Accidentally English

Making a U-Turn

2011-10-28T22:21:00.000+01:00

I haven't owned a car in over five years. It's been very liberating not to be burdened with a monthly car payment or insurance premiums or have the added expense of petrol, which certainly isn't cheap. I haven't had to worry about yearly inspections or unexpected maintenance costs. In many ways, I've enjoyed not having a car. But...

... it's time to put our idealistic views aside and be a bit more realistic. The fact is that, with two children, it's just much more practical to have a car, especially where we live in North London. Not everywhere is easily accessible by public transport, and places that are usually require one or two changes and a minimum of an hour's journey time. It's hard enough struggling with one child (and buggy and other gear) on a bus, but it's manageable. I cannot, however, imagine struggling with a toddler, a baby in a buggy, and any shopping I might have. Even with The Other Half's help. And as lovely as my friends have been about giving Crumpet and me lifts to play dates and parties over the past three years, I can't expect to keep bumming rides forever. So we need a car. As much as The Other Half grumbles, it's a non-negotiable issue for me.

This is a time when I really wish I had learned to drive a stick shift. When I took driver's ed in North Carolina, everyone learned on automatics. I don't even think we were given the option of learning to drive a manual. Here in the UK and in mainland Europe, the opposite is true. So that means that automatic vehicles are more expensive (I can verify this by the prices we have paid for rental cars in Europe). But you know what they say about old dogs and new tricks. I've already learned to drive on the other side of the road (which still makes me a bit nervous, but perhaps because I haven't had much practice since I got my UK license in 2008); I am not about to learn to drive a manual at this stage in the game.

So I guess you could say I'm making a metaphorical U-turn on my car-free philosophy, but you know what they say about how having kids changes things. I'm hoping (or least trying to convince The Other Half) that having a car won't drastically affect our daily lives. We'll still walk to most places and he can still use his bike as his primary mode of transport. I wouldn't even think of driving into central London. But at least having a car of our own will give me back a little bit of my independence and make it easier for us when driving is just the easiest way to get from point A to point B. And if all of my arguments fail, I'll buy the car in my name and add him as a named driver so he can still say he doesn't technically own a car.

Baby on Board

2011-10-21T20:18:00.000+01:00

I am nearly 17 weeks pregnant, and although I think it's pretty obvious by now that I have a baby on board, I have opted to wear the above badge that Transport for London makes to avoid any confusion on my daily commute to and from work. So far, it has worked, and usually someone kindly offers me their seat, which I gladly accept (especially this week, as the sciatica I experienced with my first pregnancy has come back with a vengeance).

However, I still find it amazing how possessive some people are when it comes to seats on the train. Even with the badge, I'm a bit uncomfortable asking people outright for a seat (maybe when I'm seven or eight months pregnant it will be a different story), but I do make an obvious show of moving right inside the carriage and, when possible, making eye contact with people. For the most part, it works, but earlier this week a woman looked right at me, then at my badge, then back at me, and then lowered her head and closed her eyes as if to pretend she was asleep. I sighed audibly and rolled my eyes, at which point the woman next to her offered me her seat, but I felt sort of guilty accepting it. Then this evening a woman offered me her seat, apologizing profusely for not noticing me earlier (she noticed when she looked up in between stations instead of when I got on the train). I assured her it was fine and that I appreciated it. The man standing next to her said, "It's a shame it has to be you to offer a seat" and then gave a disapproving look to the man next to me, who hadn't even budged from his seat. A pregnant colleague of mine, who is just a few weeks further along than me, asked a man last week if she could sit down (proudly displaying her badge at the time). He reluctantly got up and then said, "So much for equality of the sexes."

I can understand being reluctant to give up your seat for someone who "looks" pregnant because there have been situations where passengers have made embarrassing mistakes in that regard. It can be a bit like asking someone "When are you due?", only to be told "I'm not pregnant, thank you." A male colleague of mine, on hearing me refer to my pregnancy recently, congratulated me and then apologized for not saying anything earlier because he had always thought it best to wait until two weeks after the baby was born to offer congratulations to avoid awkward assumptions. But this badge eliminates any doubt, so as far as I'm concerned, common courtesy is to relinquish your seat without too much fuss.

And Baby Makes Four!

2011-10-04T21:10:00.001+01:00

I have been incredibly neglectful of the blog lately (what's new?). But it's not as if I don't have good reasons (as usual). Let's see... in the past two months, we've been up to quite a lot, including:

We were involved in a family wedding, which allowed us a mini-holiday in the leafy South London suburb of Kew.
Birthday party season has consumed most of our recent weekends. (Think EIGHT toddler birthday parties within about a month, including Crumpet's).
I have begun a new promoted post of responsibility at work and, as part of my new duties, led an eventful Outward Bound trip of 46 15-year-olds to Wales. Luckily, we all came home with only minor (metaphorical) cuts and bruises.
I celebrated five years of wedded bliss with The Other Half, Crumpet's third birthday, and five years since my arrival in the UK (not necessarily in that order).
Oh, and I also got pregnant... Crumpet 2 is due in early April! (And, please, someone suggest a good nickname, perhaps in keeping with the baked goods theme. Tart seems highly inappropriate, and Scone just doesn't sound right. Beyond that, I'm at a bit of a loss.) More news on our growing family (and my growing waistline) to follow.

Notes from the Emerald Isle

2011-07-31T21:13:00.001+01:00

Oh, boy, do I have a severe case of the post-holiday blues. As a result, I have spent most of today organizing the 247 photos I took on this week's trip to Ireland. To say it was idyllic would be a bit cliché, but it is the best word I have to describe our holiday.

We met up with my sister and her family in Doolin, in the northwest part of County Clare, last Saturday. It was the first time we had been on a family holiday together as adults. When I spoke to my mom this evening, one of her first questions was, "Did you girls get along?" Obviously, she remembers every childhood squabble we ever had (and I admit there were a fair few), but we're much closer now that we're both adults (and not living together!), and it was nice spending time together away from our ordinary surroundings. We weren't joined at the hip and didn't feel guilty going off and doing our own things some of the days, but we did do several things together, and Crumpet loved playing with (and bossing around) her big cousin.

We struck a nice balance between relaxation and sightseeing. Our cottage didn't have Internet access, which suited me just fine because it meant I had to switch off and leave work and other worries behind. In our down time, we took country walks, talked and played games in the evenings in front of the peat fire (yes, I know it's July, but it was Ireland, after all), and enjoyed some traditional Irish music at the local pubs. We explored seaside towns and parts of The Burren; saw the famed Cliffs of Moher (which I was more impressed with than The Other Half; I think he was just miffed at the 6 Euro per person charge for the car park!); visited the Aillwee Cave and Doolin Cave, the latter of which is home to the largest free-hanging stalactite in the world; and spent a day on the mystical island of Inisheer in the Aran Islands, where we toured the island in a traditional pony and trap, climbed up to O'Brien's castle for an impromptu picnic, and played on one of the best beaches in Europe. Even though the area we visited is a tourist hot spot, it didn't seem overwhelmingly so (except when we were unlucky enough to encounter giant coach tours), and it was still possible to get away from it all.

Our trip gave us a good taste of Ireland, but it has certainly whet my appetite for more. Unfortunately, we didn't win the Euromillions this week, so I'll have to make do with revisiting my photos for now.

Fisherstreet, Doolin

Doonagore Castle, Doolin

A country stroll

Shipwreck on Inisheer, Aran Islands

O'Brien's Castle, Inisheer

The beach on Inisheer

The Decline of Civilization as We Know It (or Why I Am So Glad to Be Out of the Dating Scene)

2011-07-22T19:39:00.000+01:00

Note: This post was originally written last month, but due to various other distractions I have only just gotten around to posting it.

Last night I went out with a friend to celebrate her birthday. We started the evening with a nice, laid-back Japanese dinner and then headed over to a local bar/lounge/club. My friend is a dancer, so she was in her element. I, on the other hand, have never really been a "clubby" sort of person (mainly because I have no rhythm on a dance floor), so that, and the fact that I had set myself a drinking limit before I left the house and was actually sticking to it, meant that I didn't really have the best time. I did, however, find myself in the middle of a comic episode which has inspired this post, so I guess the evening wasn't a complete waste.

One of the women in our party is recently divorced, so she has been enjoying reliving her youth and flirted mercilessly with a group of guys who said they were twenty-six but barely looked older than twelve. They were typical local boys ("townies," as a friend labeled them) and had been drinking for a while by the time they cozied up to us, so I really had to restrain myself when one of them asked me six times where I was from and then still insisted on telling me his friend had just moved to Canada too.

But the icing on the cake -- the moment I began to question my faith in humanity and worried about the future of civilization -- came when one of the other guys sidled up to me. The following conversation resulted (completely unembellished or exaggerated for dramatic effect, I might add):

"So what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a teacher."

"Really? That's cool. What do you teach?"

"English."

"English? So, like, you're an American over here in England teaching people how to talk?"

"No, I don't teach English language, I teach English literature."

Blank stare. "So, like, if a guy came up to you and said, 'You're really beautiful,' what would your response be?"

Blank stare, from me this time. "I'm not sure I understand."

"You said you teach English."

"Yes, I teach English literature."

"Like the romantics?"

Ah, now we're getting somewhere. "Yes, exactly."

"So, like, what if I said you were well fit?" At this point, I am really contemplating escaping out the bathroom window (which I did once or twice in my single days).

"Again, I don't understand what that has to do with what I do for a living."

"You said you teach English."

"Yes, I teach English literature. Like Dickens, Bronte..." His eyes have glazed over, and I realize I am talking way over his head. "I teach books," I finally say.

"Oh, right." It's a lightbulb moment. "So, what if an English bloke came up to you and said you were really beautiful?" Oy veh.

"Well, an English bloke did, and I married him." I flash my ring, because the ways in which I have subtly tried to attract his attention to it (brushing my hair behind my ear, taking a drink with my ring finger prominently displayed) have not worked.

"You're married? Awesome!" He makes a move to high five me, and I realize it's time to call a taxi.

When I got home, I took an extra long look at Crumpet sleeping peacefully in her bed, snuggled up to The Other Half, and silently thanked the gods that I am not in the dating scene anymore. Because, as I said, if that guy was a representative of the single man, I really worry about the future of civilization.

My British Hair

2011-06-16T21:46:00.000+01:00

I got my hair highlighted today for the first time in about four years (if not more). Since having Crumpet, I have kept my beauty routine as simple as possible. My semi-regular haircuts are about as extravagant as it gets these days. I have managed to fit in a few eyebrow waxings and even a couple of pedicures, but that feels like a real luxury now. So today was a treat. After years of neglect, I finally put some life back into my hair.

"It just feels so dull. My hair used to be so much lighter, naturally," I mused to my hairdresser. "I guess that was due to all the sunshine where I'm from."

"Face it," she replied. "Your hair has become British." How right she was.

Our Annual Holiday: An Encore

2011-05-24T20:30:00.000+01:00

For most Brits, the annual "holiday" is a sacred institution. For those with school-aged kids, it is either the Easter Holiday or the Summer Holiday, and everything seems to be planned around this monumental event. And, for those of us without school-aged kids (which is still the case with us until next January), we try to avoid these holiday times at all cost. (I'm lucky in that the school I work at goes on Spring Break a week before the rest of the British schools and finishes for the summer three weeks before everyone else, so we have managed to avoid the main crowds for the past couple of years.)

Most holidays consist of jetting off to some sunny locale like the Costa del Sol, Greece, Turkey, or any number of islands -- the Canaries, the Azores, or the Cape Verde Islands, for example. "British" holidays don't really count as holidays for most people; I guess the UK isn't exotic enough, though I've been lucky enough to visit some pretty spectacular places here in Britain.

I can't speak for all international couples, but in our case a holiday is a bit of a complicated affair. I make sure that we schedule at least one trip back to the States a year; before we had Crumpet, it was much easier (and cheaper) to go back, so I sometimes managed two trips a year. The Other Half counts this trip as a holiday (and, according to our credit card bills, it qualifies as one), but as much as I love going home to visit my family and friends, I don't really consider these visits a holiday in the true sense of the word. To me, a holiday is a luxury; our trips back to the States are more of a necessity in my book. So we have to agree to disagree on that one.

Last month, we had a lovely kind of last-minute and unexpected holiday in Northern France, which would have been our "annual holiday," but we are now planning a second holiday (I know, it's a bit of an indulgence, but totally justified, in my opinion) to... drumroll, please... IRELAND!

Yes, we are headed to the Emerald Isle at the end of July -- incidentally, in the first week of the summer holidays I previously mentioned we try to avoid. My sister, brother-in-law, and nephew will be meeting us there, and we are renting a cottage together. We are still working out the details, but we will be staying in County Clare, in the West -- home to such natural wonders as the Cliffs of Moher and The Burren; and just a short ferry ride away are the mystical, car-free Aran Islands.

In the nearly nine years since I first came to England (nearly five of which I have actually lived here), I have never been to Ireland, even though it's just a short hop away. So I am beyond excited.

Castle and ruins and pubs... oh my!

Cliffs of Moher, County Clare, Ireland

Kids Say the Darndest Things: Redux

2011-05-22T21:14:00.001+01:00

Crumpet's developing vocabulary and language skills have been the subject of many a blog post. At two and three quarters, I am literally amazed by the new things she comes out with every day. Lately, she has been telling stories to her toys, and last night she surprised me by "reading" an entire Peppa Pig book (actually, she had just memorized it because we had read it to her so much, but she said it perfectly and in sync with the right pages and pictures). But this morning she truly proved her creativity... and growing cheekiness.

As she was eating her porridge, she attempted to pour her milk into her bowl, something she has been told not to do many times because she just ends up making a mess. So I told her again not to do it. This time she replied, with her finger pressed to her lips, "Shh, my porridge is talking to me." "Really?" I said. "What is it saying?" And then, in the porridge's "voice": "'Crumpet [my substitution here, of course], I'd like some more milk.'"

Gotta give her credit for her imagination, although I'm not sure if this quick-thinking is a good thing or if it just spells trouble for the future...

Fun With Language: Part 2

2011-05-08T20:04:00.000+01:00

Last year, I wrote a post about Crumpet's expanding vocabulary and the development of a very hybrid accent. Now, at two and a half years old, her accent is distinctly British. At least, according to my sister. I personally don't notice it so much because I hear her every day and, to me, she doesn't sound especially British or American; she just sounds like my Crumpet.

However, the most interesting linguistic evolution that has occurred this year is my changing accent. When I first moved to the UK nearly five years ago, I never thought I would lose my American accent. Sure, early on I adopted new words like aubergine instead of eggplant and lorry instead of truck because, quite frankly, it was easier than having to correct myself when people gave me blank stares or chuckled in response. On one of my first trips back to North Carolina after moving to the UK, one of my friends even noticed that I had started to use the phrase "ring me" instead of "call me." But I was particularly adamant that I would not turn into Madonna and adopt some faux-British accent.

When you have a child who pronounces bath bahth and tomayto tomahto, however, it's bound to rub off on you. I now find myself enunciating my ts (as in butter, not budder, and water instead of wadder), saying musn't and naughty (in a very affected sort of way, not in a way that sounds like the word has ds in it), and calling myself "Mummy." On our recent holiday, I even found myself wavering between saying France and the very-British sounding Frahnce, depending on my mood.

I guess, like all species, I am simply adapting to my new habitat. But as soon as I set foot on Carolina soil (or speak to my family or friends), there is a slight twang that returns.

Springtime in France

2011-05-01T20:08:00.000+01:00

Veules-les-Roses, Normandy

It's been almost two weeks since we returned from our spring holiday in Northern France, and it is already starting to feel like a distant memory.

We stayed for nearly a week with extended family in Montreuil-sur-Mer in the Pas-de-Calais region. I admit that my initial reaction when we first started planning our holiday was not very enthusiastic; I had an image of Calais as a tacky port full of Brits doing cheap booze runs. While there may be an element of truth to that, the area outside of "Calais proper" is lovely and underrated. Montreuil itself is a walled town and is famous as the setting of Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. With cobbled streets, half-timbered buildings, and even a Michelin-starred restaurant, Montreuil certainly lives up to its "storybook" reputation.

Montreuil-sur-Mer

The surrounding villages in the Vallée de la Course (those nestled within the valley of the Course River) and Les Sept Vallées (the Seven Valleys) are quintessentially "French": quaint, picturesque, and just about every other cliché adjective you can think of. Northern France is known for its good cheese and chocolate, and I can vouch for that.

During that first week, we took gentle strolls around the town's ramparts, enjoyed long evening meals with good food and wine, and explored some of the surrounding villages and seaside towns. The Étaples Military Cemetery was both surprising and overwhelming, and the Dutch-influenced city of Arras was an interesting day out. I have a hard time slowing down and doing "nothing" while I'm on holiday (my first instinct is to "see" as many things as possible, but I'm working on that), but we struck a nice balance between relaxation and activity.

After we left Montreuil, we headed to Upper Normandy for another three days, where we did a bit of touring. We stayed near Forges-les-Euax, an old spa town in the heart of the countryside, and took day trips to Veules-les-Roses and Rouen. The latter is the capital of Normandy, and The Other Half and I had been there nearly six years ago when I led a group of American high-schoolers on a trip through Europe and he accompanied me as a chaperone. It was nice to return, especially with Crumpet. Funny how it seemed bigger than both of us remembered. Veules-les-Roses was a lucky find recommended to us by the owner of the B & B where we stayed and is probably one of the most beautiful villages I have ever seen, so much so that I'm having a hard time doing it justice with an appropriate description.

In the first few days after we returned, we managed to avoid the usual post-holiday blues by keeping ourselves busy every day – mostly with outdoor activities since the weather has been unseasonably hot and sunny. When the sun shines here in England, you take advantage of it because you never know how long it will last. But now that the slightly cooler weather has returned, the chocolate eggs that Crumpet found over Easter weekend are rapidly disappearing, the Royal Wedding is over, and I've had time to catalogue our photos and reflect on our holiday, I'm thinking wistfully of the next time we can hop the Channel.

