Fairies, redux

 A couple of years ago, I posted about an exchange I had with Iain, looking down on the river. It was late in the afternoon on a sunny day, and the light reflected in tiny bright twinkling points on the surface of the water. Iain stared down at the water intently, and just as I was about to ask what he'd spotted, he asked me a question: 'Are they fairies?'

Ferries? I thought. Then it dawned on me what he was asking. He was trying to figure out what those little twinkling lights were, and 'fairies' was his best guess.

Now he's 6, and I miss those moments. The world is less magical. He wants to know if Spider-man is real. He draws pictures of tanks and likes watching Scooby-doo. So yesterday, he was sitting on my knee and I told him the story about the fairies. 'How old was I, mummy?' he asked, and 'what did I say?' and 'what did you say?' until he had the whole narrative.

A little while later, Lewis came upstairs, and Iain met him at the top. 'Daddy,' he said, 'when I was little...' and proceeded to relate the whole tale, proudly. 'I said, "Are they fairies?'..."

It was almost as good the second time around.

Birthday season

Birthday season is over. Anna is 11 (and will tell you so, if you catch her in the right mood), Thomas is 9, and Iain is 6. Thank goodness Lucy's birthday isn't until the spring. I am not ready for her to be 2.
 
The boys' birthday parties were on consecutive Fridays, and as different as they are. Iain and a dozen classmates ran around an indoor play place for an hour and had pizza. He hated being the centre of attention when it was time to sing and blow out candles. He turned away from the table, even, hiding his face, and refused to blow out the candles. Why? I asked him. He said, 'Because everyone will clap.' Iain is so easygoing and talkative at home and with friends that nobody would guess how shy he is. Thomas and Anna, with help from Iain's friend Alex, blew out the candles for him, and everyone did clap. But he survived, and wants to have a party when he's 7. I have explained to him, though, that 6 is hard enough to take: he can't possibly be seven.
 
Thomas had a football (soccer) party--no big surprise there. He and about ten friends from school (and one from his football team) played hard for more than an hour before gathering for a bit of mayhem around a big supper table. One of his friends had an MP3 player with a portable speaker and got them all moving to the song from Madagascar (I like to move it...). Noisy, chaotic, and fun for all around the table. It was great to see Thomas enjoying himself so much. He had a really good birthday, and I am pleased.
 
Among Thomas's gifts were a couple of £10 notes and gift cards, and he calculated his birthday wealth at £50. I asked him how much he was going to give away. At first he looked at me like I was crazy (fair enough, I guess). But we talked about it, about charitable giving, and he thought for a moment. 'Maximum £8,' he said. That seemed like a lot to me--more than the 5-10% that I had in mind--and I said so. But he had decided, and didn't back down. He followed through, too, starting with £2 in the collection at church. I am amazed at him. He has a generous heart. I wonder what he'll be like when he's older, with his sensitive soul: this is a boy who cannot bear to hear of the suffering of others. He feels it so deeply.
 
Anna has grown, and grown up, an amazing amount. Today she looked at a picture in the Sunday newspaper, one I had noticed out of the corner of my eye. 'Mario,' she said, not perfectly distinctly, but clearly enough. Yes, that's who it was--as soon as she said it, I knew that was why the figure was familiar. How does she know that's Mario? I wondered. We don't have any video games here. She must have picked it up at school.
 
They know all sorts of things now, things I haven't taught them. And Thomas knows all sorts of things I don't even know. Mostly these are about football. But he is extending his knowledge of geography and is learning French at school; he's learning German from a friend. Iain knows all sorts of things about tanks, most of which Lewis has taught him. So far he hasn't outstripped me, but I can see that day coming.
 
I love it that they're growing up, and I hate it that they're growing up. This parenting thing is exhausting, frustrating, heartbreaking sometimes; but it is also filled with joy and amazement. I just hope that I will learn to ignore the socks on the floor and appreciate Lucy's little feet, Iain's delightful smile, Thomas's sensitive thoughtfulness, and Anna's enjoyment of the small things. I always wanted this, and now I have it: my four little dreams come true.
 
