I speak English

No, not really, at least not as it is spoken around here. The children, however, are picking it up quickly. This morning, Iain announced that his 'nappy' needed changing. (I know: it's time he gave up nappies, or diapers, or whatever you want to call them. But we've been a little bit busy.) Anna's favorite part of school lunches (or dinners, depending on where you're from) is the 'pudding'. And no, in case you're wondering what flavor, that doesn't just refer to something you can make instantly with milk! She also looks for her 'diary' most mornings, checking to make certain it is in her backpack. (Nope, she hasn't started keeping one herself; she's talking about the calendar that goes to school and comes home again with notes from her teacher.)

And that's not all. Thomas has a new-found imaginary afterschool activity: rugby. I suppose it's not too unusual for him to pretend he has to rush off to rugby practice, given that one of his older friends plays tag rugby (which, as far as I have understood it, is a lot like flag football in the US). What is interesting is the way he says it: just like his friends who've lived here all their lives! Slowly, the children are beginning to say certain words and phrases that sound quite unlike their metro Atlanta equivalents.

Well, it is to be expected, isn't it? And I suppose it is my turn to be the one in the family who speaks English with an accent.

walking home

Alas, these last couple of weeks have been too busy to allow for the daily walk along the railway paths. Fortunately, the walk in to the University is pleasant, though a little bit long. From my front door to the office door, it takes about 40 minutes. Having only one car (though we've been offered another) means that I either pay £1.80 for the bus (which is ridiculous, by the way), or put on some comfortable shoes and get moving. Since the traffic yesterday was so heavy that I eventually caught up to the bus, I figured it wasn't worth the money, anyway. What I have found is that I don't mind a long commute to work, provided it's on foot!

Thomas goes to school about 8:15 and Iain goes along--always getting to his 'school' later than the 9.00 drop-off time. If we leave promptly (whichever of us is taking them), Thomas makes it to school on time. Lewis is courageous enough to drive up to Palace Green, the center of the University-Castle-Cathedral complex, and park there--we are fortunate enough to have a permit, and he has been lucky enough to find spaces!

About 8:30, the bus arrives to take Anna to school. I like the bus driver and the woman who helps the children on and of the bus. (I think they are brother and sister, which I find fascinating.) Sounds like a well-oiled machine, perhaps...but it isn't. The mad rush might make good reality TV some days, though, I suppose, if you like to see people slightly out of their organizational and motivational depth. (That is, trying to get the children interested in getting ready for school is beyond us: I turn off 'Maggie and the Ferocious Beast', which is a pretty entertaining show, and promise to turn it back on once everyone's ready. It's not popular, but it works.)

Once Anna is away, however, peace reigns again, and I am iPod-equipped and on my way. I enjoyed it so much going, I decided to walk home as well. I am addicted to the views and the solitude, the nobody-tugging-at-me and, of course, my own choice of music. (Just between us, I am losing my affection for the Wiggles and the Shaun the Sheep theme tune.) Durham is just hilly enough to make the walk good exercise and to allow for some pretty decent vista points.

Not surprisingly, I find myself suddenly resistant to the idea of a second car.

Saturday

Our Saturday castle trips have given way to adventures closer to home, now that classes have begun at the University. Since the kids went back to school in early September, things seem to be growing busier by the second.

Fortunately, the picnic ground just down the road is perfect for a Saturday romp. Thomas is ecstatic over his new football (that's a soccer ball, by the way, if you're in the US) and everyone likes throwing the frisbee, though none of us are especially skilled at it! A couple of weeks ago, in fact, we met some friends of friends in the park. The boys were kicking the football around, and Thomas's new friends' dad picked up the frisbee. Let's just say we weren't well matched! The poor man threw it with such accuracy, and there I was, hardly able to throw it as well as his 5-year-old!

But today it was just the 5 of us, kicking and throwing happily, and chasing the ball (or frisbee) as often as not. Iain took off for the tree, and has begun to climb: soon he'll be making it up to the lower branches and smiling down at me. I can't say that we've worked out all the kinks: we still end up late to school because of the unpredictable traffic, and the morning rush tends to make us all a little edgy. But it is starting to feel like home--in a bittersweet way, of course. We still miss our friends back in Atlanta, and wish we could meet for coffee and catch up!

Hop-frog pond

The tadpoles are growing up. What isn't quite visible in the cup is a tiny frog. We first spotted them a couple of weeks ago, finally! I imagine that the frogs don't hang around the pond much, once they can jump. Iain eventually poured out the water in the cup, along with the poor, terrified frog, into the muddy bottom of the wagon. I rescued him (her?) and returned him to the pond, only to capture him again at Iain's request.

Oddly, the frog seemed pretty content to sit in my hand. Even my cold fingers were warmer than the chilly pond water, and I held the frog up for Iain to see, which meant keeping it in the sunshine. But the frog was not about to hop into Iain's little hand, and moved away from him quickly every time he reached out. At last I put the little amphibian back into the pond, on a small, partly-submerged stone near the edge, in the sunshine. And there it stayed. I felt oddly pleased at having found a place the frog (who was frantically trying to get a foothold on the slippery black plastic pond-liner when we originally caught it) seemed happy to be. Some days it really is the small things.

My own little tadpoles are growing up, as well. Anna celebrated her 8th birthday in September; Iain was 3 on Monday, and Thomas will be 6 next week. So far, though, none of them seem especially anxious to leave the 'pond'. Most of the time, I am glad, though they do have their trying moments. Today, though, I was happy to be with my three-year-old in the garden. He was ecstatic about the frog, and quite spontaneously commented that the frog lived in 'hop-frog pond.'

Yes, I suppose that's not a bad name for our miniature body of water: Hop-frog Pond, a place many a tadpole still calls home.