Chateau Martainville, Normandy

An Afternoon Tea Fit for a (Future) Queen

2011-04-29T20:02:00.000+01:00

Well, they've said their "I Dos" (or, technically, "I Wills") and sealed it with two kisses seen round the world.

We started today with a mimosa to toast the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton and finished it with a very traditional afternoon tea. The title of this post may be a little bit of an exaggeration, but the tea did turn out pretty well, as you can see below. The macaroons were a little crumbly, but they tasted good, and the shortbread and lemon meringue cupcakes (both first attempts) were a success.

Watching the coverage of the wedding did make me feel the tiniest twinge of regret that we didn't venture into London to take part in the festivities, but in the end I think we got a much better view at home. It's funny how easy it is to get caught up in all the hype and celebration. I think I could get used to all this pomp and circumstance. In fact, the idea of becoming one of the Queen's "subjects" when I get my British citizenship doesn't seem so weird anymore; it seems like a bit of a fairy tale itself.

Wedding Fever

2011-04-28T21:45:00.002+01:00

Unless you've been living under a rock for the past few months, you know that tomorrow is the wedding of the century... or at least the decade. I don't in any way consider myself a royalist, but I do like tradition and a bit of pomp and ceremony, so I will be celebrating Prince William and Kate Middleton's wedding with the rest of the world. But unlike the hundreds of people who have been brave (or crazy) enough to camp outside Westminster Abbey, I will be watching the ceremony from the comfort of my couch. Well, actually, my mother-in-law's couch.

It's pretty exciting to be in London for the event, even if I don't plan to go anywhere near the city tomorrow. Let's face it: I'll get a much better view on TV. The bunting is out, the flags are up, and today I even treated myself to a festive Union Jack-themed cupcake from a local cafe (and bought myself a commemorative William and Kate mug, which I know is a bit tacky, but I figured £5.50 wasn't too bad for a bit of fun).

We plan to mark tomorrow's occasion by indulging in a very British tradition: afternoon tea. Tonight I have been busy baking shortbread, almond chocolate macaroons, and lemon meringue cupcakes. My mother-in-law is in charge of the finger sandwiches and scones with cream and jam. If all goes according to plan (and my macaroons don't collapse), I'll post photos tomorrow.

Like I said, I may not be a royalist, but I do like to be a part of history... and have an excuse to party. And, like millions of other Brits, I'm extremely grateful for the wedding gift William and Kate have given us: an extra holiday!

In My Mind I'm Goin' to Carolina (Reprise)

2011-04-21T21:59:00.001+01:00

We returned last night from our French voyage that I mentioned in my last post (yes, yes, it has been that long since I last blogged, and I'm beyond embarrassed about how badly I have been keeping it up). The Other Half, Crumpet, my mother-in-law, and I had a lovely time staying with extended family in Montreuil-sur-Mer in the Pas-de-Calais region and then touring Upper Normandy for another few days, and I will write a proper post with photos soon.

While we were away, I didn't go near a computer or a television, and I only used my mobile for emergencies. It was nice being detached from the rest of the world. At least, at the time. You could imagine my shock when I returned last night to learn (via Facebook, of course) that my hometown of Sanford, North Carolina had been devastated by a deadly tornado that killed two people (and more in the surrounding towns) and damaged several homes, including the home of one of my close friends. Thankfully, she and her husband and two children are okay physically, but I can't even begin to imagine what they are going through emotionally. My parents were spared major damage, but if the path of the storm had been just a few miles north, they might not have been so lucky. The storm was so bad it made international news; here it is on the BBC.

I've seen natural disasters like this before unfold on TV: the tsumani in 2005, Hurricane Katrina... and growing up in a state that is a frequently struck by hurricanes, we've had our share of near misses. But I never imagined something so devastating would strike this close to home. I just wish I could help in a more tangible, constructive way. It's times like these when I feel very disconnected from home. Facebook and Skype are wonderful for keeping in touch, but virtual reality isn't always the most comforting substitute for being with the people you love in person.

My Little Francophile

2011-02-23T20:25:00.001Z

As preparation for our spring holiday to France, I have been enlightening Crumpet on all things Gallic ("all things" being "all things that appeal to a two-and-a-half-year-old," that is). She is very excited about tasting France's famous cheese and grapes, and she knows that Mummy and Daddy will be drinking wine (I managed to convince her that grape juice is better and will be her special drink). I have also been teaching her the very basic, school-girl French I know. So tonight I asked her, "Can you tell me what you know how to say in French?" Without missing a beat (and with perfect pronunciation) she said, "Bonjour. Je m'appelle Crumpet." (Well, of course she didn't say "Crumpet," but I don't want to ruin her anonymity.) At this rate, maybe we'll have a translator should we decide to hop the Channel one day.

My 15 Seconds of Fame: Part 2

2011-01-14T20:02:00.000Z

Remember back in August 2009 when I wrote a post about my experience filming as an extra in Gulliver's Travels? No? Well, anyway.... The movie has been out for a few weeks now, and Tuesday night The Other Half and I took a trip to the cinema to see if I made the final cut. And I did! I saw myself in two shots at the beginning of the movie. I may only be a flash on the screen or a blur in the background to most people (even people who know me well would probably have a hard time picking me out unless I pointed myself out), but I clearly recognized myself. (I'm in the office scenes, by the way, wearing a dark brown skirt and a pink flowered blouse, but good luck finding me.) It's amazing to think of all the money -- and time -- it takes to produce just 10 seconds of film. And it cost us nearly £60 to see that 10 seconds (I don't think I can fairly say it was "15," as I suggest in the title of this post); over £21 for the movie plus dinner afterwards, making for one expensive date. But it was worth it, and I can't wait to buy the DVD so I can play it in slow motion and pause it during "my" scenes. I know, it's pretty cheesy and a little bit sad, but I'm not going to apologize for my overzealousness, because who else can say they've been in a movie with Jack Black? Besides Amanda Peet and company, of course.

Scenes from London's Recent "Blizzard"

2010-12-28T12:08:00.000Z

A few scenic shots from our recent snowfall (December 18/19).

An English Christmas Tradition

2010-12-12T19:28:00.000Z

Today was a big day for Crumpet and me: we both experienced our first pantomime, which is a Christmas tradition here in England. I won't bother explaining the conventions -- or intricacies, really -- of a traditional pantomime because Wikipedia does it pretty well, but I will say that the Wyllyotts Theatre in Potters Bar put on a very good performance of Sleeping Beauty. Having never even taken Crumpet to the cinema before, I was a bit worried about how she would react and figured I'd be lucky if we made it to the interval. But, despite her fidgeting, we managed to see the whole show, and it obviously had an effect on her because she keeps repeating phrases from the show.

It felt like an official "kick-off" to the festive season and served as a much-needed period of comic relief following a difficult month. Without going into too many personal details, which I vowed I would not do when I started this blog, The Other Half lost his father quite unexpectedly last month. There is never a "good" time to lose someone close to you, but, of course, being so close to the holidays makes it even more difficult.

So, as you would expect, the blog has been the last thing on my mind lately. But I am really hoping to get back to regular writing in the new year.

In Defense of Stay-at-Home Parents

2010-11-09T20:10:00.003Z

I know, I know. It's been a while. Again. Since returning from my trips to Barcelona and the Yorkshire moors (both in the same week), it's been really hard to get back into a writing groove. So here's an extra long post to make up for my absence (one that's been brewing for quite some time).

We are about two months (and some change) into our second year of role reversal, with me as the primary bread-winner and The Other Half as the primary caregiver (or stay-at-home dad, as he is colloquially referred). So far, it has worked well for us. I've rediscovered my passion for teaching literature and have taken advantage of some exciting new career opportunities, which could benefit us more than financially in the long term. (The prospect of Crumpet getting to go to a world-renowned private school for a fraction of the price is certainly an incentive to stick around for a few years. And then there is the allure of overseas teaching opportunities, even if just for a year or two. But we're getting ahead of ourselves a bit.) On the home-front, The Other Half has really enjoyed his time bonding with Crumpet in these oh-so-important formative years, which has been a wonderful thing to watch. And I've had all of the school holidays off, which means we get to spend lots of family time together.

But... there is still a slightly awkward pause after I respond to someone's question about what my husband does. "Oh," they say. "How long has that been going on?" As if they are expecting me to follow that up with a deadline by which he will get a real job. Or there's the half-joking, "Wow, that sounds like a great set-up," with a tone suggesting that all he does all day is hang out at the park or lounge on the sofa watching episodes of "Dora the Explorer." I doubt anyone would ask these questions of me if our roles were reversed.

So, while studies show that the amount of stay-at-home dads is on the rise, I still feel like I have to provide a defense for our lifestyle. And my defense is quite simple, really. When we decided to have children, it was always our intention for one of us to stay at home with them, at least until they're in school. Originally, that person was going to be me, but when The Other Half was made redundant just before Crumpet was born, we had to re-think that plan. We realized then that it didn't really matter who stayed home; what was important was that Crumpet had one of us at home to take care of her. So whoever got the best offer would be the one to go out to work.

I've never been keen on the idea of nurseries (or day cares, in Ameri-speak). Now, I'm not saying that all nurseries are bad and that parents who send their children to nurseries are bad. I realize that not everyone can afford to live on one income. But a lot of times it's not so much that people can't afford to live on one income; it's that they're not willing to sacrifice the lifestyle they have become accustomed to on two incomes. Personally, I would rather cut back a little each month than have someone else raise my child. An added bonus of not having Crumpet in nursery is that (touch wood) she has remained healthy (chicken pox incident at 13 months old aside). It seems like my friends whose children are in nurseries are always talking about a cold or a virus their children have picked up.

I won't lie and say that I have never felt the slightest bit jealous of The Other Half since going back to work. There have been times when I have thought, "Why can't it be me who gets to be the stay-at-home mo(u)mmy? That's what we had always planned." But life doesn't always work out as planned, and, at the end of the day, I'm just thankful that we are in a position where one of us can stay at home

I guess the direct inspiration for this post is the fairly recent news that the Tories will be cutting the child benefit here in the UK. Currently, every family with at least one child receives child benefit each month. It's not a lot; maybe about £1,000 a year for one child, roughly. This benefit is not means-based, meaning that Lord and Lady Dashwood (should they exist, and should they have one child like we do) receive the same amount of child benefit each month as we do. But under the new policy, families where one parent is earning £44,000 or more a year will no longer receive the benefit. Which means that you could have one family where two parents are working, each earning £40,000, for a combined a total of £80,000, and they will still receive the benefit. However, if another family is living on one income of £45,000, let's say, they will no longer receive the benefit. Someone please tell me where the logic is in that. So, essentially, the same government that bemoans the decline of family values is encouraging both parents to work and farm their children out to nurseries and child minders so they can make as much money off of us in taxes as they can.

On the heels of that announcement, David Cameron has stated that he wants to help stay-at-home mothers (whatever that means), prompting The Other Half to ask (rightfully), "What about stay-at-home fathers? Surely he should be helping stay-at-home parents."

Okay, rant over. Writing this post has been a rather cathartic experience....

Here's an inspiring image from the Yorkshire moors to leave you with.

Barcelona-Bound

2010-10-09T19:43:00.000+01:00

This time next week, I will hopefully be enjoying some tapas in sunny (fingers crossed) Barcelona. I am off to a workshop, and, while I will mainly be "working," I was lucky enough to be booked on an early flight out and a late flight back, which means I'll have a half day before the workshop starts and several hours after the workshop ends (plus the evenings) in which to explore the city. I've never been to Barcelona, so while I would rather be at home with Crumpet and The Other Half, I'm also excited at the opportunity to go. To be honest, given the choice between a workshop in Leicestershire and one in Barcelona, who wouldn't pick Barcelona? Not that I have anything against Leicestershire; I'm sure it's a lovely county. But it ain't Barcelona.

Of course, the next few days will be full of the usual pre-travel rigmarole: making sure The Other Half and Crumpet have enough meals prepared ahead of time (or that he at least knows what to cook if there isn't a meal ready; luckily, he's pretty good at that), laying out Crumpet's clothes for the four days I'll be gone (he is not good at that), and frenzied packing at the last minute. My two previous trips (to Jersey in June and the Isle of Wight last month for another school trip) have at least helped ease my separation anxiety. I still get nervous about a week before the trip, and I miss her while I'm gone, but I know that Crumpet is in good hands here at home. As long as we keep her routine in place, she's fine. The separation ends up being worse for me than it is for her.

I am determined to make the most of my "off-time" while I'm in Barcelona. My two absolute must-sees are the Sagrada Familia and Las Ramblas, which I will probably try to do the first day (my hotel is conveniently located just a few metro stops away from the Sagrada Familia). Casa Mila and the other Gaudi houses, the Picasso Museum, and the Park Güell are all on my "it would be nice if I have the time" list. Anyone have any other suggestions?

Hello, Muse, are you out there?

2010-10-08T21:05:00.000+01:00

No, I am not summoning the rock band to appear before me. I am calling forth the ancient goddess of creativity. Because it just hit me that I have not written a poem in five years. That's right, FIVE years. Half a decade. It seems wrong even admitting that, but it's true. It's not as if I haven't written anything in those five years. I've written some travel essays and some web content and have dipped in and out of The Novel. I even started this blog (which I admit I haven't posted to that regularly these past few months). But the last time I wrote a poem was in the fall of 2005, when I was writing my M.A. thesis. And then I planned a wedding. And then I moved to another country (and switched careers). And not long after that I had a baby. Life happened and, when I should have had loads of inspiration for loads of new poems, my poetic mojo dried up.

I know it's not all up to the Muse. I've tried disciplining myself. With a Type A personality like mine, you'd think that wouldn't be too hard. But I've just ended up staring at a blank computer screen for an hour or, at best, writing a couple of lines that I end up deleting later. (And, at worst, I've been distracted by the washing-up or the order I need to place with Amazon, etc., etc.) When I was in college, the words just arranged themselves into poems in my head, and all I had to do was put my pen to my paper and they would pour out. Now, it's a struggle to extract an image or a metaphor painlessly. Maybe the problem is that I'm thinking too much.

So I am asking the Muse to return to me, to give me back the same passion and creativity I had when I was 19 (without all the post-adolescent angst). Because I want to dream in villanelles again.

Another Great Moment in Teaching...

2010-10-08T19:31:00.001+01:00

...happened yesterday, when I was giving my students some biographical information on Toni Morrison before they begin reading Beloved.

"Didn't she win the Nobel Prize?" one of my students piped up.

"Yes, she did," I affirmed. "And the Pulitzer."

"The Nobel? Hey, isn't that what Soandso's dad won?" another student chimed in.

"Who?" I inquired.

"Oh, some kid who used to go to school here."

Sometimes, the world in which I teach is not necessarily the world in which I live.

Live and Learn: A Tip for International Couples

2010-09-12T20:16:00.000+01:00

Last week, we had a new dresser and display cabinet for the dining room delivered. We just managed to finish unpacking it and setting it up today. In the process, we went through some of the things we have collected since we got married -- some of them gifts, others things I bought in the US in excited anticipation of my new life abroad. Of course, we have now designated a pile of stuff to take to the local charity shop because it either doesn't fit or has never been used (and probably never will be). If I had it all to do over again, I would do things very differently.

I could give loads of tips to international couples (perhaps one day I'll actually sit down and devote a different blog entry to each of them), but my biggest tip would be this: Ship as little as possible when you move overseas. In the year before I moved to the UK, I bought a lot of stuff because I was high on the idea of starting an exciting new life in London with my soon-to-be husband. We also registered for a lot of wedding gifts Stateside. We did manage to get a nice 12-piece set of china (and some other lovely things) as a result, but the headache (and expense) of shipping them wasn't worth it. Plus, I didn't realize until I got here that nearly everything is bigger in America (not just portion sizes), meaning that my lovely china is just a bit too big for my UK-sized table. If I had it to do over again, I would ship the really meaningful, sentimental items, but I would buy things new here. And I would have asked for cash or gift vouchers for our wedding. It took four years and the chaos that comes from having new furniture delivered for me to finally admit it to myself, but hopefully someone will learn from my mistakes.

A Wedding in the City

2010-08-22T19:57:00.000+01:00

Canary Wharf, as seen from Greenwich Park

This weekend we celebrated the wedding of The Other Half's youngest brother. It was actually the first wedding I've been to in the UK, and it was everything I would have imagined an English wedding would be. The ceremony itself took place on Friday afternoon at Southwark Register Office. After that, we hopped on an old Routemaster bus that had been specially hired for the occasion (a gift from one of the bride's friends) and were transported to Greenwich Park, where we had afternoon tea and an evening meal of fish and chips (driven in from Faversham, on the Kent coast, so it was no ordinary takeaway; I think I can honestly say it was the best fish and chips I've ever had). We drank and danced the night away in the grounds of The Pavilion Tea House, right next to The Royal Observatory. The sort of eerie picture above is the view we had from the marquee of Canary Wharf.

Of course, Crumpet's routine was completely broken, but routines are meant to be broken for special occasions, and she kept going strong until nearly 11:00 (the nap she took in my arms during the ceremony certainly helped!). However, she is still making up for the lack of sleep. Last night I put her down at 6:45 and didn't hear a peep from her until 8:10 this morning.

Almost as good as the wedding itself was the deal we got on our hotel room. We stayed at Devonport House, which was literally just outside Greenwich Park, and we got dinner, bed and breakfast for 89 GBP. Of course, we missed out on dinner, but it was still a great deal. You can't find many rooms in London for that price. The room was clean, comfortable, and they had the all-important baby cot we had requested. The staff were friendly, they served a hot breakfast as well as lots of cereals, fruits, and pastry options, and we were even able to check-in early (and we hadn't even requested an early check-in). I would stay there again, and I would definitely recommend it to anyone visiting London as it's a great base for exploring Greenwich and has good transport links to the rest of the city. Wow, I should get paid for these kinds of endorsements!

