set up their family life there. It's all their stuff. Thalia is having all her baby milestones there. There are two cats roaming around (we're dog people). We love them and are thrilled they're there. This last visit just reinforced that we don't live in Brooklyn anymore.

But, we'll we back.

Stella Artois: Surprise, It Rained

Last year, when I realized that Wimbledon tickets would be impossible to get, and that I was not going to queue for tickets with the kiddies, I entered a lottery for Stella Artois Championship tickets. The Stella Artois is the warm-up tournament for the men preparing for Wimbledon. It's held at the Queen's Club, an amazing facility, that was featured in the Woody Allen film Match Point.

We were lucky enough to get four tickets, and brought our friends, Tracy and Paul Longhurst. We arrived just in time for the skies to open with torrential rain. It poured buckets of rain for three hours.

The delay enabled us to experience another British tradition, Pimm's cocktails. This beverage is almost as much a tradition as the cup of tea, and the British down the gin-based drink by the gallon during the summer months. To make the cocktail, take one slice of orange, lemon, apple, cucumber per person and one sprig of mint and add to two parts lemonade (in England, lemonade = Sprite) to one part Pimms. It's quite yummy, and we'll bring home a bottle for happy hour at the beach.

Any-hoo, after three of these cocktails and watching the privileged set in action, the rain stopped and we returned to the courts. We watched Andy Roddick dispatch with Dmitry Tursunov in an hour. Unfortunately, our babysitting time was running out so we had to leave. Roddick ended up winning the tournament the next day. I'm not sure he's ready for Federer.

The Colonel's Review

Today I went to a dress rehearsal of Trooping the Colours, a military ceremony commemorating the monarch's birthday. It is a huge undertaking, and they conduct two full dress rehearsals so that they don't screw up in front of QEII. Apparently, she really knows her stuff and if it's not perfect, well, I imagine they get sent to the Tower of London brig or something.

Our rehearsal was called the Colonel's Review; he stands in for Elizabeth. There were one-thousand-plus troops, both on foot and on mount. First, "Elizabeth" arrives promptly at 11am in her horse-drawn phaeton and inspects the troops. Then, they march around a lot - in slow time and in quick time - to the various marches played by ten different bands. They are in full ceremony gear - meaning most have that giant woolly hat on. After various formations by the foot and mounted soldiers, the queen promptly departs as the clock strikes noon - much like Cinderella. Not sure if her phaeton turns into a pumpkin if she stays any later.

My friend Chris entered a lottery for tickets and happened to get great seats. We would have been far away from the actual queen, but we had a great view of all the soldiers and their synchronous steps. I was personally obsessed with this one soldier who served as a marker for the others; they all marched around him. He couldn't move for the entire ceremony, and it did get a bit hot. Tracy, our one British attendee, told us that one year a soldier passed out from the heat. They're not allowed to move him so he just lay prone on the ground for the remainder of the ceremony. I imagine Elizabeth was not pleased with that performance.

We were also concerned with all the horse poop. I really expected there to be some sort of ceremonial, golden pooper-scooper, but the soldiers just had to stand in it and march through it. Ugh.

It was really a spectacular event. As Tracy said, "this is what the British do best. It makes you proud to be English." I can see why.

Here's what Chris blogged about the event.

Leete's Island: It's a Done Deal

Can you hear that? It's the beer chilling and the Bob Marley tunes playing in the background. We're officially owners of a cottage on Leete's Island. We'll be there in less than a month!!! Yippeee!!

London: One Year Down

We've officially been in London one year now. I have to say it started out a bit rough - hello, Chelsea? But, we've settled in, made some great friends, Owen has arrived and we're feeling more at home. We still miss family, friends and New York A LOT, but we don't regret our decision to come one iota.

We started out with ZZ, in Chelsea, amongst the beautiful people. We ate chicken shawarmas every other night from our favourite Lebanese place and hung out at the St Luke's playground with the Spanish children in their pressed linen playsuits. We were overjoyed to get out of the dismal corporate apartment on Draycott Place and settle in Hampstead. Unfortunately, we couldn't keep ZZ with us forever.

We figured out the healthcare system through trial and error. The pregnancy care here was worlds better than the care in the US - my consultant was fantastic, the midwives at the hospital were top-rate and the food at Portland, yummy. We survived the NHS and Owen's visit to the hospital.