Nobody could have convinced me that parenting was such hard work. I would never have believed it. But if the work is harder than I thought, so also is the love deeper and the joy greater than I ever could have imagined.
 
Happy birthday, Anna, Thomas and Iain.

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birthday season

Autumn is always busy. Birthday season begins in late August, when I start planning for Anna's birthday, and runs until October 12th, Thomas's birthday. In between, we have the start of school for the children, the start of the new term for our students (with all the events that involves), and--of course--Iain's birthday. We're coming up to the end of birthday season now, thankfully. I enjoy their birthdays--how could I not?--but I always breathe a sigh of relief when the morning of October 13th (or the day after Thomas's party) dawns. (A full birthday report with photos will follow.)
 
Thank goodness Lucy's birthday isn't until May. Between now and then, we just have to get through Christmas...

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As promised

Ready for the birthday girl!

glad the boots fit--and that she liked them!

On the day: she had to wear her new boots, her favourite party dress, and the hat & jewellery she received as presents. And the cupcake frosting had to be pink, of course.

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Autumn, again

Oh, dear. Has it really been more than a month since the last? It is back-to-school and birthday season around here. Anna turned 11 last weekend! I admit that the above photo isn't from last weekend. It wasn't quite that warm here in Durham, and we certainly weren't having a pool party!

Not being a technological genius, I am having difficulty getting the photos from Anna's most recent birthday uploaded here. But rest assured that there are some, and I will figure it out. And when I do, I'll add a picture of Anna in her new ballet getup, complete with tutu. Stay tuned!

going by bus, again

Some days, I am amazed at how helpful bus drivers can be. (See 'a free ride' for a story about one in particular.) Several weeks ago, I stood waiting for the bus into Durham, with Lucy in the stroller (pushchair, pram, buggy, or whatever-you-like-to-call-it), hoping fervently that it would not be a double-decker bus with steps. Though it isn't a common occurance, the last time I tried to board such a bus, the bus driver just shook his head. Then he drove on. So when the bus approaching was the dreaded item, I signaled anyway, hoping against hope. The driver, who was young and friendly, nodded approval, but said that I'd have to collapse the buggy. No problem. Except it was impossible with one hand so to do. Another waiting passenger offered to help, and I accepted. Lucy was not keen on being handed over. Amidst the fumbling and screaming, the driver descended the steps and picked up the stroller, stowing it for me without needing to collapse it. When we arrived at our stop, he fetched it for me and set it on the pavement.

If you've ridden a bus in Durham, you know that's like winning the lottery. Not unheard of (a couple won over £200K just last week), but a rare bit of luck. Contrast the above with a shorter story with a less happy ending: a couple of weeks ago Anna, Iain and I waited at the bus station, with Lucy in the stroller, on a warm and sticky afternoon a . We'd been into Durham on the bus and were heading home. I struggled through the crowded station to get onto the bus. Upon hearing our destination, the driver quoted me a fare of £5.90. I stood there with £3.30 in my hand, the fare we'd paid to get to Durham. For a split second, I started to reach for the difference. Then I turned to the driver again and said, 'But it only cost us £3.30 to get here.' He looked straight at me and said unapologetically, 'It'll cost you £5.90 to get back.'

We didn't take that bus.

Snapshots

Snapshot 1: Lucy shows her personality. Or, as we call it, Lucy reaches for the iPhone. By far her favourite playthings are the phones (home phone or anyone's cell phone she can get her hands on) and the remote controls. I confess that I have given her the remote for the radio (which lives in the kitchen) to satisfy her lust
for power without actually enabling her to change the channel or disrupt the DVD. (In fact I hadn't been talking on the phone or even sending a text message: I had the phone in Lucy's general vicinity in order to record for posterity the extent of the couscous-scattering. She's world-class, and comes second--narrowly--after Iain, the champion scatterer.)

