Everyday adventures

There has been a lot of rain in England this week, and now it's over our little village has flooded. Not dangerously, but deep enough to disrupt everything. Walking Imogen to nursery school I realised the bonus of using a 70's baby carriage: I could sit her up on the rim and wade through the water in my psychedelic wellies pushing both children! English community spirit came out, in a vaguely war-time mentality. The Womens Institute put up a tea station in the churchyard for firemen and volunteers and the pubs passed out lunch-time pints over the sandbags. I made cocoa for when I picked up Imogen from her morning session and we sat on the bridge, water nearly up to our bottoms, and dangled our boots in the water as we watched it all.

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When Daddy came home, he assumed we hadn't made it to school. 'Oh yes we did' piped up Imogen 'Mummy was Doctor Foster, and I rode the pram through the flood!' She went on to describe the ducks huddled away from the torrent which replaced the idle mill-stream, she told of firemen pumping out houses and people helping each other. We had stopped to pick up groceries for an elderly neighbour on our way home, and she explained why. 'We were brave and the flood was exciting'. I didn't realise that she'd learn about strength in adversity so young, but I'm proud she has. This was one of those days of parenting that could have gone either way, but it ended up being one I will remember forever.

The Great American All Nighter

Just when we thought our all-night ragers were over, Jacob and I found ourselves at a 24-hour diner in San Mateo at 3am, surrounded by guys who had been out drinking, others who appeared to have been playing poker all night, a couple of underage lovebirds, and a table of cops doing the night shift. Oh, and our two children as well.

It was 1:30 am and we had flown in from London about 10 hours prior. Emil sat up in bed and starting talking and smiling. Esme followed suit, with Jacob and me close behind. All of us felt wide awake and ready to start our days. Our bodies were telling us that it was morning and time for breakfast (and if we had been in London still, our bodies would have been right). It was the beginning of jetlag. Thank god we were back in America, where there was a 24-hour diner and a nearby 24-hour grocery store so that we could feed ourselves.

We've been told by a few friends that it takes about 3 days to get over jetlag, and thus far, we think that's about right. Tonight will be our third night back from London, so hopefully this will be the last night of children waking up confused and ready to start the day while the sun still soundly sleeps. It was about 3 days on our flight out for the children to adjust. This being our first experience with jetlag as parents, I don't have a ton of advice, other than to take it easy and not expect too much of the children during the day, when they're sluggish and confused about why they have to be awake. That, and make sure you have food on hand for middle of the night wakings, when your child's body is insisting that it's breakfast time.

Esme was upset yesterday when she was awakened from her nap by her nanny instead of me. Although, I can't say she would have reacted much differently if I had woken her up. She just didn't want to wake up. It's 6:46 am here now, and she's been awake since 2am. She's starting to get grumpy, but I'm trying to keep her up as long as possible. Emil's napping, but he needs lots of frequent naps. If Esme goes to sleep now, she's going to want to sleep for 8 hours.

With a Rebel Yell

Some babies find their voices with pretty little coos and gurgles. Not Emil. He's found his voice, and it's more like a squealing piglet. It comes suddenly, without warning, and almost always in a public place wear we are hyper conscious of keeping the kids quiet, like a museum or nice restaurant. Seriously, he sounds like a wild animal. It's unnerving.

For the first three months, he was dubbed "my mellow baby boy" because that's what I had been praying for throughout the pregnancy. We have painful memories of Esme's first few months, when she cried endlessly through colicky nights. Emil seemed like an angel in comparison. They've traded the devil horns, though as the months have passed on. Whereas Esme grew more peaceful and easy as the months wore on, Emil gets wilder and more difficult to manage. Traveling with Esme at the 5 to 9 month period, and even beyond that, was incredibly smooth. We took it easy, of course, but she was relatively happy everywhere we went.

Emil, though, is a wild child. He has to be crawling and moving all the time, and is not content to just hang out anywhere. He is learning to show his displeasure when, for example, we take away a dirty plastic menu that he was eagerly chomping on. He gives us a look, eyes wide in disbelief, and then comes the squeal. It's a shriek, really. A high-pitched, ear drum-busting protest. There's no warning, no working up to the screaming. Just this obnoxious cry that grates the nerves. It's bad enough that it has me wondering why we had a second kid. Life would have been so easy if we were just traveling with Esme right now. But Emil, my god, that kid has lungs.

Yes, of course I love our son dearly. He is so cute as he crawls around. Today, as we took a break in the cafe of the Joan Miro museum, he was crawling on the floor and crawled straight into a clear glass door, not have realized it was there. It was one of those hilarious moments that you really wish had been captured of video. Even other onlookers started to laugh. He was a trooper, and took it in his dog-like stride. He has also taken to carrying his toys around in his mouth, increasing his resemblance to a puppy. He crawls around all over the place, a little finger puppet dangling from his lips, curved up into a grin, eyes all asparkling. Very cute. If only he didn't shriek like a wild animal.