We've had lots of visitors, coming to stay or just passing through:
Lindsay Kerby (ZZ)
Jeff Kerby (2x)
Mom and Dad Fitts (2x)
Leslie and Natalie Kerby
Brooke and Jen Schmoll
Amy Bess
John Kuhn
Mike and Lauren-Beth Kassinger
Bill Fitts and Blake
Mimi and Daddy Russ
Kurt Stemhagen
Paige, Jim and Lilly Burton
Buck Wachtel
Pete Geary
Jake Ward

We've had some fun road-trips:
Brighton
Wales
Florence
Paris
Edinburgh
Isle of Skye

Margot kicked the bottle (milk), upgraded to a big-girl bed, potty-trained, became a big sister, made some friends, and starts nursery in the Fall. Owen, well, he arrived and ate and cried a lot. He had his first solids this week. (He's much happier these days.)

We're looking forward to our extended summer vacation in the US, but know we'll be ready to come back to our life here come August.

Check out our most recent photos.

Cheers.

Highland Living

We're officially Highlanders now - no, not the immortal ones from that ridiculous movie Andy loves. We explored the Highlands, drank Scotch and ate haggis last weekend with our friends, John Page and Kate Mackenzie.

John and Kate have retired to Isle of Skye, Scotland, with their two kids, James (3) and Faith (1). They have a beautiful home with 110 acres including: lawns; a walled garden with roses, herbs, fruit and veg; a wilderness garden; grazing fields, pool house, gardener's cottage, hiking paths and breathtaking views of Strathaird Peninsula and the Cuillin Hills. It's an amazing place for kids (and adults).


Their home was formerly owned by Ian Anderson, the flute rocker from Jethro Tull (eat your heart out, Steve Kerby). He has moved beyond one-footed flute-playing, and makes millions from his salmon farms in the area.

Inside, the house had more rooms than we could count. The highlight: a fabulous oil-fired AGA stove. Besides keeping us warm, it was used to make some fabulous meals, including the afore-mentioned haggis (quite yummy), roast chicken, venison stew (from a deer killed nearby) and black pudding (a really rich blood sausage). A vegetarian heaven!

We had a blast hiking the grounds - ducking for cover between sun, torrential rain, hail and sun again. We visited the local town, with one store, and saw the boat taking tourists out to view the seals and scenery. Looked a bit chilly out there.


We had an amazing time - we felt like Fresh Air Fund kids out for the summer. We can't wait to go back and explore some more. Andy wants to go to the Talisker distillery and hit some Scotland links.

See all our photos here.

We've Got Leete's Island Fever

So, we bought a cottage on Leete's Island last week. We're as shocked as you are. It all happened in a matter of three days, and thanks to the strong persuasive powers of Jonathan Page (on the seller, not us).

It's a great 3-bedroom cottage, overlooking the water, only two doors down from Father Jim. We haven't even seen the inside of it yet, but why the heck not. We are due to close on June 1 - yippee.

We're counting the days until our summer holiday - it's 39 days.

A few key photos here:

Mother's Day

We celebrated American Mother's Day on Sunday, May 13 (we missed the UK one).

Here is my first macaroni art, beautifully designed by Margot:


Technically, it's fusilli art, but I love it anyway. Andy let me sleep late, which is what I wanted most of all. And, he and Margot made a fantastic pancake breakfast.

The Burtons arrived later that day from Spain. Unfortunately, Lilly had gotten ill while in Spain: vomiting, diarrhea and arrived in London with a 103 degree fever. So, Paige spent her first Mother's Day in the Emergency room. Lilly was fine; they deemed it was a virus and they were okay to fly home the next day. Anyway, that's what it is to be a mom. Spending your special day cleaning up poop, fretting about your sweet baby and trying to catch pee in a cup.

We wouldn't change it for the world.

Edinburgh with Children: Bodily Fluids and Screaming

So, the Burtons arrived on Friday with their adorable baby daughter, Lilly, aged 8 months. Margot had been anticipating Baby Lilly's arrival for weeks and was totally stoked. She is a real sweetie and can produce more boogers than her body weight.

As soon as the Burtons arrived, we left for Edinburgh. They followed us. We took the bus to Luton Airport and got in the back of the long line to check-in. Owen proceeded to scream like I was sticking pins in him. After about five minutes of this, the counter person asked the family with the wailing child to please proceed to the front of the line. So, that worked out for us. The rest of the passengers looked really psyched. After we fed and calmed him down, we got on the plane. Owen managed to scream for the entire one hour flight - thank God it wasn't any longer. I looked like hell by the time it was over - and needed a stiff drink - darn that nursing.