Snapshot 2: Big brother and the (soccer or foot-) ball. Thomas was watching Lucy outside; I was about to scold him for picking her up, when I saw what he was doing. He had only carried her as far as the lawn, and only in order to get a ball so that they could play with it. Lucy was thrilled. Suddenly it didn't matter so much that the house was a mess and the washing machine constantly running. This was one of those moments I dreamed about when I daydreamed about what having kids would be like. I dropped what I was doing and went to take photos.

Snapshot 3: Iain, taking a photograph with my iPhone. Photographed by Thomas, who was using my iPad. What more could I possibly say...except that I didn't give permission to either of them, and only discovered the incident as it appeared in my photo stream. So this is what they do when I'm not looking. Could be worse, much worse, couldn't it?

 
 
 
 

Chicken pox

 

I meant to take Lucy to a pediatrician in the US while we were there in April, to have the varicella (chicken pox) vaccine that the others had at age 1. But we were busy playing at the beach, seeing family (just yesterday Iain asked if we could go back and see his cousins), and going to Disneyland (thanks, Nick & Carmen). So Lucy has chicken pox. I am not at the meeting today; I won't be at the meeting tomorrow. Oh, well.

Lucy, on the other hand, thinks having a bath in the middle of the day is great.

Two Sundays

 

This was Sunday, the 10th of June. Fortunately Anna stayed clean and dry on the 17th in her first Holy Communion whites. The same cannot be said for Thomas, however, who took the opportunity of having friends round as a sign that it was time to play football. So much for that new, brilliant-white shirt.
 

 
 
 

a free ride

Today had nothing to recommend it, really. A morning full of marking (grading) and shuffling paper in my office, followed by a doctor's appointment of a routine but unpleasant nature. My only consolation was not having to take the car. I love the feeling of freedom I get from the knowledge that I can get where I need to go without worrying about car keys, parking, or traffic. I can't explain it, but it's a great feeling--like the first day of summer vacation when I was 12.

And the day unfolded pretty much as you'd expect. So dull I won't bore you with the details. The only exceptional thing was the astounding find of a pair of jeans at a charity shop on the way to the bus station. The ones I bought for about $5 at the Goodwill store on LaVista road in Tucker had just worn a hole in the knee, after doing great service these five years or so.

The doctor's office is in Meadowfield, a few miles from Bearpark, where we live. So I planned to catch the bus to the crossroads, where it would continue to Durham and I would head into Bearpark on foot. I hopped on the bus and asked for Neville's cross. The bus driver shook his head. 'I'm not going into Durham, pet,' he said, and the handful of older passengers looked at me with a mixture of amusement and compassion. Just as this exchange was taking place, another bus passed us. 'That's the one you want,' he said, smiling. 'You stay right there; I'll catch him for you.' So I sat down as he pulled out after the 49a, the one I wanted. He did, in fact, catch it at the next stop, and the bus ahead stopped just for me.

I thanked the bus drivers both, enthusiastically. Between them, they made my day: I rode a few blocks for free, and caught the bus I needed. It's true that I then walked the rest of the way home (about a 30 minute walk) in the wrong shoes, and in the rain. But I did it with a smile on my face.

The victors

Thomas played in a tournament this week, with a team selected by his teacher. They won:

Thomas wrote a little piece for the school newsletter describing their success. He mentioned the goal scores (of which there were four) and named the most valuable players in the tournament (not surprisingly, the same four). His team won every game without allowing the other team to score. Thomas' account: the defense was good, they did their job.

And Thomas? He played in goal. That's my boy.

Little feet

Well, she's a year old now. Those lovely little feet are still pristine, though: she doesn't yet use them for walking. All in due time, I know. For now, we're just enjoying the calm before the storm.

And, of corse, those beautiful little feet.

