official snow days

Schools were closed yesterday and today, and we've played in the snow (see the photos here), baked, painted, and made play-doh. I honestly don't know how my home-schooling friends do it. A day at work is so much less tiring, and in many ways less challenging, than a day devoted exclusively to keeping the children occupied. Juggling my teaching and writing and parenting and housekeeping often involves dropping balls and being frustrated that none of it seems quite up to par. But somehow scrambling after the balls has become a way of life, and I don't think I would be much better at my job if I didn't have children (I might write more, but I am not certain it would be better), and I wouldn't be better as a parent if I didn't teach and write (though the house might well be tidier).

But enough about me. The kids are the interesting bit here, and Iain says something every day that is worth repeating, or so it seems to me. Today we were discussing pizza (as you do), and thinking about making our own. The dough-making would be great (Iain loves cooking), and we could decide what to put on the pizza: he doesn't like cheese on pizza. Go figure. So I was listing all the different sorts of things we might put on the pizza besides cheese. After I had mentioned a dozen or so, Iain chimed in.

'Chocolate pizza!' he exclaimed with delight.

I laughed, and somehow all the work the day involved suddenly seemed worth it.

surprised by Thomas

Iain was particularly wriggly in Mass this morning. As he came with the others from children's liturgy, he stopped, turned and climbed the steps to give Fr Tony a hug. It's hard to be cross with Iain when he does things like that. It may not be appropriate, but it is an expression of his loving heart rather than his mischievous spirit (though there is probably a bit of that at work as well). When he came back to join us I commented, in a whisper, on his devotion to our parish priest. He said, not loudly, but loud enough for about half the church to hear, 'I love Fr Tony'. How can I complain? That's Iain.

Then he proceeded to wriggle and squirm through the Liturgy of the Eucharist, so persistently that Lewis took him out after communion. Thomas wasn't doing much better, and by the final hymn I had taken him aside, insisting that he stand still with me until it was time to leave. So he was standing close to me when the choir started the singing. Immediately, Thomas said, 'we sing this one at school'. And he proved it: he read the words and sang along, and knew the refrain by heart.

I'll never hear 'maranatha' in quite the same way again.

retreat from Stalingrad

We didn't have an official day off for Thanksgiving here in County Durham, but ended up having a snow day! After last winter, we thought the kids would be disappointed, since that sort of snowfall is so unusual in England. Snow hasn't fallen this early in winter or 17 years (or so Lewis tells me): the children don't care much for statistics, but they really enjoyed the snow.

Lewis gave our family walk the nickname 'retreat from Stalingrad'. I assure you, however, that we were dressed appropriately for the weather. If you don't believe me (or you want to see Lewis instructing Iain on the art of making and throwing snowballs), check out the photos.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Iain finds a monster

Iain was looking for sheepie. 'He's upstairs', I said, 'in the study'. Off he went, up the stairs to retrieve sheepie. A couple of minutes later, he came back down, and called out to me: 'I have something to tell you, mummy. You were right. Sheepie was in the study.' Wow. I hear those three little words so infrequently.

Then Iain went on to explain that sheepie was alone in the study, in the dark, and was a little frightened. Apparently there was also a monster in the study. A rather large monster, by the sound of it, in fact. Surprisingly, the monster said, 'Hello, Iain'. I suppose Iain met a monster just as friendly as he is. 'And guess what I did?' he asked. Now, Thomas would have killed the monster. Shoot first (or run through with a sword or light saber), ask questions later--and he never would have dreamt that the monster would offer a civilized greeting. But not Iain. I said, 'You said, "hello, monster"'. He nodded.

Turns out it was a chocolate monster.

no big deal

Several weeks ago, we had some news. Big news. And anytime there's big news to be shared with the children, I agonize over how best to break it to them--good or bad. When we were thinking about moving to England, we spent months talking it up. We involved them in the process, though only Thomas was really able to grasp the idea of moving to England. I even think hard about how and when to tell them we're having visitors.

So when the news was a little brother or sister, I was practically paralyzed. How should we tell them? What might they ask? How on earth would I answer those questions? In the end, we decided that it would be best to wait until we had an ultrasound picture. Something to look at, we reasoned, would help make the idea more real. (It certainly did for me: I was in such a state of disbelief over the news that I was actually a little surprised to see the unmistakable movement of a tiny heart beating.)

Picture in hand, I sat everyone down at the table. We showed them the picture of Iain at 5 months gestation, and explained what it was. Then--the moment of truth--we showed them the picture of baby-to-be. 'Who do you think this is?' we asked.

'Iain?' Thomas guessed. Anna and Iain weren't much interested in either of the fuzzy black and white photos. The one of Iain was slightly more interesting, because it was more clearly a baby. After we got the point across that the new picture was of their baby sister or brother (once again, Anna hopes for a sister...), we expected a reaction. Iain exclaimed, 'A baby sister!' with amazing certainty, then changed the subject. Anna continued chewing her bagel, thoughtfully.

Thomas looked a little disappointed. I think he thought we were going to tell him that we were taking him to a Chelsea match at the weekend.

understanding

Thomas met me at the door when I came back from running today. 'I just wanted to see if you had a good run,' he said. I had, and said so. 'You really like running, don't you?'

I thought for a minute about how to explain to Thomas why I run. I'm not good at it, I am never going to win any races, and I always worry that I look like a complete idiot. But I still enjoy it, and owe whatever sanity I have to getting outside and putting one foot in front of the other at a reasonable pace. Without it, I do get a bit cranky, I'll admit.

So I said to Thomas, 'You know how you feel when you go outside and play football?' He looked up and nodded. 'Well,' I said, 'that's how I feel when I go running.'

'Wow,' he said, looking at me, amazed. 'Like that?' I nodded. We understood each other perfectly.

change of seasons

The skies are growing dark early these days: at a quarter to five, it's dusk. Winter seems to be shoving autumn aside, anxious to get on with the business of cold.

Thomas is, of course, undaunted. He will kick his football up and down the garden until it is quite dark, or I insist that he come inside. Anna and Iain, on the other hand, have absolutely no interest in getting out in the cold, and grudgingly find ways to amuse themselves when I firmly deny their requests for television. Because they both enjoy all sorts of pretend play, they have a great time together, and keep each other occupied.

And so I find myself, in odd moments, free. Now I have no excuse not to wash up the breakfast things and cook a proper meal for supper...

Christmas cake day

and more! click here for photos (story to follow).

World Cup 2010

You thought that the World Cup was over. In most places, that's probably true. But we live it, still, on a daily basis. Thomas occasionally watches Premier League highlights, and is pretty certain that Chelsea are better than Man U (that's Manchester United, he explains to me in the car on the way home).

Today his one desire upon arriving home was to watch the highlights of the Nigeria-Argentina match. (I didn't even know they'd played each other in July. Silly me!) 'I know it was 1-0 [one-nil, he said], but I don't know who scored the goal.'

I let him watch, but he didn't tell me who scored the goal. You'll have to look it up yourself. I can tell you that the extended match highlights last 10 minutes and 5 seconds, though.