We found our hotel, next to the Hooters strip club, in downtown Edinburgh. Actually, it was a really great hotel, just had a lot of ladies in stiletto heels with large silicone bosoms taking smoke breaks outside. Owen was agog. Anyway, with a 3-month-old, an 8-month-old and a 2-year-old, it was pretty crazy trying to get anything done: someone was always eating, nursing, pooping, fussing or sleeping. We managed to do about one thing per day and we all collapsed in bed by 9pm or so each night.

Edinburgh Castle was beautiful, and we had a surprisingly clear and pretty day to explore. We all wished we had read a little more Scottish history so we knew exactly what we were looking at. But, it was really cool anyway. We had fish-and-chips for dinner and passed out.


On Sunday, we walked through the Prince Street Gardens below the castle. The weather teetered between rain and torrential rain with sporadic sunshine. So, we'd walk a little, find shelter, walk a little more. We had fun at the playground, the guys climbed the Sir Walter Scott monument and then we hit a pub. We were quite a crew with four adults, three wee ones, a double stroller, bags of baby paraphernalia. Me, nursing on a bar stool. Lilly, eating some creamed baby food on another. We definitely made ourselves at home. After that, we visited the queen's palace in Edinburgh, Hollyrood Palace. It was really cool, but Owen and Lilly were pretty fussy. Oh, and we had to nurse again. I've exposed myself all over the United Kingdom at this point. On the way home, we passed a beer garden with a giant big screen TV showing the Arsenal-Chelsea match. We walked by. After Andy asked us about six times, "should we stop in for a quick one?" we got the hint and popped in for the end of the match. It was a tie, I think, giving Man United the Premiership title.

On Monday, we were too knackered to do anything so we took it easy. Plus, it took all morning to pack all the baby stuff. We flew back to London and Owen only screamed for part of the flight.

The Burtons hung around in London for a few more days. We visited the Imperial War Museum - very well done, but a tad depressing - and some more playgrounds. They did Westminster Abbey one day as well. On Thursday, they headed out to Vigo, Spain, to visit some friends. They were back on Sunday for Mother's Day (see next post for details on that) and then flew home on Tuesday.

Margot keeps asking when Baby Lilly is coming back. We had a great time with the Burtons - they can come back anytime.

See more photos here.

Better Safe Than Sorry

OK. Not all our adventures here are all that fun.

Better Safe Than Sorry: So, we heard those words a few more time than we'd like last weekend.

Owen spiked a 101F/38.5C fever on Thursday night, and after several doses of Calpol (Britain's miracle drug), it still wasn't breaking. So, we called the doctor. He said, bring him in. Better safe than sorry.

We sped down to the clinic as they were closing at 12:30pm. We arrived at 12:29pm. The GP examined Owen, figured it was probably just a bug. She found a miniscule dot on his leg, and thought we should go see the pediatrician (here, that means go to A&E, Accident & Emergency.) Better safe than sorry.

I drag Margot and Owen over to A&E. The man next to us is dripping some gross liquids from his body. We move to new seats. Luckily Owen is called right away. His fever is now around 100F/37C so that's good. They examine him at length: cranky, skin is mottled and random, tiny dot on his leg (seriously, smaller than a pinprick). They decide I should collect his urine to rule out a urinary tract infection. This process involves me nursing a wriggling baby while holding a plastic cup over his privates. Are they serious? When he lets loose, I'm supposed to catch it. Needless to say, the first time he pees, it goes all over my shirt (did I mention I ran out of the house in my PJs?). So, we have to keep feeding him. Margot finds this hysterical. We finally catch some pee in the cup. Test results: negative. Better safe than sorry.

Next, they decide we need to take some blood. Margot has run through all the snacks in the diaper bag and is starving. We didn't get to have lunch. The student nurse has to distract her by blowing up rubber gloves and floating them around. I have to hold Owen down while they extract vial after vial of blood. He's miserable. I'm miserable. Margot is having a blast. This takes forever. They are going to run some cultures to test for infection. Better safe than sorry.

I finally break and ask Andy to come meet us at the hospital.