Before we came home yesterday, we took a stroll through Greenwich Park and stopped at their fantastic playground, where Crumpet wore herself out again on the swings and in the sand pit. It was almost like a mini-holiday, which was a great way to end my summer vacation. As of this Wednesday, I'm back on the clock. Eight weeks sure has come and gone very quickly.

10 Things I Love About England

2010-08-18T19:45:00.002+01:00

Cornwall, Southwest England

I've been battling a bit of homesickness since we returned from our trip to the States last month (coupled with, paradoxically, a bit of wanderlust). So in an effort to cure these afflictions, I thought it would be appropriate to include a post about the things I love about my adopted country, a bit like the post I recently wrote about what I love about North Carolina. So here goes (in no particular order):

1. London. I don't love everything about London, mind you, but it's hard not to love a city of such mythic status -- and with so much to see and do. As Samuel Johnson famously said, "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life."
2. Tea. Nothing can compare to a good cuppa. No matter how hard I have tried, I have not managed to replicate the experience anywhere else, even with the same brand of tea. Whether it's the water, or the type of cows they rear for milk here, or whatever... the Brits sure know how to do tea.
3. A good curry. Curry houses are to the UK what Mexican restaurants are to the US (or to the South, at least). I was never a big fan until I started visiting England regularly, but now a good curry is a favorite indulgence of mine. I still miss my Mexican fix (there are a few good Mexican restaurants in London, but they're few and far between), but I'm happy to substitute that with a chicken tikka masala, sag aloo and cauliflower bhaji. Oh, and fish and chips. And a good fry-up. Okay, maybe I should just call this reason "food" (although I'll pass on blood pudding and haggis and the like).
4. Pubs. I have yet to come across a bar in the US with the same vibe as a British pub. It's hard to explain, but the pub is an institution which crosses age groups, classes, and genders. And a good pub is hard to find.
5. Cornwall. This is where The Other Half and I took our first holiday together, way back in 2003, and it will forever hold a special place in my heart. (I don't blame you if you gag on that cliche, by the way). Aside from London, images of the rugged Cornish coast and little fishing villages and country pubs are what spring to mind when I think of England.
6. Quaint villages. Especially with thatched cottages. And cosy pubs with log fires. Do you see a running theme here?
7. Public transportation. This is actually sort of a love-hate relationship, but I do like the fact that I haven't depended on a car for almost four years now.
8. The NHS. This may seem like an odd addition, and many people may disagree, but I am so thankful for national health care. I know it's not a perfect system, but at least I can be assured that if I need medical attention, I will receive it. And I won't go bankrupt in the process.
9. History. Everywhere you turn in this country, there is a piece of history to uncover. Castles, ancient ruins... even the church up the road from us is over 900 years old. And, as an old friend-of-a-friend once said, England has beer that is older than America.
10. Having the rest of Europe on my doorstep. Need I say more?

Blogger's Remorse

2010-08-16T20:17:00.000+01:00

It seems like it's been ages since I last blogged. Every time I think to write a post, I get distracted by something else. Since we've returned from our month-long visit to the States, I've caught up with friends, taken Crumpet strawberry picking (twice), tried out a couple of new recipes, and even managed to get some work done for the upcoming school year (and I don't even go back to work until next week). I've been doing a little bit each night -- a lesson plan here, an essay idea there. Hopefully, when I do go back and pick up two new IB Diploma-level English courses (in addition to the middle school courses I already teach), I won't be ready to tear my hair out. And I've been writing again, though I won't say too much about that because I get a bit superstitious talking about it. But hopefully good things will come out of my newfound inspiration.

We've got a busy couple of months ahead of us -- The Other Half's youngest brother's wedding this week, my return to work full-time (which will take some adjustment for all of us), a work trip to the Isle of Wight and a possible one to Barcelona for a workshop. Oh, and our four-year anniversary and Crumpet's second birthday. So, even though I haven't been posting as regularly as I would have liked, if you follow my blog (regularly or just occasionally) be patient with me and I'm sure I'll have some more exciting entries coming up.

The Best Money I've Spent in Ages

2010-07-29T12:45:00.009+01:00

Crumpet and I returned from our month-long visit to the States yesterday. I was on my own with her on the flight back, and I had been dreading it since we booked our tickets back in May. I flew solo with her last year, but she was much younger then, so there were different issues to deal with. This time, she was older, stronger (meaning she can put up more of a fight), and needs much more to occupy/distract her. So I made sure I packed her colored pencils and sketch pad, a couple of new books and some old favorites, and the cuddly toys she can't live without. But on Monday, while my sister and I went on a Target run, I made the purchase I referred to in this entry's title: a portable DVD player. And, yes, it really was the best money I've spent in ages. It didn't stop Crumpet from putting up a fight when it was time for "night-night" (I have a pretty big bite mark to prove it), but while she was awake it at least kept her quite for a good length of time. She was mesmerized by Dora the Explorer, making the flight much more pleasant for me and, no doubt, the other passengers in our section. Before I had children, I always kind of turned my nose up at parents who used television as a way of controlling their kids, but, damn it, when you're on a transatlantic flight (especially alone) you do what you have to do.

Luckily, we scored a whole row to ourselves in the front section of coach, so we were actually quite comfortable. Or as comfortable as you can be on a plane. We're still battling jet lag (and a little bit of homesickness on my part, which I'm sure I'll write about in an upcoming entry). It's amazing how quickly four weeks can pass, which makes me nervous about how quickly the next four weeks will pass, after which I will be back at work for the new school year. Until then, here's hoping we have some decent August weather to finish off the summer.

10 Things I Love About North Carolina

2010-07-17T21:12:00.010+01:00

Morning on Lake Tillery, Central North Carolina

One of the things I love about coming back to my home state (other than catching up with family and friends, of course) is being able to see it with new eyes or, in some cases, rediscover things I took for granted when I lived here. Here are just a few things I love about The Old North State:

1. The whirr of the cicadas on a warm summer evening.
2. Summer thunderstorms. There is nothing more comforting than the roll of distant thunder or a sudden downpour to cool a hot summer day (provided I'm inside, of course).
3. The changing seasons. One of my favorite times in NC is the fall, when the trees are ablaze with red, orange, and yellow hues. Then again, the spring is also beautiful, when the azaleas are in their full fuchsia glory. The UK doesn't have such defined seasons; there's foliage or no foliage, cold or really cold.
4. Produce stands. Nothing I have experienced in Europe (not even the woman selling fresh figs on the side of the road in Crete) can compare to the raw honey or fresh sweetcorn or boiled peanuts you can get from a makeshift stand in the middle of nowhere.
5. Barbecue. With hush puppies. And honey butter. Need I say more?
6. Mexican food. Like curry houses in the UK, there is a Mexican restaurant on just about every corner in the South. It may be a bastardized version of Mexican food (like curry is a bastardized version of Indian), but it's oh so good.
7. Talking to strangers. When you're used to the big city, where people are afraid to make eye contact, it's nice when a complete stranger strikes up a conversation with you in the supermarket.
8. Driving. Now I know this goes against what I have said before about my dislike of driving, but I love how here you can just get in the car without having to plan anything. And in five minutes from just about anywhere, you can be in the middle of nowhere.
9. The landscape. Whether it's the soft, undulating peaks of the Appalachian Mountains or the rolling dunes of the Outer Banks or just a backroad tobacco field, there is no denying that North Carolina is a beautiful part of the country.
10. Quiet. No city traffic, no shouting from the nearby flats, no buzz of the fans from the neighboring butchers, no airplanes flying overhead. Just the sounds of the crickets chirping and the cicadas whirring (see number 1) and the occasional freight train whistling in the distance.

Redefining the Term "Long-Distance"

2010-07-16T20:32:00.001+01:00

The Other Half headed back home to England on Tuesday, so Crumpet and I are here on our own with Grandma and Grandpa in North Carolina for another week and a half. But despite the nearly 4,000 miles that separate us, we've still been able to see each other every day. The evolution of technology really has redefinied the meaning of long distance.

When The Other Half and I started courting ("dating" seems like the wrong word to use since we didn't really go on "dates"), Skype was still relatively new, so we mostly resorted to (what now seems like old-fashioned) e-mail and phone cards to keep in touch. By the time we got married in 2006, Skype and other video messaging services had become more popular, and we were doing web chats maybe once or twice a week. Now, we regularly do video calls with my parents and my sister and her family when we're back in England. Since we've been here in NC, Crumpet has even been able to see her Nana in England three times. For the majority of my childhood, I lived 3,000 miles away from one set of grandparents and 1,000 miles away from the other. If we were lucky, we got to see them each once a year. Even long distance phone calls were expensive, so we maybe talked to them once or twice a month. The idea that one day my children would be able to see people while they were talking to them across the country (or across the ocean, as it turned out) seemed very Jettson-esque, one of those things that I associated with "the future" but could never really picture materializing. It isn't quite the same as being able to see someone and spend time with them in the flesh, but web cams have certainly made it easier to endure the distance.

Licensed to Drive

2010-07-12T17:12:00.003+01:00

Today I had the pleasure of renewing my North Carolina driver's license. And I say that, of course, with total sarcasm. After waiting for over an hour while only one DMV employee processed a room full of people, it took me all of five minutes to renew my license.

Getting or renewing a driver's license in the US is a totally diffrerent experience than getting a driving license in the UK. The first time I drove, I had just turned 15. I passed a written test that exempted me from the classroom portion of Driver's Ed, so all I had to do was complete 5-10 hours of driving with an instructor in order to get my learner's permit. That allowed me to drive, supervised, until I was 16, when I got my full driver's license. It's been nearly 15 years since then, but I can vaguely remember having to do a "road test" with a DMV employee in order to get my license. This road test consisted of pulling out of the DMV parking lot, driving down the block, reversing backwards, and parking in an empty parking lot nearby. I then drove back to the DMV, where I took a brief vision test and a road signs test. And that was all it took to prove my competency on the road. Every five or so years since then, I have had to renew my license, which has consisted of the vision test and an abreviated version of the road signs test. And we're talking basic road signs that any five-year-old could identify (stop, yield, speed limit, school zone, etc.), not the less common, but just as important, ones a driver might encounter. They make it ridiculously easy to get and keep your license in the US, I suppose partly because there is no alternative to driving in many places.

In the UK, on the other hand, you have to do a lot more to prove that you can responsibly operate a vehicle. That doesn't mean that there aren't any nutcases on the road, but at least the process does weed out a few of the extreme cases. For starters, the minimum driving age is 17, and the government is apparently thinking of increasing that to 18. I think 18 (or even the current age of 17) is much more sensible. The difference between a 15-year-old and a 17-year-old is pretty dramatic, and when I think back to what I was like when I was 15, I really had no business behind the wheel. And I was pretty responsible. Imagine some of the 15-year-olds out there! Anyway, back to the subject at hand. I got my UK driving license over two years ago and before I even took the written test I took at least 20 hours of lessons with a private instructor. Then I took the test, which was probably the easiest part of the whole process. A couple of months later, after I had had a few more lessons, I took the driving (or "road") test. This was a 35-minute test in which the examiner scrutinized my every move. Luckily, I passed with only a couple of minor offenses, but apparently it's not uncommon to fail your driving test at least once. Some people fail several times before they finally pass. But once you have your driving license, you don't have to renew it until you're 70 (unless, of course, you get too many points or lose it).

So, nearly two weeks after my license had expired (which the DMV employee didn't even question today), I am now licensed to drive again in North Carolina. I have been driving legally with my UK license in the meantime (my UK license allows me to drive in the US for up to a year, I think), but at least it will be another five or eight years before I'll have to prove once again that I can identify a railroad crossing sign or a stoplight.

Fourth of July Fun

2010-07-04T21:23:00.015+01:00

Today was Crumpet's first Fourth of July in America, and the first time I've been here for the holiday in four years.

We kicked off the festivities on Friday, when we visited with family friends in Mt Gilead, North Carolina. We spent the afternoon swimming in Lake Tillery, "cooking out," and watching the fireworks over the lake. It was well worth keeping Crumpet up three hours past her normal bedtime to see her face light up as she watched the sky explode with colors and sparks. The next morning we took a paddle boat ride on the lake before heading back to my parents' house in Sanford. We took Crumpet to a local family Fourth celebration downtown at Depot Park and then went out to eat at a new-ish restaurant serving modern Southern cuisine. The Other Half heaped high praise on The Steel Pig when he claimed that his spare ribs were the best he had ever eaten. My crab cakes weren't bad either. Today we spent a lazy day at home and had an all-American dinner of grilled chicken and apple pie before we lit off some of our own fireworks.

I look forward to exposing Crumpet to many more American holidays and traditions... on American soil. As much as I try to replicate the experience of Thanksgiving at our home in the UK, it's not quite the same.

The View from a New Decade

2010-06-30T14:54:00.009+01:00

I woke up this morning to a new decade. No, I haven't suddenly learned to time-travel. As of 9:21 a.m., I am no longer twenty-something. But to be honest, I don't really feel that different. Perhaps if I wasn't so "settled" in my personal life, I'd feel differently, but the fact is that turning 30 hasn't caused me to have an identity crisis or an emotional breakdown. In fact, I look forward to my thirties. I'd never want to repeat my awkward teenage years, and though I had some good times in my twenties and experienced some of life's milestones (highlights being, of course, graduating from college and graduate school, meeting and marrying The Other Half, and giving birth to my first child) overall I was far too self-concious. At 30, I feel much more confident in myself. Perhaps I'll feel differently in another 10 years, but right now the view from a new decade looks pretty good.

The Other Jersey

2010-06-24T20:41:00.000+01:00

It's been a busy couple of weeks here finishing off the school term and preparing for our upcoming trip to the States, so, needless to say, once again I have been neglectful of the blog. Sometimes it's hard to believe I've made it through my first year back in the classroom; other times, it feels like it's been three years. But before the onslaught of reports and other end-of-term chaos ensued, I was able to enjoy four days on the island of Jersey -- if you can call chaperoning a group of seventh grade students "enjoyment." I survived three nights away from home (my first since Crumpet was born) and was so busy I didn't even have time to suffer any of the separation anxiety I had been dreading since agreeing to go on the trip back in April.

Jersey, which is the largest of the Channel Isles, is home to the famous Jersey cows, Jersey royal potatoes, and a number of off-shore banks. There are no Tescos, Asdas, or other major UK chains, and with less than 100,000 permanent residents the island really retains it continental charm. Luckily, we didn't encounter any major problems, which is always a risk on school trips, and instead were able to enjoy many of the sights and activities that Jersey has to offer. We played mini-golf on the best course I have played on since my childhood visits to Florida and went bowling, which I haven't done in years (and I can honestly say that age has not improved my game). The students kayaked and surfed. If it had been a tad warmer, I would have joined them in kayaking, but I stayed on dry land and enjoyed the views from the beach. We even managed to fit in a couple of history lessons by visiting the Jersey War Tunnels and Mont Orgueil (a.k.a. Gorey Castle), both of which I highly recommend.

This little trip was simply a teaser and has certainly made me want to return and explore more of the island, as well as neighboring Guernsey and Sark (which is car-free), with The Other Half and Crumpet. Somehow, my list of ideal holidays keeps growing and growing. If only my bank account would keep growing with it....

Packing for One

2010-06-06T20:17:00.006+01:00

I am off tomorrow on a 4-day school trip to Jersey (the one in the Channel Isles, not the one on the east coast of the USA), so today I have been running around doing laundry, printing itineraries, and organizing Crumpet's food and clothes to make things easier for Daddy in my absence (although, to be fair, I know I shouldn't worry too much because he's sometimes better at the daily rituals than I am; he does have lots of practice as the "primary carer"). The thing I'm finding hardest (apart from the impending separation anxiety I'm sure I'll experience) is remembering that I only have to pack for myself. What's that like? I'm so used to packing the house that it's weird realizing I do have room for an extra pair of shoes (even though I know I shouldn't pack them because I probably won't wear them). I must remind myself that I don't need to pack nappies, wipes, or distracting toys. Although the latter might come in handy for some of the 13-year-olds I'll be chaperoning.

Bank Holiday Fun on the Isle of Thanet

2010-05-31T20:06:00.009+01:00

I know, I know. It's been a while since I've blogged. I was on a roll, too, having posted eight entries in April, which is a real record for me. I could make excuses about the busy month we've had (and it looks like this summer isn't going to be any quieter), but I think I'll just get on with the post.

Today was a Bank Holiday here in the UK, so this weekend we had a little mini-break in Kent; the Isle of Thanet, to be more precise. Actually, it isn't technically an "isle" anymore, but it is still often referred to by this name. The seaside towns of Margate, Broadstairs and Ramsgate all make up Thanet. My brother-in-law and his fiancée live in Ramsgate. This was our second visit there. Last summer, we ventured to Margate for my brother-in-law's birthday beach party. What a difference a year makes. There is now a high speed train from St. Pancras station to Ramsgate, so the journey only takes about an hour and a quarter (plus just 20 minutes from our local station to King's Cross/St. Pancas), making it a much more pleasant experience. And Crumpet was a little angel the whole weekend (except for a couple minor 20-month-old "moments").

Saturday evening we had dinner at The Indian Princess in Margate. This was certainly not your typical curry house; it was a true Indian "experience." In fact, the restaurant is even listed in the Michelin guide (though not starred). From the outside, it looks a bit shabby (and you certainly wouldn't expect to find food of this caliber in Margate, of all places), but the old saying is true in this case: "Don't judge a book by its cover." We enjoyed the pre-theatre menu, and I had dosa to start (little crepes filled with spiced potatoes and onions), Kentish lamb biryani for my main course, and chocolate samosas with cardamon cream for dessert. The best part was the little "extras" they threw in: little bites between each course. It was worth the trip just for this meal.

Sunday we took a walk along the cliffs from Ramsgate to Broadstairs. Broadstairs has a very continental atmosphere to it, with lots of cafes and pubs perched along the cliff and a sandy beach below. We had ice cream sundaes at Morelli's, which has been open since the 1930s (my parents-in-law visited the famous ice cream parlor 41 years ago while they were on the their honeymoon in Broadstairs), followed by a little play in the sand. That evening we had dinner at the Belgian Cafe, which was a bit of an unexpected find in Ramsgate.