We are closing in on the final leg of our trip. We've been in Barcelona for the past week or so, and have decided to stay here until Monday instead of moving on to Girona. We are revisiting this town that we fell in love with years ago, before we had children. It's amazing how well we remember our old haunts. We walked by our old apartment, visited the market where we used to shop, hiked around our favorite park, which even in the height of tourist season is deserted (it's a fabulous terraced garden just below the Miro museum, if you ever find yourself looking for a magic escape in this Catalan city). Esme has been enjoying the eggs, potatoes and ham. She loves the Spanish book store, and will sit perfectly content as we read story after story in Spanish to her. I don't think she understands most of it, but she is definitely picking up on many of the words and phrases, although she always responds in English.

With less than a week of our trip left, I'm starting to feel ready to head home. I miss our dog and our calm daily routine. Emil is waking now, so I'd better close. I probably won't be able to post again until we return to the States, so wish us a buen viaje. Cheers!

Happy anniversary to us!

Here we are, back at our hotel in London. We have a lovely little spot in Notting Hill, just a few blocks from Hyde Park with its Diana Memorial Playground. The first few nights we spent here at the beginning of our trip were riddled with the wakefulness of jetlag. Last night, though, we all slept like babies. Esme was thrilled to return here, because it was someplace familiar to her, and Emil could be anywhere as long as he's with Mom.

Today is a special day for us. It's Jacob's and my anniversary, and although we have no babysitter lined up and no plans for a fancy dinner anywhere, I think we have a perfect day planned. Really, what better way to celebrate our anniversary than with the two most tangible manifestations of our relationship? I look at Esme and Emil, and I see myself and Jacob, and more than that. I see my brother sometimes in Esme's looks, and at other times she gives a coquettish glance that is straight from Jacob's grandmother Gigi. Our two families are combined, and it is a wild, surreal experience watching our children grow. Already, their personalities are budding. Emil, at 7 months cruising around furniture and climbing stairs, will someday climb mountains just like his Grandpa Jim. And Esme, she has an intense way of studying things and digesting the world around her that is so much like my mother.

Anyway, I'd better get up to the hotel room and relieve Jacob. I'm sure the kids are climbing the walls by now. We'll get them to the playground soon so they can climb pirate ships and the such, and then we'll pop into a couple of stores in the afternoon before we go to high tea somewhere. Tomorrow, we're off to Barcelona.

Make friends, make friends, never, ever break friends . . .

We all grow up choosing our friends, in fact this is a right we take for granted. It is when we have children, though, that everything changes. Suddenly we feel obliged to become friends with people who just happen to have had offspring at the same time as we did. The resulting playdates are full of small-talk and misbehaviour, as neither parents nor children have anything in common, other than the approximate birthdays of their children. Also, previously long-term friends can loose interest, as priorities and hours of social availability change. Anyone who has had a hangover with their young children around knows well that this is no longer an option, and such Friday nights of partying are replaced by Saturday lunches in pubs with a good garden, or picnics in the park. Sometimes, serendipitously, you stumble across someone new whose family circumstances and philosophy dovetail your own, and new friendships are born between parents and children simultaneously.

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Then there is a fourth group of friends, a real blessing in life. People you have known and liked for years who also fall into the first category, and through some wonderful happenstance, have children of about the same age. These are friends with whom you share both a past and opinions. Watching your child play happily with the child of a good friend is as miraculous to you both. Looking across to someone who knew you in those dim, distant, childless days and sharing in the unexpected joy of a toddler moment is a real treat. Watching your babies gaze at each other in spellbound, babbling wonder is equally wonderful. But sitting in the garden as the children play, saying to a friend "Can you believe it?" and knowing that your relationship has weathered that crossing into adult, family life is a real joy.

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I hope it isn't another two years before we meet up again, Aeron, but if it is, I know everything will be just fine! Thanks for a wonderful visit.

Update from the Road - Europe with young children

Don't have a lot of time to write, as I'm borrowing a friend's computer, but we made it to England safe and sound with minimal difficulties. After two quick days in London, we are now in the tiny village of Nettleham, outside of Lincoln, visiting Emily (co-blogger) and her family. Slowing down to a small town pace is a wonderful way to travel with the kids. We have a little cottage with a kitchen and two bedrooms, so it's much like life at home in terms of daily ritual. Esme naps in her own room, and we prepare meals there or eat at our friends' house. Esme has three-year-old Imogen to run around with, while Emil gets to stare at (and be stared at by) three-month-old Atticus.

It's very interesting being "the American" around town. Emily, who was always "Wonderful English Emily" is just Wonderful Emily now, and I am the foreigner in her land. I've never really thought about what it was like for her living in the States for so long. I don't know if Esme is aware of the differences between the English and the Americans yet. She has picked up on some of the verbal differences. Just today, she was talking about her Nappy Diapers, a phrase that amused me. She is proving to be an adept traveler, as well. While we were slightly afraid she might break down in tears whenever a stranger talked to her, she explained to Jacob the other day how he was going to have to take a train back to London, and that he would have to change trains, which she further explained meant that he would have to get off one train and then get on a different train.

I think preparing her for the trip by discussing each step of it in detail has been tremendously helpful. She knew we were taking a long plane ride and would be staying in a hotel in London, and that we would see a puppet show there. She likewise knew that we would take a train to Nettleham where we would visit friends. Occasionally, she asks me wear we're going next, but other times, she tells me that we're taking another train and a plane to someplace else, and that we have to stay in more hotels and go to a toy store and a beach (both things I had told her we would do at some point).

Well, gotta run now. I'll try to post more later!