As he's still cranky, the doctor wants to talk to me. Who wouldn't be cranky? Every time he falls asleep, they come back in to test his blood or poke at him. She wants to do a lumbar tap to rule out meningitis. What? At this point, Margot & I are both running on extremely low blood sugar. Andy is on his way. They tell me and Margot to leave him for 10 minutes as most parents can't handle their child's screams during this process. Oh, neat. We kiss Owen and run outside where we find Andy. When we return, Owen is snuggling the nurse getting his first round of antibiotics. They say, we're going to admit him now. the blood test results won't be back for 12-48 hours. Better safe than sorry.

We're led upstairs to a private room on the pediatric ward. This is a big deal as most everyone else is just in a big room separated by curtains. We're left there for a long time. Andy takes Margot home for some food and a nap. His first meningitis results are negative. Phew. Didn't really think that was the problem anyway.

We end having to stay for 48 hours in the hospital. They won't let us leave until all his results are back. Owen is a trooper. He's on an IV all night Friday. We nurse, nurse, nurse. He keeps most of it down. His fever goes down. He starts smiling a lot. Margot manages to take over the children's ward - hoarding all the toys in our room. I have to keep telling her to share them with the sick children. Sheesh. Andy & Margot bring us edible food and come play with us for moral support. They give him more antibiotics Saturday. By Sunday, all results are clean and they let us leave. Thank God. We're just to keep an eye on him for the next few days. Better safe than sorry.

So, we're home. We're exhausted. Owen is fine. Margot wants to go back to the hospital to "play."

Glad we're all together and thankful that this is a rare occurrence for us.

The Dollar Stinks

The dollar : pound exchange rate is now more than 2 : 1. Wow, that stinks.

Owen: 3 months and growing...

Owen is twelve weeks now and real charmer. The screaming seems to be stopping (oh please, don't let me jinx myself.) Not sure what he weighs these days, but it seems like a lot.

We spent a beautiful Sunday hiking and picnicking in the Heath.

Check out our photos here.

Margot the Groupie

On Easter Monday, we took Margot to her first concert, Dan Zanes and Friends. He's a fantastic musician who plays family music (he's the Anti-Wiggles) that's a total blast for kids and parents don't want to open an artery.

Anyway, he's from Brooklyn and we were very psyched he was coming. We emailed him a song request and some suggestions for selling seats in London (his first time here). So, they invited us to hang with him backstage. Hmm, first concert: Are we setting unrealistic expectations for Margot here?

So we got there, hung backstage like a bunch of real groupies, then rocked out at the concert.


Here's Margot in the toddler mosh pic - I think she's throwing an elbow. Good girl.

Happy Easter

Good thing Natalie was here to share with us the true story of Easter. Apparently, Jesus ate rabbit at the Last Supper. That's why there's an Easter Bunny and we hunt eggs and jelly-beans.

Hmmm, maybe the kid shouldn't believe everything her father tells her.

After we got off the floor from laughing, we had a great last day with Nat. We were bummed she had to go so soon.

So, who's next?

See all our Spring Break photos.

Spring Break Part Two: Life with Nat

We had a great week with our teen-in-residence, Natalie.


On Tuesday, we dragged Nat out of bed again for a day of kiddie activities. She provided moral support as we took Margot for her 2nd haircut of her life. The mullet was reappearing and had to go. She sat on Nat's lap for the ordeal. We were just lucky the stylist didn't sever Margot's artery as she whipped her head around. Nat and Margot were rewarded with nutella crepes.

Wednesday was TopShop Day. I had to call six weeks ahead to book her personal stylist. We arrived to meet Emma. She interviewed Nat about her style preferences and sizes (really small, ugh). Then, they shopped separately, bringing back lots of items to try on in her personal dressing room. Nat didn't really need a style advisor, but ended up with tons of super cute clothes.

Thursday was zoo day. Mostly Nat chased crazy Margot all over the place. Margot liked her ice cream cone best. What animals?

On Friday we got up early and headed out to Camden Market. Andy stayed home with the tikes. Guess we were a little early for the punksters as not that much was open. Nat found a couple cute t-shirts and we had fun gawking at people. That afternoon, we all went to the Heath and hung out at the Fair. Well, until bands of hooligans got into a fight and one stabbed the other one. Seemed like a good time to leave. (The mafia would never let that happen in NY). Luckily, Margot was oblivious. Nat was craving funnel cake - they don't have that here.

Saturday morning was our Easter Hunt. Read on.

Spring Break Part One: Go Hotspurs!

Sure, you could go to Florida for Spring Break and experience that sunshine stuff. Nat decided instead to come to gloomy, rainy England to hang out with a goofy toddler and a baby who is prone to screaming for several hours a day and likes to poop through his clothes. Good move, eh?