It was nice to get away for the weekend and really feel like I had a proper break before heading back to work tomorrow. Luckily, we were able to avoid the tacky side of the British seaside and just enjoy the nice bits. It didn't rain, and it wasn't particularly crowded, so what more could we ask for?

Fun With Politics

2010-05-05T19:53:00.005+01:00

On this, the eve of the UK national elections, I thought it would be a bit of fun to pass on a link I was sent recently. Vote for Policies is a web site that allows you to compare policies of the six major UK political parties on a range of key issues, and, based on your answers, you're told which policy belongs to which party and, as a result, who you should vote for. Supposedly, it helps you make an unbiased decision. It's not scientific, but the results might surprise you. According to my results, I should be voting for the Green Party (that is, if I could vote).

So, even if you're not UK a citizen or you don't live in the UK or you don't even know anything about British politics, it's a fun diversion.

A Great Moment in Teaching...

2010-04-27T20:05:00.004+01:00

...happened today, when, as we were reading the first scene in Much Ado About Nothing, in which Beatrice and Benedick are trading insults, one of my rather boisterous lads piped up and said, "Wow, I think Shakespeare created the first dis." It's moments like that that make me love my job.

Enjoying the Silence

2010-04-18T13:20:00.003+01:00

We're very lucky to live in the "suburbs" of North London, where we can enjoy the best of both worlds. In less than an hour (provided the trains are running on time), we can be in the center of London, but within about a ten minutes' drive, we can be surrounded by countryside. Still, despite our suburban postcode, we still suffer from certain negative aspects of urban life: traffic, pollution, gradual over-development, etc. We also just happen to be under a flight path. I admit that I don't notice the planes that much on a day-to-day basis, but The Other Half is particularly sensitive to this kind of thing. It's not like the planes really fly that low. We attended a wedding in Hounslow, which is near Heathrow, back in November, and boy, do those planes really fly low. I was surprised that I couldn't reach up and actually touch them.

But since the travel chaos caused by the volcano erupting in Iceland, I have definitely noticed the planes. Because there haven't been any. I can actually hear the birds chirping and children playing in their gardens. Unfortunately, we still have the road noise to deal with, but here it is on a perfectly lovely -- and still sunny -- Sunday evening and the only thing I can hear is the classical music coming from the radio in the dining room.

A Tale of a Reluctant Beer Drinker

2010-04-14T20:14:00.001+01:00

I hate beer, and I have no shame in admitting it. I'll cop to drinking a few in my early college years just so I could get a buzz, but I hated every sip (or gulp, really, as my goal was just to get it down as quickly as possible without having to taste much of it). I have always preferred a good wine or a pretty cocktail (even, shamefully, an alco-pop, though I'm growing out of that phase).

The Other Half, on the other hand, is a true beer lover. He loves trying new beers from all over the world, and recently he has even started brewing his own -- from malt and hops, not a kit. I must admit that I am truly impressed with his newfound skill (and, if you haven't seen the complicated, day-long process that is home-brewing, it truly is a skill -- especially when you add a tiny kitchen to the mix). But I won't be sampling any of his product myself.

For as long as we have been together, which will be eight years this fall (wow, how time files!), he has tried to convert me. But I have stood firm. No amount of honey browns or blueberry wheats would sway me. The most I've budged is to develop a liking for cider (the good stuff, not Strongbow).

Until now. Yes, The Other Half has successfully managed to turn me on to beer... sort of. I have discovered the taste sensation that is a Belgian fruit beer. Now, I know some of you may be shaking your head, saying, "That's not real beer," but I beg to differ. Even though it may not taste like beer, it technically is beer. I have tasted coconut beer, passion fruit beer (yum!), cherry beer (double yum!), and a beer with a blend of strawberries, raspberries, and cherries (triple yum!).

He may never convince me to order a Newcastle Brown Ale down at the pub, but I think, secretly, The Other Half is quite proud of his accomplishment. Perhaps even a trip to Belgium will be on the horizon soon.

Separation Anxiety

2010-04-12T19:45:00.003+01:00

I made a big commitment at work today. I have agreed to chaperone a group of students on a trip to Jersey this June. It's a great opportunity: an all-expenses paid trip to the largest of the Channel Islands, where we'll spend three days swimming, surfing, kayaking, and exploring the island. Plus, I'll get an additional stipend for each day.

So why am I already starting to second-guess myself? Well, this will be the first time I have spent a night away from Crumpet (not to mention three nights), and though I have no concerns about how The Other Half will manage with her by himself (I am incredibly blessed with an amazingly patient and loving husband who is also an amazingly patient and loving father), I am concerned about how I will be without her. When I talked about it with The Other Half when the opportunity first presented itself last month, he was very positive and supportive about the idea. He reassured me that he and Crumpet would be fine for three days (after all, he already manages brilliantly when I'm at work during the day, and I'm sure he'll ace the bedtime routine too). He also thought that it would be a good break for me (if you can call herding a group of 12- and 13-year-olds a break) before heading back to the States in July to help my mom recover from knee replacement surgery. And I know he's right.

So why do I still feel guilty? I should be jumping at the chance to get away for a few days because I'm sure there will be far fewer opportunities to do so if and when we have two children. Still, I can't help but worry about every little thing that might happen while I'm away. And I don't want Crumpet to worry about where Mummy is (although, in reality, she probably won't even realize I'm gone until I return, which is usually the case when I'm at work). And, on a more sentimental note, Jersey is somewhere I have wanted to go for a long time, but I always imagined that my first visit there would be with The Other Half and Crumpet. The Other Half points out that this will be a good chance for me to "scout" out the location and see if it would indeed be a good place for us to return to for a family holiday, and I guess I see his point. Plus, there are loads of other exciting, undiscovered places (in the UK and beyond) that we can discover together.

I'm sure I sound neurotic, but I suppose most mothers suffer from some form of separation anxiety. And even though I'm less than two years into motherhood, I think it's safe to say that the feeling won't just disappear when my child turns 18.

Politics as Usual

2010-04-11T20:08:00.005+01:00

Most people will know by now that the Prime Minister has officially called an election for May 6. (Too bad it's not next year at this time, when I hope to have citizenship, so I could exercise my vote.) A few nights ago, The Other Half lamented that that's all we'll be hearing about for the next month. True, it will probably be very difficult to escape the constant news coverage, on TV and online, but at least we won't have to suffer through TWO WHOLE YEARS OF IT, as we do in the US. I quite like the Brits' way of things: get it all over with in a month, and then be done with it so they can complain about whatever administration has been voted in. In fact, shouldn't we be expecting the 2012 US presidential candidates to be kicking off their campaigns pretty soon?

Kids Say the Darndest Things: This Week's SECOND Comedic Moment

2010-04-08T19:41:00.004+01:00

As I have mentioned before, Crumpet's vocabulary is growing by leaps and bounds. Every day, she seems to pick up a new word, or is at least pronouncing an old word clearer. Along with her growing vocabulary is her growing sense of awareness about her body (and bodily functions). Just this week, she has started telling me when she has done "a Number 2" by pulling on her nappy and proclaiming, "Poo." Of course, when I then ask her if she has done a poo, she says, "No," but this is her answer to everything lately, and at least she is starting to recognize when she goes. I'm thinking potty training won't be too far off. Anyway, today we had a nice lunch out, and at the end of the meal I got up to go to the toilet. As I walked away from the table, Crumpet pointed at me and loudly stated (in front of the roomful of other diners), "Pee!" Yes, the old saying is true: kids say the darndest things. And I'm sure this is only the first of many awkward moments in public.

Parental Advisory: This Week's Comedic Moment

2010-04-07T22:09:00.003+01:00

I popped into the local library today to check out a couple of DVDs. It was meant to be a quick in-and-out, but the self-service machines wouldn't let me check out the DVDs, so I had to take them to the counter. When I presented my card, I asked the guy at the desk if you could only check out books at the self-service machines. "No," he said. "You can check out DVDs." Oh, I thought, I wonder why I had a problem. Then, as I pulled out my library card for him to scan, I realized my mistake. In my haste, I had scanned Crumpet's library card instead of mine. "Yeah, these are adult films," said the attendant when I asked if that could have been what prevented me from checking them out myself, indicating Crumpet in her pushchair. "Oh, no," I said, as if I had to suddenly justify my parenting skills. "She definitely won't be watching them." I think it will be at least a few years before she watches Angels & Demons or The Reader. At least it provided me with a good laugh for the day.

Touring (Old) Hampshire

2010-04-02T20:17:00.001+01:00

We have just returned from a lovely pre-Easter holiday in Hampshire, about two hours southwest of London. We stayed in a farmhouse B&B and spent our days driving along the picturesque roads of the New Forest and the Hampshire coast, discovering quaint villages with thatched cottages and traditional pubs, and communing with nature and the local wildlife. Unfortunately, we did some minor damage to our rental car on one of those picturesque roads, so we probably could have gone to an all-inclusive in Tunisia for what our lovely English holiday is going to end up costing us. Oh, well. Live and learn.

Here are some scenes from our week in the countryside:

The B&B we stayed in, right on the edge of the New Forest National Park

The famous New Forest ponies, who roam freely through the national park

Some of Burley's "locals"

Traffic jam, Hampshire-style

The Hampshire coast, with views of the Isle of Wight in the distance

Lighthouse and coastal road outside Lepe

Despite some weather that was a bit more fitting for February than late March/early April, we had a great holiday, even though now that we're home it sort of feels like we've never left. And the greatest thing about the holiday is knowing that I still have a week off before I have to go back to work.

Countdown to Spring Break

2010-03-07T20:03:00.002Z

I've been back at work for two weeks following February's Half Term, and I'm already counting down to Spring Break. Three more weeks. Three more Mondays.

Since the October and February Half Terms found us doing DIY (The Other Half has just finished laying wood floors in our lounge, dining room, and hallway), we have decided to go away on holiday for part of Spring Break. The Other Half reminds me that we did go to the States for Christmas, but I don't really count those visits as true "holidays."

After much debate and indecision, we have finally settled on The New Forest as our destination of choice, about two hours southwest of London. Neither of us has ever been to the New Forest, though The Other Half has been to some of the towns surrounding it. I know it's not as exotic as Spain or Malta or Jordan (which are just some of the places my colleagues and students will be holidaying), but we want our first real family holiday to be somewhere that is easy to get to and where we'll really be able to relax. Though there are places I'd like to visit and things I'd like to do during the week that we're there, I also know that I would feel just as happy lounging on the grounds of the farmhouse B&B we'll be booking this week, taking leisurely strolls, or enjoying a laidback meal at a country pub. There is also still so much of the UK that I want to see. It still surprises me when I hear some of my students tell me that, though they've been to Thailand or Brazil, they've never been to Edinburgh or Cornwall. I love traveling to new (sometimes exotic) locations, but I'm also in favor of discovering your own backyard, which is why I'm already secretly planning our next UK break before we've even officially booked this one.

A Good Way to Pass the Time When You're Underground

2010-02-28T20:28:00.017Z

Any parent will tell you that (adult) reading time is limited when you have a little one to chase after most of the day. Though I certainly won't dispute the literary merits of Goodnight Moon or Guess How Much I Love You, I do miss getting caught up in a good story. But since I have been back at work, my daily commute has given me the opportunity to read lots of great books. Some are old classics that I have had to revisit so I could teach them (The Hobbit, To Kill a Mockingbird, All Quiet on the Western Front, Lord of the Flies). Others are more contemporary novels from my "To Read" stack that somehow keeps growing instead of getting smaller (The Time Traveler's Wife and The Lovely Bones are two of my most recent reads). I even managed to read the first three books in the Twilight series. My feelings about this series could take up a whole other blog entry, but I'll leave that till another time. Let's just say that I'll read the last one only because I feel like since I've already committed so much time to the series I ought to find out how it ends.

But the books in the Millennium trilogy by Swedish writer Stieg Larsson are definitely the ones that have kept me turning the pages long after my stop is announced over the train's loudspeaker. So far, I have read The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and am halfway through The Girl Who Played With Fire. There's been a lot of hype about these books, mainly because Larsson died just months before the books were published. I see at least one person a day reading one of them on the train. They can definitely be classified as "adult material," and some of the scenes are quite graphic, but if you want a book that will make you ask yourself whether you have enough time to read just one more page before your stop, then I would definitely recommend this series.

Hail to the... Queen?

2010-02-25T19:12:00.008Z

When I first started making plans to move to the UK almost five years ago, the idea of obtaining British citizenship never really crossed my mind. It wasn't really important to me, since, as I was married to a British citizen, I could obtain Indefinite Leave to Remain and live here... well, indefinitely. Plus, to be honest, I was a bit ignorant about the whole process and didn't know whether I would have to give up my American citizenship.

But as time has passed and we now have a half-British half-American daughter, things have changed. So I have started the process of applying for British citizenship after all. As of now, I have only just read the 39-page guidance notes to the application, but my plan is to make the application within the next few months so that by the end of the year I'll be swearing allegiance to the Queen.

I've changed my mind for a number of reasons:

1) Traveling on the same passport will be much easier for our bi-cultural family, not so much when we travel to the States, since Crumpet and I will always have to use our American passports to enter the country, but certainly when traveling within Europe or elsewhere (see number 4 for more on this one).
2) If we ever do decide to run a gîte in France or if I find a teaching job in Belgium, it will be much easier with British citizenship, which will allow me to live and work anywhere in the European Union.
3) The right to vote. If I'm paying UK taxes, I might as well have a say in how they're spent.
4) Cuba. "What?" you may ask. Well, not that I've ever had a huge desire to go to Cuba, but just the thought that I could now if I wanted to is pretty cool.

And since I don't have to give up my American citizenship in order to become "British," I'll really be able to enjoy the best (and worst) of both worlds.

Fun with Language (or Raising an "Anglo-Southern" Child)

2010-01-30T20:04:00.002Z

Crumpet is just over 16 months old, and though she has been saying a handful of words for a few months now (most of them beginning with the letter "b"), it is amazing how much her language has developed in just the past couple of weeks. Water, chair and window are her new favorites. However, it isn't just her vocabulary that is expanding; her accent is also becoming more distinct. It's very amusing to see her point to Daddy's pint and explain, in a very British accent, "Beer!" Then, turning to Mummy's drink: "Tea!" But "tea" sounds more like "tay," confirming that we are not just raising an Anglo-American child, but, rather, an Anglo-Southern one.

My First London Celebrity Sighting

2010-01-20T19:13:00.005Z

Okay, so, technically, today's sighting is actually my third since I first started coming to London in 2002. But I don't count the first time, which was on the Gatwick Express after flying in from the US for a visit, because at the time I had no idea who Vernon Kay and Tess Daly were. Nor do I count the second time, when I worked with Jack Black and Amanda Peet.

No, today was what I consider my first real, random celebrity sighting. Walking down Euston Road after work, I saw Jim Broadbent talking on his mobile phone. At least, I am 98% sure it was him. I glanced at him and then did a quick double take, and he gave me a look as if he knew I recognized him. For those of you who don't know who Jim Broadbent is, he's probably most well-known for his role as Bridget Jones's father, although he's been in loads of other things.

Okay, so it wasn't Robert Pattinson or Hugh Grant or anyone else who would have made me faint, but it was the most blog-worthy thing that's happened in a while.

Accidentally French?

2010-01-18T19:01:00.014Z

In an idle moment at work today (of which I get so few these days), I stumbled upon an article on MSN about the best and worst countries to live in the world. For the fifth year in a row, International Living has ranked France as number 1. This is based on climate, health care, overall quality of life, etc.

So I started dreaming, of course. Of lavender fields and strolling along the Seine on a crisp spring day. Of sipping a cafe au lait on a sidewalk cafe or lingering over a bottle of vin rouge at a cozy bistro. The Other Half and I have often talked about just picking up and moving to France. The fact that we could buy a house over there in cash (not in Paris, mind you, but I could easily trade city life for a farmhouse in Normandy), while here we'd struggle to afford a one-bedroom flat without maxing ourselves out, is one major incentive for hopping the Channel. The fact that we don't exactly speak the language? Well, not so much.

We don't plan on moving anywhere for the next few years, not at least until Crumpet and Crumpet #2 (and, no, there isn't another one on the way yet) are in school, but I've definitely been thinking more and more lately about the allure of running a gîte somewhere in rural France. Who knows, maybe one day Accidentally English might become Accidentally French.

Extreme Weather Conditions

2010-01-11T19:17:00.002Z

It usually takes me about an hour to get to work (45 minutes if I time it right). This morning, however, it took me nearly an hour and three quarters.

I arrived at my local train station to find that my usual train (the 7:51) was not running. Instead, there was an "emergency" schedule in place, with only two trains an hour. Luckily, the next train was at 7:59, but when it rolled into the station at 8:09, it was completely packed. There was no room to even get on, and those aggressive commuters who did manage to shove their way on were packed like sardines. So my neighbor (who takes the same train as me) and I decided to take a bus to the nearest Tube station. But, as luck would have it, we had just missed one and would have to wait 17 minutes for another. So we walked (or trudged, really) a mile in the snow. When I finally did arrive at work at nearly 9:15, I was huffing and puffing and generally frazzled. Not the best way to start off the new term.

I certainly wouldn't classify a light dusting of snow as "extreme" weather, but apparently National Rail does.

Holidaze

2010-01-05T13:34:00.003Z

Today's blog entry borrows its title from a recent episode of Grey's Anatomy, but it seems to perfectly reflect the chaos we have been through the past couple of months. That chaos is also what has caused me to be so woefully neglectful of my blog. Each time I have intended to write an entry, something comes up or I find an excuse not to. Or I've just been too overwhelmed and don't know where to start. But with a new year (when did 2010 happen?) comes a resolve (notice I didn't say a "resolution") to write more -- blogwise and otherwise. Here is a recap of the latest.