Just Anna

So, I have been reading posts and bogs, here and there, on the topic of special needs kids and their families. I liked this photo:

 
I have one of those--a child with Down Syndrome who survived Roe v Wade. Although I don't see myself marching on Washington, DC anytime soon, Anna certainly changed mymind about Roe v Wade. When I was in college, I thought abortion was morally wrong, but I wasn't sure it should be illegal. Now I wish there were some greater measure of protection for babies with Down Syndrome. I had an amazing time a few weeks ago with some 17- and 18-year-olds from Catholic secondary schools around Durham. Their utter disbelief at this statistic was beautiful. And, when confronted with the question whether they would hope for a baby with fix-able heart defect with a strong probability of Down Syndrome or a baby with a heart defect that proved fatal in more than 50% of cases, they overwhelmingly chose the former. (It took me several weeks to get there in the summer of 2001.) One young woman explained her reasoning: the person with the extra chromosome is still a person, after all. She should have a chance to live.
 
A couple of blog posts I read suggested that special needs parents often feel alone. Thinking back over the last decade, I see times when that described my situation perfectly. Dealing with problems with nursing early on, the first heart surgery at 4 months of age, delays in development and ongoing health challenges set us apart somewhat. When people said, 'I don't know how you do it,' my response was (and is): I never knew anything else; she was our first child, and we just did what we needed to do, like every other parent! I can't explain why I feel less alone now--whether it is knowing that I know plenty of people (mostly friends from school, whom I keep up with now on facebook) who are walking a very similar path, or the parish and community I have here in Durham. (It's probably both those things, and a double measure of grace.) For the honesty of all those who post about their struggles, however obliquely, I am grateful. I know I am not alone.
 
 
It's true that we are tired--though that is as much to do with a typically developing 1-year-old who doesn't sleep at night as it is to do with the challenges of raising a special needs child. Ditto for the cost of child care. Life is complicated, busy, expensive and exhausting, but it is good. No doubt about that. In one of the blog posts by Maria Lin (click the link above), she praises cultures that regard special needs children as a blessing, here to teach more than to learn. Anna has a lot to learn, to be sure--I expect her to learn to read, tie her shoes and count to 100, among other things, when she's ready. But she's definitely teaching us--me especially--to be patient, and to appreciate the right things.
 
But I don't normally think about that too much (grateful as I am for having been reminded); I just see Anna.
 
 

 

the birthday girl

tomorrow is her Big Day: more to follow!

Hermosa Beach

...was enjoyed by all!

Joshua Tree

 

We hiked. It was a short hike, but long enough for Anna!

I explained to the boys that they were not allowed to take any rocks. If they found a rock they really liked, I would take a photo of it.

The next morning, we took a much shorter walk near grampa's house in Desert Hot Springs...and discovered how cold it can be in the desert in the morning! Lucy was happy, anyway :)

 

Lucy gets around

 

Lucy still doesn't crawl. But that doesn't mean she stay put. If you set her down in the middle of the rug, she makes her way to whichever corner looks most interesting, whether she's after toys, a sibling, or a parent.

It's only a matter of time. I think we're going to need some gates. Soon.

Down Syndrome awareness

This is not a recent photo of Anna. I know, because I was sad when she outgrew that adorable little jacket, and because that's in the backyard of our house in Atlanta, which we left in June 2009. I know, because I have seen her face develop over the past few years. She's not quite that little girl anymore. 

My awareness of Down Syndrome began long before Anna came into my life. I remember learning about Down Syndrome in science class in the 7th grade. (That's year 8 in the UK system.) At the age of 12, I made a note to self: have children by 30, so that you never have to worry about this. 

I suppose that's the parental equivalent of the missionary's prayer, 'God, please don't send me to China.' By the time I was pregnant with Anna, at 32, the trisomy-21 spectre had vanished. I remembered, of course, what I had thought two decades earlier, but it had lost its urgency. My odds were good. Down Syndrome was something that happened to others. When I declined the tests, I did so because we had agreed that we were having a baby. Period. In hindsight, I realize I also believed the tests were unnecessary, because my baby was going to have 46 chromosomes, thank you very much. I was really worried about peanut allergies. 

Well, she's not allergic to peanuts. Good thing, too, because peanut butter is one of the three major food groups in Anna's diet. Up there with ketchup and oranges. She does, however, have an extra copy of her 21st chromosome, and most everything that goes along with it. Three heart surgeries, lots of doctor visits;  physical therapy from four months, speech therapy from 12 months; developmental delays of varying degrees across every area of her development. Even still, it took me years to come to terms with the permanence of the condition: she's not going to outgrow this, and she's not going to be 'cured'. It just doesn't work that way. And just when you think you have come to terms with it, you realize some other area of life that is likely to be affected by that extra chromosome, and it hits you all over again, just like the moment that you first knew your baby had Down Syndrome. 

