Hot Cross Buns

So Margot asked me the other day, "What are hot cross buns?". They've been singing about them for weeks but I imagine it never occurred to the nursery teachers to tell a few non-British kids what they are. I actually considered whipping up a batch but thought better of it as all the bakeries are full of them this time of year. What is it with the British and their fruity bread for the holidays?

All the singing was in preparation for the Easter show at nursery. The kids marched in formation into the room, singing "Easter Parade" and wearing their home-made Easter bonnets. They were seated in two rows facing the audience to perform about 10 songs. My favorite was "Tulips from Amsterdam"; they switched it to "Tulips from Hampstead Heath." For weeks, Margot would wander around the housing singing:

When it's Spring again I'll bring again
Tulips from Hampstead Heath
With a heart thats true I'll give to you
Tulips from Hampstead Heath

It was adorable, of course.

In the space between the performers and the audience, Owen found his nitch. He sat quietly for about 10 seconds. As soon as he realized we were at a performance, he wanted to be part of it. He stole some maracas - seriously, from where? And ran back and forth in front of the kids, shaking his moneymaker. Of course, all the kids couldn't take their eyes off of him. He was a complete distraction, although having the time of his life.

I was trying to take photos, catch Owen and give Margot the proper attention she demands. "You will be clapping for me, right Mommy?" Andy couldn't get away from work so he missed all the action. A friend of mine videotaped the performance. She told me Owen took over most of her footage. And me, running back and forth, trying to catch him and contain the damage. I didn't do very well.

Margot was a little peeved but got over it. We went home and ate hot cross buns. She thought they were okay but "too fruity."

Bologna the Fat

We were giddy with anticipation: four moms getting away from kids, husbands, school runs, nappies and dishes for a weekend in Bologna. Why Bologna? Why not? We had all traveled extensively in Europe so it was near impossible to find an unvisited locale within an easy flight. And, someone mentioned Bologna has the best food in Italy. Sold!

We were nonplussed when the engine failed. The pilot's voice came over the intercom (we were still on the tarmac) informing us that our plane didn't work and they were trying to find a new one. No worries. We have no kids. We all looked sympathetically at the parents with fussy newborn twins and a toddler. Actually, we rejoiced it wasn't us. I cracked a book and actually fed my brain for an hour or two. We didn't care. We could have spent the weekend at the Gatwick Marriott and been happy. Well, almost.

Arriving in Bologna, we immediately ventured out in search of a late dinner. We found a great spot near our hotel and asked for some menu recommendations. The waitress reminded us that it was Friday in Italy so "we eat fish." Oops, bad Catholic! I forgot about that. So, we had a lovely prawn risotto. And, because we're tourists, some pasta bolognese. As expected, it was fabulous and only the beginning of many sublime meals.

Bologna turned out to be a great choice because there's a beautiful historic district that is quite small. We were able to cover nearly everything in two days. We didn't feel guilty about glossing over the details in favor of a gelato stop or a glass of vino.

I was thrilled at the prospect of uninterrupted sleep. This did not go quite as planned due to an enthusiastically amorous couple next door on the first night and a rash of car alarms on the second. But, no one woke me up for a potty break or a lost binky. Aaah.

Andy did a great job with the kids but looked a little worn out on Sunday night. He even survived getting locked out with the kids and scaling a fence with Owen in his arms. (Don't ask.)

It was a great group with which to travel - easy-going and shared my obsession with food and wine. We'll have to get busy planning the next great escape.

Here's a little taste of Bologna and Rebecca's take on the trip.

Easter Warm-Up

The Hampstead Women's Club puts on an Easter Egg Hunt every year, a few weeks prior to the real one. Margot and Owen had a blast tearing through the daffodils to find eggs. Margot turns into Rambo if there's the prospect of finding chocolate.

A beautiful day at the St Johns Wood Church Grounds and an excellent nap thereafter.

Here are a few photos.

The Shanleys Survive Black Plague and London

The Shanleys ventured forth from the tri-state area, over the pond and into London last week. They did it!