Shortly after my last entry at the beginning of November, Crumpet contracted a case of the chicken pox. We're not exactly sure how she got it (or from whom), since she doesn't go to nursery or attend a regular playgroup, but we're pretty sure she picked it up from Rhyme Time at our local library. It was not a very fun couple of weeks, although I think it was worse on Mummy and Daddy than it was on her. She wasn't quite old enough to understand that she could itch, which was a good thing because it left her with minimal scarring, but it also meant she was pretty grumpy and miserable. We had a few restless nights, but once the worst of it was over she was back to her usual perky self. Looking on the bright side, at least she got it while she's young, unlike me, who had to endure it at 22, during my first year of teaching. Despite her spots, I was still able to cook a traditional Thanksgiving dinner for my in-laws.

Not long after she recovered from the chicken pox, Crumpet got a cold (her second of the season), and it seemed like her nose didn't stop running for nearly a week. Just as she got over it, we lost our gas supply and were without heat and hot water for almost two weeks. We were one of 1200 homes in North London affected, so for five days we huddled together in two rooms, heated by little electric fan heaters, and cooked on an electric hob (when we had had enough of takeaways, that is). Luckily, we were able to escape Stateside on Christmas Eve and enjoy the warmth of my parents' home while the gas engineers restored the gas supply, so we didn't have to endure Christmas without heat. Our ordeal even made it onto the BBC News. My brother-in-law can even be seen in the video link for a split second, but I'll protect his anonymity and not identify him....

Just when we thought our troubles were over, Crumpet had a bad fall at Heathrow while we were checking in for our flight on Christmas Eve. I put her down for a second while I put our passports away, and she stumbled and hit her head on the luggage cart. A huge green welt immediately appeared on her forehead. She was screaming and crying uncontrollably, I was screaming and crying uncontrollably, and The Other Half was in a quiet panic, running around looking for ice and demanding that the airline send over the paramedics. Luckily, Crumpet did not suffer a concussion, and within an hour she was happily eating a cookie while the airline called a doctor in the US to clear us for flying (since apparently the altitude can sometimes cause complications with a head injury). As a result, we had to rush through security and just made our flight. Not exactly what you want to go through just before a transatlantic flight, especially when flying makes you nervous anyway (which is more the case for The Other Half than for me, but ironically the more I fly the less I like it). The flight itself was a bit bumpy, and not because of the turbulence. Crumpet slept for only one hour of an eight-hour flight, and most of the rest of the time she was fighting sleep. Now, however, she has fully recovered. The bump on her head has receded, the bruise has faded, and you wouldn't even know she had been through such an ordeal. I think Mummy and Daddy will be scarred more by the experience than she.

After our airport trauma, we had a lovely, yet low-key, Christmas and New Year. We've been very busy the past couple of weeks... doing nothing. Yes, this holiday was much more about relaxing and enjoying the company of family and friends than it was about rushing around seeing things and stocking up on cheaper clothes, books, etc., although I did manage to make a Target run yesterday. I have barely even thought about work, which is a true sign that I have been able to relax.

We head back to the UK on Thursday, and I am less worried about the journey itself than I am about what awaits us when we arrive. The forecast is calling for heavy snow tomorrow in London, to be followed by light snow through Saturday. I just hope this doesn't throw a wrench in our travel plans. At least we have heat now when we return.

Now that the "daze" of the holidays has passed, my aim (again, I refuse to say "resolution") is to get myself more organized and devote more time to writing. I'm even hoping to give my blog a little makeover, but maybe that's being too ambitious. For now, I'll at least try not to leave my readers (all six of you -- just kidding) hanging for two months between entries.

Remember Remember the Fifth of November...

2009-11-05T19:55:00.012Z

I am sitting in my dining room, listening to the pop and whirr of fireworks on this Bonfire Night, a very British "holiday" which commemorates Guy Fawkes' failed plot to blow up Parliament in 1605.

Most of the U.K.'s major cities host Bonfire Night celebrations (usually on the weekend before or after Bonfire Night, if it happens to fall on a weeknight) with huge fireworks displays, bonfires, music, toffee apples, and more. Perhaps next year, when Crumpet is a bit older, we'll venture to Alexandra Palace, which is just a stone's throw from us in North London and hosts London's largest Bonfire Night celebration. For now, I'm content to watch some of the many private displays that are taking place tonight for free from my dining room window.

It's just another one of those quirky, uniquely British holidays (like Boxing Day) that I look forward to every autumn. Let's just hope the incessant booms don't wake Crumpet....

Working in London

2009-11-02T19:39:00.007Z

Half Term is officially over, and oh what a glorious week it was. We didn't jet off to Italy or Portugal or Egypt or any other exotic location like some of my students (and fellow teachers), but somehow taking Crumpet to pick out her first pumpkin at a local farm and chasing after her when she learned to climb the stairs was much more exciting.

So as I settle back in at work, slightly wishing I was still at home in my PJs, I figured that now would be a good time to be positive and reflect on some of the things I love about working in London. Although the daily commute has taken some getting used to (at less than an hour door to door, with only one change, I can't complain too much, but seeing as my previous commute involved stumbling sleepily from the bedroom to my desk in the dining room, any daily travel is going to take its toll), I do feel a certain level of excitement about working in London. Here are just a few of the things I love about working in the city:

1. Lots of reading time on the commute. At home, there always seem to be a million other distractions.
2. Working in a fabulous old Georgian building instead of a character-less office block or modern school building.
3. Being on the doorstep of Oxford Street and Regent Street.
4. The number of little cafes and delis in my neighborhood.
5. Starbucks. I love my caramel macchiatoes.
6. Krispy Kreme. Yes, Krispy Kreme is available in London... and not just at Harrod's. I was allowing myself one doghnut indulgence a week on my way to work in the morning, but the guilt got the better of me and I have decided to cut that back to one a month.
7. The rush of excitement I get when I walk to work in the morning amidst the energy of the city. Admittedly, I am less excited when it's gray and miserable out, but when the sun is shining in the bright blue sky, like today, it's glorious.
8. Coming home. It's nice to work in London, but it's even nicer to retreat to the relative peace and quiet of the suburbs at the end of the day.

Head of the Class

2009-10-18T19:54:00.002+01:00

I have been back in front of the classroom for well over a month now -- a month which has brought with it both challenges and rewards. Putting aside the difficulty of balancing work and motherhood (which will most certainly end up being a whole other blog entry in itself), stepping back into a teaching role has been an interesting, exciting and, yes, sometimes stressful experience.

In some ways, it's been like riding a bike. All of the planning, grading and disciplining (it's amazing how effortlessly my "teacher" voice has returned!) has come back to me, as if I had only been out of the classroom for a summer instead of three whole years. In other ways, though, it's like I'm the new kid at school. Only, I'm the new teacher at school. I'm not sure which one is worse. I'm teaching a completely different curriculum to what I am used to, and, although I feel fairly confident in the job I am doing, there is always that pressure to prove myself to "the people that matter." I'm also learning the ins and outs of a new school, and it can be a bit awkward, sometimes, to find your niche within a new workplace. Seven years ago, I stepped into the classroom for the first time -- but in a very familiar setting; I was working at my alma mater. I worked with teachers whose classes I had been in, and, though I'm not saying I didn't experience my share of awkward moments, there was a certain comfort in having a personal history with the school. Now, I'm starting from scratch. I have to build relationships with colleagues and create my professional persona all over again. And then, of course, there's getting to know my students, and them getting to know me. I may not have to deal with the same kinds of issues I dealt with while teaching at an American public high school (thankfully), but kids, no matter how much money they may have, will still try to test their limits (and mine) in their own ways. The trick is finding the right balance between firm and flexible, and I have to be careful with the reputation I gain among the students this year because it will be very hard to reinvent myself if I get off on the wrong foot. So far, I hope I'm succeeding.

Despite all of these challenges, I am enjoying (nearly) every moment of my new gig. Even The Other Half has commented on the fact that I've barely complained about the job at all, which is more than I can say about my last teaching job. I don't dread going in to work every day. I've been able to manage (mostly) to keep my work at work so that when I come home I can focus on my family. Teaching can so easily consume your life (spoken from experience), but I have different priorities now than I did seven years ago, and at the end of the day it's important to remember that, even though I will put in 110% while I am at work, at the end of the day it is just a job.

Let's just hope I'm still feeling this positive next June....

And the prize for the best excuse for coming to class unprepared goes to...

2009-10-07T19:21:00.005+01:00

... the student who recently told me, "Sorry, miss, but I forgot my book at my house in St. Tropez this weekend." I honestly never imagined I'd hear an excuse like that in my career, or that such an excuse would be anything more than the ambitious fantasies of an adolescent. I think it's safe to say that this kid's weekly allowance is more than my monthly salary. I'll stop here before I get more depressed.

More on my return to the classroom to follow soon.

Birthday Girl

2009-09-23T15:55:00.006+01:00

The past month has been filled with lots of changes and big events, keeping us busy busy busy. I promise to update the blog with some of the more interesting anecdotes and musings of late as soon as I can get my head above water, which hopefully will be within the next week or so.

But, in the meantime, today we celebrate a milestone: Crumpet is one year old. We had a very low-key celebration. After her christening last weekend, in which we hosted about 30 adults and various children at my in-laws' house, we wanted to keep things small and simple for her birthday. My parents left this afternoon after a two-week visit, so we had tea and cake with them and Nana and Grandpa this morning, and Crumpet opened her gifts. Of course, as is the case with most babies, she was only mildly interested in the actual gifts; she was more interested in the packages they came in. Unfortunately, she has come down with a slight cold (one of the downsides of me being back in the classroom is the germs I bring home) and has also cut two more teeth this week, but that didn't stop her from demolishing her cake.

As cliché as it sounds, it really does feel like just yesterday that we brought her home from the hospital. But as quickly as time has passed, it is also hard to remember what life was like without her. In one short year, our lives have completely changed. I never could have imagined that someone so small could fill up so much space in my heart.

Role Reversal

2009-08-28T21:59:00.007+01:00

The last couple of weeks have been a bit of a whirlwind. In a rather unexpected series of events, I have suddenly found myself thrust back into the workforce, no longer able to call myself a stay-at-home mom. After three years away from the classroom, I am diving head first back into the world of education, teaching English to 11- to 16-year-olds at one of London's top international schools. Term starts next week, and the nerves are mounting every day.

I hadn't planned on going back to work (outside the home, that is) anytime soon, but things happen for a reason and sometimes you have to grab an opportunity when it presents itself. This job is such a good move for me in so many ways, aside from the obvious financial benefits. I can keep my NC license current, for one. Experience at this school will be a great addition to my CV if and when I decide to move on, as it has a very good reputation, especially within the international school community. I'll also gain experience working in an IB program, which will be a real benefit if we ever decide to try living abroad for a year or two, something we've considered doing when Crumpet is old enough to appreciate the experience but still young enough not to feel completely uprooted from her life here. And, of course, there's the discount on tuition for faculty members' children. But we're getting ahead of ourselves....

My new identity has also given The Other Half a new identity of his own, as he has taken on the role of stay-at-home dad. He hasn't had much luck finding a job himself, so at least this gives him a little more time to look and consider whether or not he wants to stay in the same field or train for something different or even start up his own business. But, right now, our priority is having someone home with Crumpet full-time, whichever one of us that may be. The Other Half and I have never felt like we have to define ourselves by traditional roles. So it makes sense that whoever has the best opportunity should go out to work. We're a partnership. I'm perfectly fine being the breadwinner now because he has had that responsibility in the past and probably will again soon. Still, no matter how secure we are in our new roles, it doesn't stop everyone else from making judgments.

Despite all of these rationalizations, being back at work has taken some getting used to. I spent the first two days calling home every couple of hours to make sure everything was okay, less worried about Crumpet than I was about how Daddy was coping; luckily, he had had those days when I was filming earlier this month as a sort of "rehearsal." I won't lie and say I haven't had my share of doubts and even a few tears. But in the end, I know that I am doing the right thing for all of us. I was so lucky to be home with Crumpet for nearly a year (which is much longer than many of my American mommy friends have had with their little ones). And I have all of the school holidays to look forward to; in fact, Half Term is already marked on my calendar in big bold letters.

So, even though this isn't what I would have foreshadowed a month ago, this is an exciting, albeit challenging, new chapter in our lives. Although, I guess you could say this means my film career is on hold....

My 15 Seconds of Fame

2009-08-14T22:06:00.004+01:00

Yesterday, I completed five days of filming as an extra for Gulliver's Travels, a new movie starring Jack Black that will be released next year. It was the first time I had done anything like that before, and it sort of happened by accident. A good friend of ours works fairly regularly as an extra (or background artist, which is the official term used for an extra). He's been in loads of big films and TV shows: Harry Potter, The Dark Knight, "East Enders," and "The Bill," just to name a few. A couple of years ago, he told me about an open call his casting agency was holding for Americans (it turns out that the film they were casting for was The Bourne Ultimatum with Matt Damon!). At the time, I couldn't do anything about it because I was working full time. But about a month or two ago, they were looking for Americans again. This time, I figured, "Why not?" So I filled out the online application and sent in a photo and promptly forgot about it. A few weeks later, I got a call, and things unfolded from there.

It was definitely an exciting experience. I met some interesting people, had some great food (catering was fab, and I took full advantage of the free food!), gained some interesting insight into how the film industry works (some of which still remains a mystery), and stockpiled lots of ideas for future stories. I even stood thisclose to Jack Black and Amanda Peet. But by the end of the week, any feeling of being "starstruck" had faded. We spent long hours (our longest day was about 14 hours) sitting around waiting to be called to the set, and after countless retakes in stifling heat and smelly clothes all we wanted to do was go home and sink under the duvet. At the end of the day, it was a job like any other. But, still, how many people's 9 to 5s involve watching playbacks of themselves with a major Hollywood star?

The hardest part of the whole experience was being away from Crumpet. For the first two days, she didn't even see me because I left before she woke up and got home after she was fast asleep. But, not surprisingly, it was worse for me than it was for her. Although she was excited to see me again when she woke up the third morning, she hadn't really even noticed I was gone because she had been in Daddy's and Nana's very capable hands. Though difficult at the time (I ran down the credit on my phone because I called and texted home so much to make sure everything was running smoothly in my absence), I think our separation was good for all of us. Crumpet got to understand that even though Mommy might sometimes go away, I'll always come back for her. I got a nice little break and was forced to relinquish control (something I'm not very good at but admit I need to do at times). And The Other Half gained confidence in being alone with Crumpet; even though he has looked after her before, he's never had her for a whole day, and he's never had to go through the bedtime routine with her. Once again, I find myself silently thanking Gina Ford for how contented Crumpet was in my absence.

And, in an interesting turn of events, I've already been offered another job on another film. When I called the casting agency today to give them my bank details, they asked me if I was available to work on a new film with Dennis Quaid (to be released in 2011). I'll go for a costume fitting next week and film for one day the following week. The beginning of a new career? I don't think so. But the money is a major motivator. After earning nearly a thousand pounds in just five days, it's hard to say no.

In the meantime, if they don't delete my scenes, you can look for my blurry shape (actually, I'm a little more visible than that...) at a theater near you next year.

The Art of Procrastination

2009-07-26T20:20:00.006+01:00

Why is it that, no matter how much I tell myself that "next time I'm not going to leave everything till the last minute," a deadline inevitably creeps up on me and, once again, I find myself scrambling in the eleventh hour to finish? I am a master procrastinator. Case in point: I should be researching Birmingham's top employers or writing about Florida's climate, but instead I am going to catch up on the latest Tour de France highlights.

Once I have finished the two freelance jobs I am currently working on (one with a deadline tomorrow and the other next weekend), the 10 articles for suite101 that I have to have published by August 13, and the design work I agreed to do for my former boss, I intend to update this blog more frequently, which I admit has suffered lately as a result of my bad work habits. It's not as if I don't have lots to write about (I even have some titles forming in my head and a few entries already in the drafting process). I'm especially looking forward to writing about an exciting new job I'll be doing in early August: filming as an extra for a new movie version of Gulliver's Travels. Intrigued? Stay tuned....

Down by the Seaside

2009-07-05T21:20:00.028+01:00

We've just returned from a weekend on the Kent coast, where we celebrated my brother-in-law's birthday, which also happens to fall on American Independence Day. We had a lovely day on the beach in Margate on Saturday, where we basked in the glow of the warm sunshine and dipped Crumpet's toes in the North Sea (which did not go over well with her!), followed by a few hours in neighboring Ramsgate on Sunday. Although we didn't have much time in Ramsgate, we did get to see the harbor and parts of the old town, which was very nice. Much nicer, I must say, than Margate. It does have a certain charm (particularly in the old town), and in its day I'm sure Margate was the premier seaside retreat, but too many abandoned buildings and tacky arcades have just been left to ruin. With such a wonderful sandy beach, the town needs a seafront to match. The problem is that the council doesn't want to invest money into the town if everyone just jets off to Spain instead, and people don't want to forgo Spain and go somewhere like Margate if money isn't invested. It's a real Catch-22. Imagine what it would be like if the seafront was restored to its former glory:

The trip there and back was arduous. It would have been fine if we could have just gotten on the train at our local station and enjoyed an uninterrupted ride to Margate, but changing at two stations and navigating stairs and escalators with all the baby gear -- and the baby -- made things difficult. That, and the fact that Crumpet was overtired but refused to sleep in her pushchair, finally giving in and crashing out on Daddy (after much patience on his part, I might add). As much as I may lament driving, there is something to be said for just popping Crumpet in the car seat and driving off, knowing that a) she would most likely fall asleep in her car seat and if she didn't would only be bothering us (and not a carriage-full of other weary travelers) with her cries of protest and b) that, barring major traffic or road works, it would be a straight shot to our destination. But, despite all that, I do enjoy train travel.

Aside from serving as a nice mini-break, our trip turned out to be very educational. I learned a few things about traveling with a baby:

1. Always pack more food than you think you'll need. I packed enough food to last through lunch today, but by midday I realized we wouldn't be home until well after Crumpet's usual dinnertime, which necessitated a mad dash into Poundland (one of the few places that was open on a Sunday) to pick up a few extra jars of baby food.