Actually, Nat brought our first spell of balmy weather. She also had some sort of calming effect on Owen as he only screamed a little bit each day instead of his marathon sessions. Nat arrived on Saturday night, and Andy was able to claim her after signing his name in blood and swearing she wasn't some mail-order bride.

On Sunday, our friend Kurt Stemhagen arrived fresh from an academic conference in Oxford. He presented some paper - the title of which included the names of several philosophers and a colon; it must be important. We dumbed him down quickly with some lagers. Then, Andy, Natalie and Kurt headed out to our first Premiership game: Tottenham Hotspurs vs. Reading Royals.

Andy has decided to become a Hotspurs fan because they're close-by and he could score some tickets. Plus, everyone else roots for Chelsea and Arsenal. They play at White Harte Lane which seems to be even more of a dump than Shea Stadium. And, since there's a large Jewish population, the fans like to yell, "Go Yids!" (yes, their own fans yell that). You can see why Andy fit right in. It was noted that they don't sell beer until halftime, when there is a mad stampede to the beer vendors. Also, your average American couldn't fit into the seats - they're tiny.

Here's the penalty kick that gave Tottenham the win (1-0).

The game wasn't that close as Tottenham had 19 shots on goal to Reading's 3. The people around them were cool, and they didn't get trounced by any hooligans. An afternoon well spent.

On Monday morning, we dragged Natalie out of bed (a daily task) and we headed down to Westminster Abbey. Of course, the rest of the vacationing population decided to pop in as well; we could hardly move in there. It's still amazing but we hardly saw what we'd like. All that sightseeing made Owen ravenous. Nursing my baby in Westminster Abbey seemed wrong on so many levels but it had to be done. Don't worry Mimi, I was discreet.


Andy & Kurt popped into the Spaniard's Inn - one of our great local pubs - for a pint and a natter. We said goodbye to Kurt on Tuesday morning - back to Richmond, VA. Our adventures with Nat continued...

Separated at Birth...

Owen & Uncle Fester


Owen is now two months old - that went fast. He's really sweet, except for the two hours a day he screeches at us. We're still pretty tired.
Andy & I mostly see each other when we're exchanging Owen and Margot.

Here are some updated photos.

The Calvary Arrives

Mimi & Daddy Russ began the grandparent tour of duty, coming in to save the day. They were wonderful at keeping Margot from losing her mind while we doted on the baby. Mimi of course took all opportunities to snuggle with Owen, until her arms got tired from the weight.

DRuss made lots of fruit bowls for breakfast and kept us on schedule for our Happy Hours. Andy worked (hmmm....)

Margot was still freaking out a bit from the whole "Mom & Dad dropped me off at a friends house and didn't come back for three days" debacle. She took clinginess to a new level. Luckily, our little barnacle is coming back into her own, telling me to get lost and generally being silly. She told Owen she loves him unprompted so that's progress.

Mimi & DRuss explored our little village, partaking in some local pub fare and pastries. We had a traditional Sunday Roast at our favourite pub, The Holly Bush. Apparently, you're supposed to eat Sunday Roast in the early afternoon (after church?) and we didn't show up until 6pm and they were out of the cheesy mash to Mimi's great disappointment. Oh well, now we know.

We were sad to see Mimi & DRuss leave. Luckily, reinforcements were on the way.

Fran and Bill arrived a few weeks later, and I was in need of some serious naps. Andy took the week off, ostensibly to make waffles and bacon every morning. He was great; we ate like royalty.

Margot loved playing with Grandma and having Papa read books to her. She dressed as a fairy princess nearly every day and demonstrated her dance skills. Grandma did lots of cuddling with Owen and generally spoiled the kiddos as grandmas are wont to do.

Fran and Bill also toured London by bus and boat and foot. They took the guided tours of the Globe Theatre (it's supposed to be great) and Tower of London. Luckily, Papa let Grandma take a taxi there and back.



Unfortunately, they had to go home too. We're tired again.

Check out our photos.

London Calling 1.0

If you can't bore your family and friends with your photos and travel updates,
what good are they?

With that in mind, here's our new London Calling blog, documenting our stint in London - adventures, misadventures, travels, visitors and the peculiarities of British life. Oh, and lots of updates on Margot & Owen growing up in London.

We'll try not to be too ridiculous with the posts and attempt to save them for something interesting, realizing that's a subjective term.

So stay tuned. More to come.