The weary travelers - face it, no one ever sleeps on the red-eye - were greeted by Andy, bearing a large sign reading, "SNORTY." Snorty is the beanie baby bull that Margot fell in love with last summer. He has been sending her emails from Connecticut, documenting his life with the Shanleys and begging for an exchange program to England. So, he came as well.

When the Shanleys arrived, Margot was so overcome she couldn't even speak. Soon enough, she was all over Kerby, following her everywhere and just grinning like crazy to be near her. Owen started the week feeling a bit ill as well, but was in full dance-party, collision-course mode by the end of the week. It was agreed he's going to be a terror at Leete's Island this summer.

We allowed the Shanleys to rest for an hour or two. Then, we all jumped on the tube to watch Chelsea v. Huddersfield Town at Chelsea Stadium. It was supposed to be a beat-down but Huddersfield was the first to score and the visiting fans went wild. Chelsea came back, dominated and won, of course. There was lots of chanting, songs and good fun.

It's worth noting that fans from visiting teams have to enter and exit via a separate entrance, heavily protected by mounted police. Football is no joke here. The food served is mostly pies (meat pies, not fruit), fish 'n chips and sausages. It gave the stadium the aroma of a KFC. Mmmmm..

On Sunday we wanded around Central London a bit. We returned to Hampstead to treat the Shanleys to a Sunday Roast. After trying all the locals, we finally found one with an available table, The White Bear. Lesson #2 for Sunday Roast: Book your table in advance. (See here for Lesson #1). By this time, Owen had a melt-down so I took him home. Every one else stayed for a nice meal, or so I hear.

Then, the plague hit. Kerby fell first. She was poorly, as they say here, all Sunday night and into Monday. She recovered in time for her personal shopper spree at TopShop. Kerby tried on lots of cute outfits while Margot stalked her every move, hanging out in the dressing room with her, chatting incessantly and picking the appropriate "up-do" for Kerby's free hairstyling blowout.

The next few days were a blur of London tourist venues and relatives making sprints to the loo. Danny and Kay fell ill too. They were all troopers and managed to take the Big Bus Tour and visit Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle, London Eye and lots more.

We had a great time hanging out with the Shanleys and we're so excited they made the trip. We can't wait 'til they come back.

See some photos here.

She Sells Sanctuary

For those of you who hung out with Fitts during the 80s, you'll appreciate that last night was a very special one indeed -- he finally saw The Cult, live.

On Piste: Meribel 2008

Andy & I are not skiiers. But we wish we were. And, we want the kids to learn. Since we're living this close to the Alps, we figured we'd pretend. So, we packed up the kiddies and took them to Meribel, France, for a week of skiing and snow fun.

We stayed in a chalet-share with another British family. They have two teenaged sons who chose to stay home without parents rather than ski in one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. Hmmm...wonder what they were doing? Anyway, they were very cool Brits (Bolton football fans) and were somewhat amused by our early-rising, boisterous children.

The first two mornings, Andy & I took ski lessons (the kids stayed with a nanny). We were transformed from spastic near-parallel skiiers to spastic parallel skiiers. Andy likes high-speeds and few turns. I'm more of a swisher, and take a much wider path down the piste. Each day was more fun than the next as we gained confidence and moved from blue to red pistes. We excelled at the apres ski and ate some amazing French country food and large bieres. Next time I'm going to try the vin chaud.


Margot attended ski school two mornings with her adorable instructor, Adrien. He took her up the gondola to kindergarten where they threw snowballs, chased a black lab and did some sledging. He got her on skis for a bit to practice the snowplough. She looked adorable in her helmet, goggles, snowsuit, boots and skis. She was lost in all that equipment. At then end of each session, Adrien picked up Margot in her arms and skiied down the mountain with her. She loved that. After each class, we went out for chocolate crepes. C'est la vie!


Owen stayed at the chalet with his nanny, Claire. They played, danced, baked cakes, made art projects, etc. Owen loved her and she was in awe in how much food he could pack away. He also enjoyed the snow and took great pleasure in sledging at top speeds. He learned to walk during our stay at the chalet. The French said he was then ready to ski. Maybe next year.

Watch us in action here.

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.