2. Wipes! You can never have enough wipes!

3. When going to the seaside, always pack Little Swimmers. Even if it isn't warm enough for swimming, these are great for the seaside because they just pull on and off, meaning that one person can hold baby by the arms while the other changes the nappy, keeping sand out of places where the sun doesn't shine.

4. Always hope for the best, but pack for the worst.

All in all, our first solo* travel experience was a success, and I look forward to many more family trips to other UK destinations.

*I say "solo" because our destination was not either of our families' houses, but instead involved our first hotel stay.

P.S. Now time for a little self-promotion: In case you haven't noticed the new link in the sidebar, check out my newly published story on the women's travel web site Wanderlust and Lipstick. You can read it here or click on the link to the left.

Piggin' Out in the Country

2009-06-29T20:25:00.003+01:00

My neighbor's in-laws host an annual pig roast at their property in Oxfordshire to support the charity Action Aid, and this year was our first invite. So yesterday The Other Half, Crumpet and I ditched our urban surroundings and headed off for the peaceful village of Moulsford-on-Thames, where we enjoyed the kind of day that should be typical of an English summer: blue skies, sunshine, warmth. Having just completed a grueling research project (more on that another time), my brain isn't functioning at its full creative capacity, so the only adjective that comes to mind when I think of how to describe the setting is "idyllic." I'll let you see for yourself in the photos I took from the canoe we took out on the river (Crumpet left safely on shore):

The motorway, on the other hand, was not idyllic and simply reinforced why we prefer train travel.

*By the way, in case you were wondering (not that you necessarily were), our dinner (pictured above) weighed 130.7 pounds. I had the closest guess at 130 pounds and walked away with a bottle of bubbly as my prize.

Confessions of a Closeted Socialist

2009-06-13T19:19:00.003+01:00

Since I started this blog, I've tried very hard not to get on my political soapbox (although what expat could resist expressing excitement last November?), but it can be difficult not to touch on the subject from time to time, particularly when the whole purpose of this blog is to share my experiences as an American in a "foreign" land and the differences I encounter on a daily basis. Let's face it, politics are a big factor in the expat experience.

But I couldn't help but be inspired by an interview I saw this week of Sarah Palin on Fox News (which is, without a doubt, the most biased, right-wing "news" source out there, but I digress). In the interview, the reporter asked Palin if she thought America was becoming more socialist, to which she replied, "We're headed that way."

That got me thinking: is socialism, in the true sense of the word, really such a bad thing? And why is it that as soon as that word is uttered, most Americans immediately equate it with communism?

I'm not even necessarily in favor of socialism as a whole, just one particular facet: the health care system. America could learn something from the U.K. and most other European nations when it comes to caring for its citizens (perhaps Obama will push the country one or two steps in the right direction, at least). In the almost three years since I have lived in the U.K., I have never had to make a medical insurance payment, never had to pay for a visit to my local G.P., and have only paid a nominal fee for medication. When I was pregnant, I would have gotten free prescriptions (if I had needed them) and even received free dental care (and that lasts until Crumpet is one year old). I'm not saying that the NHS is perfect (in fact, there are many people who would argue otherwise), but what I am saying is that, in my experience, I have had free access to everything I have needed.

It's not as if America doesn't already have socialist institutions in place. We have free, public education. We have free, pubic libraries. We even have free postal delivery. So why is it that we think that everyone is entitled to go to school for free, check out books for free, and receive mail for free, but somehow we don't think that everyone should be entitled to free health care (and those that do receive free health care, in the form of Medicare or Medicaid, are unfairly seen as second class citizens)? Since when is it okay for someone to lose their home in order to stay healthy or to have to choose between paying the heating bill and paying for insurance? As far as I'm concerned, basic health care should be a basic human right. And if that makes me a socialist, that's okay with me.

Welcome to England

2009-06-09T12:05:00.008+01:00

I've been a fan of Tori Amos's music for several years, ever since I was fifteen and borrowed my then-boyfriend's copy of Under the Pink. I think I had the song "Cornflake Girl" on constant repeat for weeks. Songs like "Silent All These Years" and "Crucify" were anthems of my adolescence. I admit that in the past few years I haven't been as much of a devoted follower as I once was, but her latest single "Welcome to England," from her new album Abnormally Attracted to Sin, seems oh-so-relevant to me and anyone else who has moved to England (or France or Russia or Botswana...) for love. It's definitely worth a listen. Here is just a sampling of some of the lyrics:

"Welcome to England," he said.
"Welcome to my world.
You better bring your own sun sweet girl.
You gotta bring your own sun now don't you forget --
you bring your own sun, just enough for everyone."

I should not have to put the heating on in June...

2009-06-07T08:24:00.002+01:00

... but I guess that's what I get for deciding to live in England.

Back on Greenwich Mean Time

2009-06-06T19:54:00.036+01:00

Crumpet and I have been home for a just over a week now, and we are finally starting to readjust to our normal routine. By we, I mean Crumpet, because being a mom in itself doesn't afford you the luxury of experiencing jet lag.

I'm currently working on a post inspired by our time at home (in NC)... and returning home (to the U.K.). But I didn't want to leave too much of a gap between posts, so until then here is an update following Crumpet's first trip to America.

Our time in the States was wonderful. We had four lovely weeks to relax, spend time with family, catch up with friends, shop at my favorite stores ("Hello, Target, I've missed you"), and dine at all of my favorite restaurants (and bring home the souvenir 10 pounds I referred to in my last post) without feeling rushed or exhausted. I figure I might as well take advantage of these next four years, before Crumpet goes to school and holidays are strictly scheduled around the school calendar. Crumpet had lots of time to bond with her grandparents and her aunt and uncle and cousin, and we were there at a time when they could really see her changing from day to day. In the time we were there, she learned to crawl (actually, she really just drags herself across the floor; she has gotten very close to crawling on all fours but inevitably gives up and realizes it's easier to get around her way), say "Mama" (or "Mamamama..."), give kisses, and wave (hello, not goodbye). She took her first trip to the seaside (or the beach, as we'd simply call it in NC), had her first boat ride (during which, despite the roar of the motor and the rush of the wind, she fell asleep in my arms), and tasted her first bit of German food (who knew red cabbage and spatzel would be such a hit with a 7-month old?). I can't wait to introduce her to even more exciting new things each time we visit.

The flight home, when Crumpet and I were on our own, was not easy. Let's just say that when a baby who is normally used to 12 hours of sleep at night only gets 3, things are bound to be difficult. But, even in her delirious, sleep-deprived state, she was a trouper, and several of our fellow passengers commented on how good she was when we disembarked at Heathrow. Music to any mother's ears.

And now that we are back, it feels as if we were barely gone. Those four weeks seem like a distant memory, and I can't help but find myself already thinking about the next visit. That's the trouble with transatlantic relationships/families: you always find yourself looking forward to the next visit or reliving the memories of the last one.

The Weight of the World... or Just America

2009-05-27T09:29:00.009+01:00

The day after I arrived here in the States, I weighed myself for the first time in months. I don't even own a scale at home, but after receiving several positive comments about my post-pregnancy figure from friends I hadn't seen in a year, I was curious to see how much I actually weighed. I was pleasantly surprised to see numbers I hadn't seen in quite some time; I weighed even less than I did before I was pregnant. No wonder my jeans had started to feel so loose on me. Less than four weeks later, however, and I am 10 pounds heavier than when I arrived.

I admit that since I've been here I've indulged in pretty much all of my favorites: Mexican, German, Indian, good ol' Southern barbecue, and lots of desserts. But it's not just the types of food I've been eating that have been my downfall; it's the portion sizes. Good thing I skipped a visit to The Cheesecake Factory or I'd be 15 pounds heavier.

I think I would have even gotten away with my gluttony if I had kept up my regular fitness routine. I have never been much of a gym bunny, but back in the U.K. I walk everywhere: to the grocery store, to the doctor, to baby clinic, to my friends' houses, around the local park. Walking has become such a part of my daily routine that it doesn't even feel like exercise anymore (I've come so far since I first started visiting The Other Half in London and wondered why we couldn't drive to the train station instead of walk the 10 minutes uphill). I didn't even notice that I had dropped so much weight because I certainly haven't been depriving myself of a jam donut for "elevenses" or a slice of cake with tea. Since I've been here, I haven't walked ANYWHERE. (That's not entirely true. The Other Half and I did take Crumpet for a walk around my parents' neighborhood every morning when he was here, but only because we didn't want our legs to stop working. I haven't actually walked anywhere with a purpose, that is.)

So, as I prepare to head back to the U.K. tomorrow, I look forward to giving up the automobile (couldn't you tell from my last post?) and using my feet again. I'll be cutting back on sweet treats and trading in take-aways for the healthier meals I usually prepare. I can only use breastfeeding as an excuse to indulge in extra calories for so long, and I'm sure I've already exceeded my calorie allowance for the next four months. Friday's fish and chips will be my last take-away for a while. Really, I mean it....

The Road Less Travelled

2009-05-14T19:51:00.004+01:00

Until yesterday, I had not driven in over a year. The last time I was behind the wheel was last April, during my last visit to the States, and then it was just a quick trip to pick up some take-out from a local deli. Otherwise, I have relied on family and friends to get me around. Although that can sometimes be a little nerve-racking (I suffer from serious "backseat driver-itis"), I have pretty much come to accept it.

I guess you could say I have a love-hate relationship with the automobile. I did get my U.K. driving license last April, but it was mostly a symbolic gesture. I wanted to know that I could drive if I had to, but, quite frankly, I wouldn't mind if I never sat in the driver's seat again.

Not owning a car has given me the biggest sense of freedom. Although I do sometimes miss the convenience of being able to just jump in the car and go, I certainly do not miss the car payments, the insurance payments, the gas (petrol) prices, the maintenance, the other (bad) drivers on the road, etc. that comes with owning a car. And although some people may find having to plan your life around bus schedules and train timetables restricting, I find that I can relax knowing that I can pretty much always count on a bus or the Tube to take me wherever I want to go.

One thing The Other Half doesn't like about the U.S. (particularly North Carolina) is the fact that you are so dependent on a car here. You literally have to drive EVERYWHERE. This morning, we ran out of milk, so my mom had to drive to the grocery store just to pick up a gallon. Back in the U.K., you can pretty much count on the fact that there is at least one corner shop within reasonable walking distance, unless you live way out in the wilds of the Hebrides. It's not even so much the distance that necessitates driving here; it's that roads are not designed with pedestrians in mind. Why would anyone want to walk when they could drive? Since I've lived in the U.K., I, too, find it hard to come back to the U.S. and its auto-centric lifestyle. (Don't even get me started on what all this driving has done to my fitness level. That's a whole other blog entry!)

We've often said that if we ever move back to the States it would have to be somewhere where we wouldn't have to drive just to pick up a pint of milk. But I'm not sure anywhere like that exists, except maybe New York or some of the other big cities, and the cost of living there is just as bad as in London. Basically, we want an English or European village located somewhere in North America. Is that too much to ask?

You Say "Fil-ay," I Say "Fil-et"

2009-05-06T15:05:00.000+01:00

Over the past few years, I have given in to certain Britishisms. I say "courgette" and "aubergine" instead of "zucchini" and "eggplant." "Nappy" and "dummy" have replaced "diaper" and "pacifier" in my everyday vocabulary. I've even learned to drop the h in "herb," mainly because I got tired of everyone correcting me. But never, until I was at the fish counter of the local Lowe's Foods the other day, have I had to stop myself from saying "fil-et." Next thing you know, I'll be sounding like Madonna. Somebody kick the "ya'll"s back into me before that happens!

It Really IS a Small World After All

2009-05-01T14:46:00.017+01:00

The customs hall of an international airport is the last place you'd expect to strike up a conversation with someone who, it turns out, not only grew up in the same town as you and now lives within about 20-30 miles of you in another country, but whose mother also happened to be your third grade teacher. But that is exactly what happened to me yesterday when we arrived at RDU.

No matter how many miles from home I may end up, the old cliche is still true....

In My Mind I'm Goin' to Carolina

2009-04-28T19:45:00.002+01:00

Can't you just see the sunshine
Can't you just feel the moonshine...

In two days, we'll be on a plane, headed Stateside for the first time since Crumpet was born. Actually, it will be the first time I've been back since last April, and it has been a long year. I'm ready for short sleeves, the chirping of the cicadas on warm evenings, the orange glow of the chimnea on evenings that are crisp, lemonade on the back porch, buttermilk pancakes, Cracker Barrel, moonpies...

If I could just skip the packing (which is more like a military operation now that I have a child), the journey to Heathrow (it will probably be the longest journey I've ever taken on the Piccadilly Line, especially if Crumpet doesn't sleep in the cheap new umbrella stroller we got last week, which doesn't recline), the chaos of airport check-in and security, and the long flight itself and somehow teleport to Raleigh-Durham, that would be great.

Stay tuned for an update on how our first flight with baby panned out, as well as what I am sure will turn out to be some other interesting anecdotes from our first official family holiday. I've got several blog entries already starting to take shape in my mind....

Once Upon a Time in London

2009-04-19T21:13:00.001+01:00

Last weekend was my parents-in-law's fortieth wedding anniversary, and we celebrated yesterday with a surprise party with family and friends in central London. The party took place at The Bridge House, a pub and restaurant on Tower Bridge Road that, ironically, is where The Other Half and I had our first date nearly seven years ago. My brothers-in-law, who made the arrangements, didn't choose this venue for that reason, but it was certainly a nice coincidence. There was something very special about Crumpet being able to celebrate her grandparents' fortieth anniversary at the restaurant where her parents' relationship sort of began. One day, I'll tell her the story...

...about how a young American girl, newly graduated from college and just starting life as a real adult (the bill-paying, career-minded kind) set off for London over Thanksgiving break to visit her best friend, stumbled into a random pub down a back alley in Covent Garden, and spotted a handsome Englishman at the bar.... About how that chance meeting led to a romantic dinner at The Bridge House, overlooking the glittering lights that bounced off the River Thames, and a moonlit stroll along St. Katherine's Docks.... About how that one date led to daily e-mails, phone calls, and letters back and forth between the charming Englishman and the Southern belle, until she took a chance and returned to visit him a few months later.... And about how that visit turned into thousands of frequent flyer miles between the two of them over the next three and a half years. The rest, as they say, is history....

Life may not always be a bowl of cherries, I'll tell her, but fairy tales do sometimes come true, usually at the most unexpected times and in the most unexpected ways.

When Losing an Hour Actually Means Gaining an Hour (or Sleep Deprivation Brings Out the Existentialist in Me)

2009-03-27T08:16:00.027Z

I am a fan of routines. Anyone who knows me well will attribute this to my Type-A personality, my need for things to be "just so." So it's probably no surprise that I have tried to adhere to Gina Ford's sleeping and feeding methods when it comes to establishing Crumpet's schedule. We've been successful at times (some days might even qualify as "textbook"), but more often than not Crumpet has her own ideas.

Take yesterday, for example. She was up at around 5:30 in the morning, happy and excited to start the day. I tried to leave her in her cot at least until the roosters stopped crowing, but she was having none of it. So I brought her into bed with me and attempted to give her a feed, which she was less than enthusiastic about. So I put her back in bed, where she continued to scream (in a delightful, "I'm-up-and-so-should-you-be" sort of way). At around 6:45, when I had had enough, I brought her back into bed with me. She happily fed this time... and quickly fell asleep. So rather than get back up and put her back in her bed, where she might only sleep for 10 minutes (can you tell this isn't the first time we've experienced this sort of morning?), I let her sleep on me for about 30 minutes, which I haven't done in ages. Of course, I don't get much sleep this way, but it is such a special time; I just love watching her sleep, and I might as well take advantage of all of the cuddles I can now so that I can savor the memories when she's a teenager and doesn't want to be around me. But I digress...

For the rest of the day, the "schedule" was thrown out the window. Crumpet refused to go down for her morning nap even though she was tired, was hungry for her mid-morning meal far earlier than normal, and only got a half-hour sleep at lunchtime. Then she wouldn't take her 2:00 feed until just after 3:00, at which time she fell asleep (but at least she got a good, dreamy feed while doing so). But as soon as I got up to put her down, she woke up and was ready to play. By 5:00, she was exhausted, but I refused to put her to bed because I knew that if I did she would be out for the night. Keeping her up until 5:30, when I fed her her baby rice, was a real struggle, and she fussed throughout her meal. When I took her upstairs at 6:00, she was so tired she wouldn't even feed, which almost never happens. She usually at least latches on, even if she just uses me to fall asleep. But not this time. So I relented and put her to bed at just past 6:00. I barely got downstairs before the baby monitor went silent; when I checked on her a half hour later, she was out for the count. And this morning, she was awake again with the roosters.

This weekend we move the clocks forward an hour. There was a time in the not-so-distant past when I dreaded losing that hour of sleep, but now I am cautiously optimistic that losing an hour is exactly what I need in order to gain an hour in Crumpet's schedule. After all, what is now 5:30 a.m. will be 6:30, and I can handle waking at 6:30. Anything earlier than 6:00 a.m., however, does something to me psychologically. And it is much easier to keep her up until her 9:00 nap if she doesn't wake until 6:30 or 7:00. But I don't want to get my hopes up.

I could get all philosophical and talk about how time is really a man-made concept and that I should adapt to Crumpet's more natural, circadian rhythm, etc., etc., but I don't have the energy... or the time.

American Baby

2009-02-25T20:22:00.035Z

Today marks a milestone in Crumpet's life: she is officially a dual citizen of the United States and the United Kingdom.

The Other Half and I ventured into London with her for the first time (an experience in itself) for an appointment at the U.S. Embassy to report her birth and apply for her U.S. passport. From now on, she'll enjoy the best -- and the worst -- of both worlds. Even if she never sets foot on American soil (impossible, since we're headed back to NC this spring, but theoretically...), she will still have to file income tax. And, if she were a boy, she would be liable for the draft. But I certainly think the benefits outweigh these little inconveniences.

Our visit to the embassy was an interesting one. We arrived earlier than our 2:00 appointment, so we decided to take a walk through Grosvenor Square to kill some time. Unfortunately, it was as we strolled past the imposing statue of Roosevelt that The Other Half received an unwelcome present from one of the feathered residents of the square. He took it as a sign. Security was quite tight, as you can imagine, and they confiscated our mobile phones, keys, and camera and even made The Other Half take a sip from each of the water bottles we had brought with us. Once inside the embassy, we waited for nearly two hours (twice as long as the web site had said to plan to wait). Crumpet, who had been asleep since we left a Pizza Express for lunch, suddenly woke up just before we went through security and was very smiley and happy. But as we waited in line inside, I suddenly smelled something a bit ripe coming from her pram. Sure enough, it was at that moment that she decided to do one of the messiest, smelliest poos she has done in weeks. I took that as a sign. But, luckily, she was well-behaved throughout the rest of the appointment, and we left with an (officially) American baby. She slept soundly on the way home (never flinching at the announcements on the Tube or the jostling of the carriage on the Victoria line or the constant opening and closing of the doors), and it was only as we were on the bus on the last leg of the journey that she kicked off because she was hungry.

Navigating London's public transport system was a feat in itself and required a kind of military precision. I had the route well planned ahead of time, but that didn't make handling a pram on the Tube any easier or fighting our way through the crowds on Oxford Street any more enjoyable. Traveling into London with a baby really makes me empathetic to those who are handicapped because the London Underground is not wheelchair- or pushchair-friendly. Still, we managed, and although I don't plan on taking Crumpet into London that often while she's still little (it's just too much of a hassle and leaves me far too stressed and exhausted to actually enjoy the experience), the journey did make me a bit more confident if we have to do it again.

When I was a kid and I imagined what my future life would be like when I was a grown up, I couldn't have pictured myself living across the ocean with an English husband and an English/American baby. Life takes us in many different directions and never ceases to amaze me.

Channeling My Inner Earth Mother

2009-02-22T20:21:00.002Z

The weaning stage is upon us. After several weeks of sleepless nights that have been worse than when Crumpet was a newborn, I have decided to introduce solids into her diet. For the past week, I have been skinning sweet potatoes, pitting peaches, and blitzing bananas in preparation. No jarred food for me (unless we're traveling, of course). Not that I have anything against those cute little jars (in fact, I quite like looking at the smiling face of the Gerber baby), but, honestly, how long does it really take to boil and blend a few carrots? At least this way I know exactly what goes into Crumpet's food. I don't have to worry about it being sweetened with apple juice or have polysyllabic oils added to it. Besides, I question anything that has a shelf life of two years. And I figure I'll be saving a small fortune this way. At 60p a jar, I'll probably end up throwing most of it away anyway, since Crumpet will probably take two bites if I'm lucky. When a whole bag of carrots costs about 40p, there's no comparison. Maybe I'll suggest to The Other Half that we use the savings for a holiday somewhere sunny (I'm ignoring the fact that that flies in the face of my whole money-saving venture in the first place...).

So we now have a section of the freezer specifically devoted to Crumpet's food. I have cubes of apple, pear, sweet potato, plum, and other yummy treats just waiting for her to enjoy... and spit out and chuck on the floor! It's all part of the fun of it, I suppose.

It's surprising how excited I've gotten over "mush," as The Other Half puts it. Annabel Karmel would be proud.

Winter Wonderland

2009-02-02T19:25:00.006Z

I'll let the pictures speak for themselves...

American Woman

2009-01-21T20:15:00.004Z

I have quite a patchwork ancestry: half Slovenian, a quarter Norwegian, a little bit of Pennsylvania Dutch, and a smidgen of Native American. And even though it has been generations since my ancestors emigrated to America, I always identified myself in these terms instead of simply as an American.

A little over two years ago, when I moved to the U.K., my attitude changed. Suddenly, I was the immigrant (a label which, in itself, made me rethink some of the views I once held, but I digress...). I began to identify myself more as an American. It's funny how sometimes it takes leaving your comfort zone to really find yourself. But, despite my growing sense of identity, I sometimes felt like I had to defend myself. No, we didn't all vote for Bush, I'd find myself saying. Yes, some of us can find England on a map. And most of us do know that Africa is a continent and not a country.

But, today, it's suddenly "cool" to be an American again.

I am still on an emotional high after the inauguration of President Obama. I was glued to the BBC yesterday evening as I watched the enormous crowds, stretching as far as the eye could see, gather on the Mall to witness history in the making. Part of me felt very disconnected with what was taking place on the other side of the pond, like I missed a great party and then had to listen to everyone talk about it the next day. But the euphoria that pulsated throughout Washington certainly reverberated across the globe, and I was glad to be a part of it in my own little way. The bar is definitely set high for President Obama, but today marks a real change for America and the rest of the world.

In Lieu of Resolutions: Reflections

2008-12-31T23:08:00.003Z

The New Year is typically a time in which we look ahead and make resolutions that, more often than not, end up being broken within the first week of January. At least, that's been the case with me. So instead of lamenting over the things I haven't done and being disappointed next December that I still haven't done them, I thought I would take this time to reflect on the things I have done.

The following "survey" comes courtesy of another blog I read, "Making It Up" by Therese Fowler; I think she got the list from somewhere else, so it's no doubt made its rounds on the web. Feel free to take it from me, if you're so inspired, and have some fun with it yourself.

1. Started your own blog

2. Slept under the stars (Does camping in a tent count?)

3. Played in a band

4. Visited Hawaii

5. Watched a meteor shower

6. Given more than you can afford to charity

7. Been to Disneyland/world (I've been to both. I think I enjoyed it more when I went back to Disneyland when I was 22 than when I first visited when I was 5!)

8. Climbed a mountain (I climbed Diamond Head in Hawaii in the middle of July, not something I'd recommend.)

9. Held a praying mantis

10. Sang a solo

11. Bungee jumped

12. Visited Paris (Several times, for work and pleasure. I can now successfully order food in French, but I wouldn't know what to do if a waiter/waitress spoke to me in return.)

13. Watched a lightning storm at sea

14. Taught yourself an art from scratch (I've learned lots of arts, but none that I have actually taught myself.)

15. Adopted a child

16. Had food poisoning (I would not recommend reheating crab rangoons!)

17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty

18. Grown your own vegetables (No, but my husband has.)

19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France (On a quick whizz through the Louvre. We could barely see through the throngs of other tourists that surrounded it.)

20. Slept on an overnight train (Had an eventful journey from Florence to Paris, which you can read about here.)

21. Had a pillow fight

22. Hitch hiked (Sort of; after missing the last bus in a small town in Norway, a friend and I hitched a ride with the bus driver – probably not something I would do now, but I was 18 and a little naïve.)

23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill

24. Built a snow fort

25. Held a lamb

26. Gone skinny dipping

27. Run a Marathon

28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice

29. Seen a total eclipse

30. Watched a sunrise or sunset

31. Hit a home run (Once that I can remember; it was during a whiffle ball game in sixth grade!)

32. Been on a cruise (Not unless dinner cruises and sight-seeing cruises count.)

33. Seen Niagara Falls in person

34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors (I spent five weeks in Norway, where my mother's family is from, in 1998. I'm hoping to get to Slovenia, where the other half of my family comes from, in a couple of years.)

35. Seen an Amish community

36. Taught yourself a new language

37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied (Not completely, but I'm working on it! Besides, it would be pretty sad if I needed money to be truly satisfied with my life...)

38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person

39. Gone rock climbing

40. Seen Michelangelo’s David (Not the original, but I have seen a replica in a piazza in Florence.)

41. Sung karaoke

42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt

43. Bought a stranger a meal in a restaurant

44. Visited Africa

45. Walked on a beach by moonlight

46. Been transported in an ambulance

47. Had your portrait painted

48. Gone deep sea fishing

49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person (My one trip to Rome was for business, so I didn't see much, but I did see the outside of St. Peter's.)

50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris (Three times, actually. The second and third times I only made it to the second level. I don't recommend the ascent if you have acrophobia.)

51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling (I spent practically an entire week underwater in Jamaica during a field study in college.)

52. Kissed in the rain

53. Played in the mud

54. Gone to a drive-in theater

55. Been in a movie

56. Visited the Great Wall of China

57. Started a business (No, but I have been self-employed.)

58. Taken a martial arts class

59. Visited Russia

60. Served at a soup kitchen (I volunteered at one in college once.)

61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies

62. Gone whale watching

63. Gotten flowers for no reason

64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma

65. Gone sky diving (My present from my parents for my nineteenth birthday was a tandem sky dive. I don't think I would do it now, but it was an amazing rush at the time. Surprisingly, I'm afraid of heights!)

66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp (Been to two, actually: Dachau in Germany and Terezin in the Czech Republic.)

67. Bounced a check (Hasn't everyone done this at some point?)

68. Flown in a helicopter

69. Saved a favorite childhood toy

70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial

71. Eaten Caviar

72. Pieced a quilt

73. Stood in Times Square

74. Toured the Everglades

75. Been fired from a job

76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London (Considering I live in London, it would be pretty shameful if I hadn't seen this time-honored – and overrated – tradition at least once.)

77. Broken a bone

78. Been on a speeding motorcycle

79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person

80. Published a book (Nope, but that's something else I'm working on. According to my “life plan,” I have seven more years if I want to achieve my goal of publishing a book by the time I'm 35.)

81. Visited the Vatican (I spent about ten minutes in St. Peter's Square – enough time for a quick photo – on a whistle stop tour of Rome while on a business trip.)

82. Bought a brand new car (My 2002 Honda Civic will probably be the only new car I'll ever have had.)

83. Walked in Jerusalem

84. Had your picture in the newspaper

85. Read the entire Bible

86. Visited the White House

87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating (Does fish count?)

88. Had chickenpox (Yes – at 22!)

89. Saved someone’s life

90. Sat on a jury

91. Met someone famous (I met Tori Amos before a concert in 1996. I also met Steve Burton, the guy who played Jason Quartermaine on General Hospital, at a CVS in Sanford, North Carolina.)

92. Joined a book club

93. Lost a loved one

94. Had a baby

95. Seen the Alamo in person

96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake

97. Been involved in a law suit

98. Owned a cell phone

99. Been stung by a bee

'Tis the Season

2008-12-27T00:15:00.001Z

It seems like just yesterday we were celebrating Christmas 2007, and here we are again at the end of another holiday season. Or are we?

Since I have assimilated into The Other Half's English family and adopted their traditions, Boxing Day has fast become my favorite holiday. While I adore Christmas, it just doesn't last long enough. We spend weeks – sometimes months – preparing for this one day, and it's over before you know it. Nowadays, people can't wait to put Christmas behind them. Growing up in North Carolina, we often saw Christmas trees out on the curb on Christmas Day night. I suppose if you put your tree up on Halloween, you're probably ready to see it go by the time Christmas rolls around.

Personally, I'd rather extend the holidays a bit. And that's where Boxing Day comes in. Whoever came up with the idea is brilliant, in my opinion. What a perfect way to wind down after Christmas, enjoy left-over Christmas dinner (including cold meats, salads, and bubble and squeak; mince pies and Christmas pudding; and Turkish Delight and Quality Street sweets, among other indulgences), drink, and be merry.

We've just returned from our own Boxing Day celebrations at my in-laws' house, and I'm as knackered as Crumpet, who is fast asleep upstairs (and who, thankfully, managed to sleep through Christmas dinner yesterday without moving a muscle, situated in her bouncy chair just inches from the clinking of glasses and the scrape of our forks against our plates and right next to a speaker from which several festive holiday tunes filtered into the room). I've had to loosen my belt a notch, and we've got it all to do over again on New Year's Day.

We hope to celebrate Christmas in the States next year, and you can bet we'll be taking Boxing Day with us. I brought Thanksgiving to the English side of the family, so I'll take Boxing Day to the American side. In case you haven't noticed, we take the twelve days of Christmas seriously in our household...

What a Difference a Year Makes (or The Blog Entries That Could Have Been)

2008-12-01T13:22:00.011Z

I cannot believe Christmas is just over three weeks away and that, soon, another year will have come and gone. As I write this post on the first day of the last month of 2008, I can't help but think about what a whirlwind this year has been and all of the exciting – and challenging – things 2009 has in store for us.

Last year at this time, I had racked up an impressive (or not-so-impressive, when you think about my carbon footprint) number of frequent flyer miles. Between holidays in the U.S. and Crete and business trips to Spain, Italy, and Norway – just to name a few of the countries I found myself in – I was blazing a trail across most of Europe. I had no idea that at a year from then I would be up to my elbows in pooey nappies and burp cloths.

I have had ten weeks to adjust to being a "mummy." During that time, Crumpet and I have gotten to know each other, slowly adjusting to each other's rhythms and settling into our new roles as mother and daughter.

It hasn't all been easy. The learning curve has been pretty steep, especially in those first few weeks, but The Other Half and I have been really lucky. We seem to be past the worst of the "fussiness" and are heading into calmer seas. I've even had a few nights in the last couple of weeks when I've had ten hours of sleep, something that makes the other parents I know, including my sister, quite jealous. Of course, it's not completely restful, as I keep waking up with every little noise she makes. I don't think I'll ever have another night of uninterrupted sleep again.

The best part of my day is waking up to Crumpet's beaming face, staring at me with wide eyes from inside her Moses basket and grinning from ear to ear as if to say, "Good morning. I've been waiting for you." In just ten weeks, she has developed into this amazing little person with quite a personality.

It still amazes me that she is mine. I stare at her in awe as she sleeps, a little surprised that The Other Half and I could create something that is so perfect. Throughout my pregnancy, I often wondered what my baby would look like. When she finally arrived, it was as if I recognized her; although I couldn't possibly have known for sure what she would look like, she somehow fit the image I had subconsciously carried inside me all along. I can't imagine her looking any other way.

So I may not have had that much time to myself lately. I may have only been able to shave my legs about three times in the last ten weeks. I have trained myself to eat spaghetti one-handed when necessary – not an easy feat, I must say. I have learned to multi-task like never before, like brushing my teeth in the shower so the bathtub catches the milk that seems to continuously leak from me. I feel a real sense of accomplishment if I can manage to write more than three sentences in one sitting. And my mind has been cluttered with all the blog entries that could have been over the past couple of months: "Colic 101," "To Pee or Not to Pee," "I'm No 'Dummy'!: Simple (and Not-So-Simple) Ways to Pacify a Baby," "New Sofa + New Baby = Bad Idea," "How to Prepare a Thanksgiving Dinner Between Baby's Naps"....

But I wouldn't have it any other way.

The Fruits of My Labor

2008-10-06T12:27:00.008+01:00

Well, that last post did the trick. Two weeks ago tonight – around 2:00 a.m. Tuesday morning, to be more precise – I went into labor, and at 3:56 p.m. on Tuesday, September 23, our beautiful baby girl was born. (Thanks, by the way, to those of you who commented with your encouraging words. I think your positive vibes must have helped urge Crumpet into the world.)

And they don't call it labor for nothing. After nearly three hours of pushing with no pain relief except gas and air and a little pethidine, which quickly wore off, I had to have an epidural so they could deliver the baby via forceps. Luckily, she did not go into distress at any point; on the contrary, she was quite content in her warm little home. She was just stubborn right up until the moment she entered the world; I hope this is not a sign of things to come... I have to admit that childbirth was not the most joyous moment of my life, but the moments after certainly have been. Note to self: If I do this again, I will go straight for the epidural.

Despite his fear of hospitals, The Other Half was a great support for me and was overwhelmed when he saw his little girl for the first time – even though her head did look a bit alien-like for the first few hours! And despite some horror stories I had heard regarding giving birth in the U.K. on the NHS, I had two wonderful midwives and a team of very concerned and competent doctors who made sure everything went as smoothly as possible and were just as attentive and understanding of The Other Half as they were of me.

The two weeks that have passed since then have been a bit of a blur, but in other ways time has seemed to creep by at a snail's pace, and it is hard to remember my life before my daughter. At the end of each day, I feel like I have climbed a mountain. And then I wake up a little refreshed (no matter how little sleep I got the night before), ready to do it all over again.

I don't know how often I'll be able to post new entries over the next few weeks, but hopefully in a couple of months Crumpet will have established more of a schedule and I can actually take a little time to myself and get back to writing a little every day. At the moment, everything else has to take a backseat, which I thought would be difficult to adjust to given my Type-A personality. But, amazingly, when I look at my daughter's little pink face or she grips my finger with her tiny hand, I don't care how much washing-up needs to be done or how many e-mails I need to catch up on. As exhausting as new motherhood is, I'll never get these moments back, so I intend to enjoy every one of them.

It Runs in the Family

2008-09-22T09:34:00.009+01:00

Stubbornness runs on both sides of our family, so it should be no surprise that my unborn child has already inherited this trait. Yes, nearly a week after the due date my G.P. gave me and four days after the date that is in my hospital records, I am still waiting to experience the most amazing moment of a mother's life. And I have to admit: I'm getting downright anxious and annoyed!

With each passing day, I sleep less, pee more, and my ankles get bigger. And I still have nothing to show for it!

The... past... week... has... literally... dragged... by. We're in a state of limbo, afraid to venture too far from home or do too much just in case our little Crumpet decides that now is the time he or she is ready to make his or her grand entrance. Every day, I wonder if this will be my child's birthday, and every night when I settle into bed after an uneventful day I say, "Well, surely tomorrow." But tomorrow works out to be much of the same.

The Other Half is just as anxious as I am, though he hides it more. Instead of vocalizing his anxieties like me, he's been channeling them into various chores and hobbies, like defrosting the freezer or getting things ready for his home-brewing experiment. (Incidentally, this has involved "emptying" several beer bottles that can be reused for his home brew, a task which has proven both practical and calming.) As for me, I went through the nesting phase already (I thought that was a sure sign that things were imminent!), and now I find that, although there are tons of things I can be doing, I don't have the energy or motivation to actually do any of them.

I realize that due dates are really estimates, at best, and that, in fact, most first-time mothers deliver a little late, but I can take little comfort in that fact right now. We have everything ready for baby, and there are lots of people here waiting to meet it, so you would think it would be ready to come out. It can't be comfortable all scrunched up inside me!

My dad is arriving from NC on Wednesday. When he and my mom first started planning their trip over here, he was going to come for the first two weeks with my mom (she's here for four weeks), which would have meant he would be getting ready to go back home this Thursday, as opposed to arriving on Wednesday. It's a good thing he changed his mind because he would have had no time to spend with his grandchild. As it is, he might be here for the birth after all.

I have another hospital appointment on Wednesday (that is, if I haven't gone into labor before then... here's hoping!). They'll do an internal exam then to see if that will speed things along, and if the baby is still being stubborn I'll be induced next Sunday. God willing, I won't make it till then.

Until then, I continue to wait, knowing full well that once the baby is actually here I will be wishing I had this week of "nothingness" back because never again will my life be this calm.

Harvest Season

2008-09-16T18:58:00.010+01:00

As the fruit ripens on the apple tree in our back garden, the fruit inside of me gets ready to make its big debut.

Today is my "unofficial" due date; unofficial because my G.P. said I was due on the 16th, and my hospital records say the 18th. At the moment, I am on pins and needles until our little Crumpet finally decides to greet the world. The Other Half and I have been scrutinizing every twinge for the past few days now. My anxieties regarding childbirth, although not completely abated, have taken a definite backseat to the overwhelming feeling of just wanting to get things over and done with and enjoy the "fruits of my labor."

Our Crumpet has very kindly held off until a few important milestones passed. My mom arrived last Wednesday, I finished my last freelance job on Thursday, The Other Half finished laying the laminate floors in the bedrooms on Friday, and he and my mom put together the nursery furniture over the weekend. There's still loads to do, but luckily nothing that can't be done after he/she arrives.

So what is it waiting for?!

The Other Half says I shouldn't rush it. It's probably warm and cozy inside me and will come out when it's ready.

But patience has never been my strong point, so if it isn't here by Friday it might be time to resort to a few home "inducement" techniques that the midwife who taught our antenatal classes suggested: a hot curry, a glass of wine (to get me in the mood for what's to come next), a little time between the sheets with The Other Half, a nice warm bath, and a walk around the park in the morning if everything else hasn't coaxed the little one out.

Breathing Lessons

2008-09-03T20:09:00.003+01:00

The Other Half and I attended my final antenatal class on Saturday, which was specifically for moms (or “mums,” I should say) and their partners. I admit that I was nervous about how he would hold up considering his phobia of hospitals and anything medically-related. He won't even watch Grey's Anatomy with me, but, then again, that might only be partly because of the medical "ick factor"; it's probably mainly because of the soap opera "ick factor." So, anyway, I thought I might have to spend the whole class reassuring him that everything would be okay. But he rose to the occasion and even managed to stay conscious when we took a tour of the delivery suite. Since then, he has been surprising me with the amount of information he took away from the class. I'll be sitting at the computer, for example, and he'll comment on how my posture is good. Or we'll be lying in bed at night and he'll remind me to practice my breathing techniques. And even though he may grumble about things like car seats and strollers, I think deep down the technical side of him is finding it kind of exciting to research the best models and check out the latest reviews.

As it is, I think I'm starting to get more nervous and anxious than The Other Half. It's finally hitting me that this baby has to come out. I know this seems like an obvious fact that I should have known from the beginning, but I don't think that it has become a reality until now. For so long, we've been talking about "the baby" in the abstract sense of the word, but pretty soon it will be a living, breathing human being that will be completely dependent on us. It's an exciting feeling, but it's also very daunting. I've spent so much time thinking about what it will be like once the baby is here that I haven't really stopped to think about how the baby is going to get here. And as much as I have gained from these antenatal classes and am grateful for the opportunity to have had access to this "free" education, I sort of feel like I've been given too much information. Maybe it would be better if I just walked into the hospital a little naive.

"Just breathe," I keep telling myself. It will all be over before I know it, and the last nine months will have been nothing but a blur. Then, for the next 18 years (or the rest of my life, really), I'll have worries that will make my fear of labor seem pretty trivial.

Writing 9 to 5

2008-08-22T10:02:00.004+01:00

When it rains, it pours...

After two months of submitting proposals to a freelance writing and editing site in an effort to get my fledgling career off the ground, I have had two job offers in the past two days, with a third party interested in "discussing things further." For the next week and a half, I will be “under deadline” as I furiously write 400-word introductory destination guides for a travel web site. I'll be covering such exotic – and not-so exotic – locales as Athens, Berlin, Brighton, Budapest, Cambridge, Dublin, Edinburgh, Florence, Lisbon, Madrid, Manchester, Oxford, Prague, Paris, Rome, Venice, Vienna, Zurich, Bermuda, Boston, Chicago, Honolulu, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Montreal, New York, San Francisco, Seattle, Vancouver, and Whistler. Whew! I'm exhausted after just typing all that. It's a lot harder than even I originally thought; there are only so many ways you can say “this city has lots of great restaurants.” I am accessing my inner thesaurus and exercising my brain in ways I haven't since I was in grad school.

Unfortunately, I have quickly realized that I really underpriced my services, and I don't mean that in a conceited way. Normally, 400 words seem to type themselves, but when you're under pressure, those 400 words seem like 400 pages. But it's a Catch-22. Without experience on this particular site, no one was willing to hire me, and without someone willing to hire me, I couldn't possibly gain any experience. So I had to take that into account when charging for my first job. Still, I am getting paid something, and next time I'll have more of an idea of how long things will take and can hopefully be a bit more competitive in my pricing. Who knew the writing business involved so much... business.

Let's just hope Crumpet doesn't get any ideas about pushing up his/her deadline...

Okay, back to Word, where hopefully I'll get some inspiring ideas about Bermuda.

DIY Nation (or Nesting: Part 2)

2008-08-15T18:00:00.027+01:00

In the almost two years since I have been living in the U.K., I have realized that this country really is obsessed with DIY. As far as I'm concerned, British home owners can pretty much be lumped into two categories. There are those who are constantly having extensions built, conservatories put in, and kitchens installed – whether the house needs it or not. It's as if the constant presence of builders and the smell of paint is some kind of status symbol. And then there are those who constantly talk about doing things but never actually seem to get anything done. I think these people must feel like if they actually finish a task they'll have nothing left to talk about. Even non-home owners can get swept up in DIY mania. I thought American TV was bad when it comes to decorating shows, but at least these shows seem contained to specific channels like HGTV or TLC. Nearly every time I turn on the "telly" here, there is some show on about property development or buying a holiday home. And they all make it look so easy. Yes, you can build an entire house from scratch in just three days! I'll confess my sin, though: some of these shows (like "A Place in the Sun") have become my guilty pleasure. Even I have been seduced by the idea of buying a run-down chateau in the south of France or a seaside villa in Croatia and "doing it up." See: I've been brainwashed! My real dream is actually much simpler than that: to one day be free from the shackles of wallpapering and painting so that I can flit between here and Europe and, instead of worrying about renovating, enjoy a nice glass of Bordeaux or a refreshing dip in the Adriatic.

In the meantime, our own decorating saga continues. Just when we think we have made real progress, we seem to uncover another layer of old lead paint that needs stripping (don't worry – I'm staying well away from the fumes) or another bit of skirting board that needs filling. What might seem like a two-step project suddenly turns into five steps. With old houses, one is never really “finished.” Thank goodness we have recently employed a reliable new cleaner: Henry.

Despite my frustrations, I can finally see a dim light at the end of the tunnel, which is good because I'm sure our Crumpet is thinking the same thing...

Nesting

2008-08-05T15:47:00.010+01:00

I attended my first antenatal class today at our local hospital. Surrounded by a room full of bellies, I couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed. In some ways, it hasn't really hit me until now that I'm going to be a mommy in such a short time. It reminded me of something Ross said in the first season of "Friends" (which is constantly being re-run over here): "I always knew I was having a baby. I just didn't know the baby was having me"... or something to that effect.

Yesterday, at my 34-week check-up, my GP very casually stated that, technically, a woman is considered full-term at 37 weeks. "Wait, that's just three weeks from now," I said. And then the panic set in. We are nowhere near ready. We (and by we, I mean The Other Half) still have painting and wallpapering and floor-laying to do, not to mention furniture assembly, laundry (that's all me, of course), and last-minute shopping. But, deep down, I realize that whether we're ready or not, this baby will make an appearance when it's ready, no sooner or later.

So, twig by twig, we are preparing a home for our little fledgling. I ordered the nursery furniture yesterday, which hopefully will arrive within the 3-week time-frame I have been promised. And this weekend I will be ordering the last of the "bits and pieces," like bedding, a breast pump, a baby bath, and some more clothes. Then next week we'll go shopping for a stroller/car seat. I've started filling in the baby book, realizing as I completed the family tree that, soon, there will be three of us. It's all so overwhelming... but so very exciting!

She Writes Hard for the Money

2008-08-01T08:47:00.018+01:00

For as far back as I can remember, I have had a love affair with language. I love the way certain words – like undulate or verdant – feel in my mouth, the way my tongue curls around consonants and vowels. There is nothing more beautiful than the rhythm of two perfectly-paired words or the musicality of metaphor. When you think about it, the English language is a fascinating instrument.

It was this fascination with words that led me to writing and my desire to tell stories. Since I was a little girl, I have carried plot lines around in my head, given voice to characters who have been bursting to break the surface. With the flourish of my pen (or the click of my computer keys), I have created new worlds.

This week, I came a little closer to my dream of making a living through words. As of Monday, I am now a contributing writer to suite101.com, an online magazine featuring articles on a variety of topics from food and drink to history to travel. I'll be posting articles primarily in the travel section, with a few contributions to some of the other sections, like “Partners and Parents” and “Writing and Publishing.” I have to write ten articles every three months (although I can write as many as I like), which works out to less than one article a week, so it isn't a lot of pressure. I have complete freedom to choose what I write about, within the limits of the topics covered on the site, of course. I certainly can't expect a full-time salary from it, although I will get paid, which is pretty cool in itself, despite how paltry the sum may be at the end of the day. (At the moment, who am I to turn my nose up at even an extra $50 a month?) And it won't bring me international prestige. It will, however, help me get some publishing credits and build a good portfolio, and I'll get great practice in writing for the web, which is a totally different animal from any other kind of writing I have ever done. I wasn't trained as a journalist, and as I learn the ropes of web journalism I find myself with a new found respect for those who can write engaging, succinct copy. Let's face it: brevity is not – and never has been – one of my strongest qualities.

My long-term goal is still to one day see one of my books on the shelf at Barnes and Noble or – even better – clutched in the hands of a commuter on the Tube, but I feel a sense of motivation now (and pressure – in the positive sense) that I haven't felt in a long time. I can actually call myself a working writer, and it's true.

My first article, which went live yesterday, is on the Great British Beer Festival (you can probably guess who helped me with my research on that one). Keep an eye out for my latest postings on suite101, which I'll be listing here on my blog.

Take Me Out to the (English) Ball Game

2008-07-28T22:20:00.002+01:00

We've been in transition mode for the past week. The Other Half has been adjusting to life “off the clock,” while, at the same time, my daily schedule (if you can call it that) has been thrown off-kilter because I'm not used to having him home during the day. I must admit that I've been spending a fair bit of my time lately with my butt firmly planted on the sofa, trying to motivate myself to write and submit some articles and doing some research on the writing life... in between a few games of Internet Spades. We'll adjust and settle into a new routine pretty soon; I think we both just need this time to relax before our little Crumpet arrives and we have to make even bigger adjustments to our lives.

So after a week of allowing ourselves the chance to do "nothing," we escaped yesterday to the neighboring county of Surrey for a family barbecue with some of The Other Half's cousins. We ate, we drank (juice for me, of course), we made merry. And we even indulged in a little all-American (oops, I mean "all-English") fun with a game of rounders in the local park.

Rounders is very similar to baseball, with a few exceptions. We were two teams of young and old, short and tall, male and female, “round” and not-so-round (insert obvious pregnancy-related pun here). Even with my increasingly-protruding belly, I still impressed with my bowling (pitching) ability. And, apparently, I even shocked one spectator with my athletic prowess (I know, I know – me, athletic prowess?) despite my “delicate” condition: “When you started running around those bases, I was having kittens,” said one of the elderly guests. Having kittens? Just another one of those unusual, uniquely “English” phrases I am getting used to.

I woke up this morning feeling a bit stretched and strained. And, I might add, quite a bit round.

Confessions of a Reluctant Blogger

2008-07-24T10:07:00.006+01:00

I must admit that I hemmed and hawed for quite some time before committing to starting my blog. The whole notion of the blogging world was a bit foreign to me. Just the word "blog" contained such mixed connotations. All I could think of were web pages devoted to exhibitionism, self-promotion, and the notion of "celebrity," and I wasn't sure I wanted to put myself out there on the world's stage. The idea that anyone could read my thoughts (and have their own opinions on such thoughts) was a little disconcerting.

But then I started to read other blogs (travel blogs, writing blogs, parenting blogs), and I realized how broad the sprectrum is. Slowly, as I became a little addicted to certain blogs, I grew more open to the idea that “Hey, I can do that too.” As I began my “research” about getting started as a freelance writer, more often than not I came across other writers advising “would-bes” like me to start a blog. Apparently, this is a great forum for showcasing and promoting one's writing, not to mention the fact that it's great practice because maintaining a blog in itself involves writing (duh). But who's to say I had anything worthwhile to say... or that anyone would even be interested?

I must have navigated to Google's Blogger web site half a dozen times before actually registering for an account. And even when I did, I started a blog only to delete it that day. Finally, I figured I'd just be brave and “give it a go.” But I laid myself some specific ground rules, the most important being that there is a limit to how personal I will get. Although some of my entries will no doubt chronicle my life abroad, my experiences as a new mother, and anecdotes about my family, etc., I won't be revealing family secrets here (so my family members can now all breathe a sigh of relief and rest assured that your skeletons will remain under lock and key) or posting intimate photos of my loved ones. Hopefully, I can find a balance and make sure this blog is personal without being invasive.

It wasn't until after I started my blog that I came to the realization that posting a blog isn't so different from publishing a book. If (I mean when) I eventually have the good fortune of having a book grace the bookshelves of Barnes and Noble or Waterstones (or the virtual bookshelves of Amazon), I will be just as much on display. It's just that a blog is published in a different medium and, therefore, available to a wider range of people -- and instantly. Once I had come to terms with that, I started to loosen up a bit.

I'll still call myself a “reluctant” blogger, but I'm learning my way, and, in the process, I hope I have something interesting to say.

A Kick in the Pants

2008-07-21T21:24:00.021+01:00

Well, if anything was going to kick my notions of being a freelancer into high gear, it was the news my husband (whom I shall refer to from here on out as The Other Half on account of his desire to not have an Internet presence) received today that he has been made redundant. For my fellow American readers, that means he has been laid off. And what brilliant bloody timing, huh?

If there is a silver lining to any of this it is that: a) he wasn't fired -- we can easily blame the world's downward-spiralling economy; b) he now has some time to actually finish the mountain of household projects that need to be done before Crumpet arrives; and c) his redundancy (severance) package means that he doesn't need to rush out tomorrow and get some crappy job at Tesco (yet). And, of course, he's lucky to have a wife who is an English major and can write him a snazzy CV.

Fortunately, we live in a country where healthcare is free.* I don't know what I'd do if we were in the U.S. right now and had to worry about making insurance payments. So for everyone who has asked me at some point when we're planning to move back, I think I can safely say that it won't be anytime soon. I think we'll at least wait until we've had our kids before we consider another overseas move. I wouldn't want to have to go into debt before the little darlings even took their first breaths.

So now I'll be writing more and digging deeper into my well of "potentials." Perhaps I'll even be inspired to finish the "great American novel." Either that or we'll finally have to win the lottery. Sadly, I think the former has more of a chance of actually happening.

In the meantime, anyone out there need a writer?

*Of course it's not really free. It comes out of our taxes. But in situations like this, at least we don't have to choose between eating and staying healthy.

Back in the Saddle

2008-07-19T11:15:00.011+01:00

As cliche as the title of this post most certainly is, it is the best way to describe my current state of mind. After months of frustration, I have started writing (and submitting) again.

It's rather depressing when I stop to think about the fact that it has been almost three years since I have written a new poem. The last time I was struck by the muse was when I was working on my Master's thesis in the fall of 2005. It's not for lack of trying, but for some reason the words just haven't come as easily as they used to. Perhaps it's because my self-diagnosed OCD has gotten worse since then, and now I labor over every word, whereas I used to write with a sort of reckless abandon. Maybe that's a sign of growth as a writer, or maybe I've just been so out of practice that I need to learn to trust my instincts once again. In some ways, I miss the inexperienced writer I once was.

It's not that I haven't been writing at all. I have been working on a novel for quite some time, but that has come to a standstill. Call it writer's block, call it laziness, call it lack of inspiration... the fact is that I just can't seem to get motivated to finish the damn thing.

So, as an antidote to my frustrations, I have started writing shorter pieces -- travel essays and articles, creative nonfiction, etc. At least I feel productive now when I can actually finish something (as "finished" as any writer's work ever is); the only problem is that my ADD (again, self-diagnosed) means that I am having a hard time focusing on one piece at a time, so I've got several on the go. But I've been trying to rediscover the poet in me in all of these forms of writing, and maybe, as a result, the muse will return and I'll be able to crank out another few poems or another chapter that I can be proud of. I've also started digging out some old poems and am submitting them to various literary magazines and journals. Hopefully, some publications (or rejections, more likely) will inspire me to keep going and start writing some new pieces.

My goal is to get as much writing done as possible in the next couple of months, when I will probably be taking a bit of a hiatus in order to focus on the fruits of another type of labor (more on that to come).

Until then, stay tuned...