Most days, though, I have to admit that I am not really 'aware' of Down Syndrome. I'm just aware of Anna. She's my lovely, mischievous, girly girl. She can be incredibly sweet and helpful. And she can be frustratingly awkward and stubborn. She is learning to read and write, is as hopeless at math as I was, and is preparing (along with Thomas) for her first Holy Communion. She goes at her own pace and in her own way, like my other children...just more slowly and less predictably.

So I suppose you might say that God sent me to China. I am gradually learning the language and the customs of this new country. And you know what? It's starting to feel like home.

New toy?

Apparently, my iPad is the most popular new toy 'we' got for Christmas. I haven't a clue how Iain managed not only to get into the camera (ok, so that's fairly easy to work out), but also to switch from the 'camera' to the 'photo booth' setting.

Not only that, but he managed to insert this photo, at a strange diagonal, into a document I was working on in pages (the iPad's word processor). I was able to figure out how to insert photos into documents in pages without trouble. I have no idea how one gets that odd angle of Iain's photo.

Something tells me it won't be the last time the kids do something on the computer/iPad/smart phone that I couldn't do myself...

Girls like tanks

 

At least, Lucy likes tanks. Or any toys she can get her hands on. She's amazingly content to sit and play with her toys alongside Iain. And then sometimes it's Iain playing with her toys, which means his toys must be fair game! She still doesn't crawl, but she certainly doesn't stay put. It's only a matter of time before we become a stair-gate family again...and have to keep the small Legos hidden away...and...

I think I need a refresher course in baby-proofing.

 

That's my girl

 

NB: it's just sparkling water in that (plastic) wineglass.

Signs of spring

 

The trees may not yet have their leaves, but it was hardly a wintry day today. For a couple of weeks, the primroses, snowdrops, and crocuses have been appearing, and the light lingers in the late afternoon. I have no idea whether the groundhog saw his shadow on the requisite day, and it doesn't matter: winter hasn't finished with us yet in Durham.

 

We took advantage of the spring-like weather, though. I had a lovely walk home with Lucy in the stroller and came home to find the house warm from the sunshine streaming in the windows all day. So we opened the doors and went outside, without coats!

 

Girls in the garden, waiting for the boys to come home with ice cream!

 

Untitled

Lego building time. 

The boys built war machines. That's Iain's tank-house. (yes, tank-house.)

 

Anna

 Anna built a tower. What's in it? A secret princess,  of course!

Lucy's first snowball fight

I thought I would go for a walk by myself this afternoon. 

 

But Iain wanted to come along. He loves the snow--he's the only one who likes winter as much as I do. I like the pale afternoon light, the way the sun hangs low in the sky and the shadows stretch away from it. Iain just craves snow; he hates bright sunshine and heat, so winter in northeast England suits us both perfectly. We headed out with Lucy bundled up in the stroller and sloshed our way up to the colliery road. 

 

We hadn't brought a camera (or even my phone), so I couldn't take a photo of the snow-covered path we turned onto in the sunshine. Iain chose the way, and wanted to stop to make (and throw, of course) some snowballs. All the while we talked; Iain and I used to have regular 'explores' on Friday morning at the end of last school year, and I think we both miss it. (I know I do.)

 

It was a gorgeous afternoon. Lucy slept in the stroller...apart from one especially rude awakening, when she was caught between me and the snowball Iain threw at me. The snowball hit the stroller, just above Lucy's head, and showered snow on her. She disapproved, and made it clear that she wasn't happy to be awakened so abruptly,then promptly went back to sleep. Well, it isn't the last time one of her big brothers will throw a snowball in her general direction. 

 

We continued on, stopping to throw snowballs over the fence toward the pasture. The horses looked at us with rather bored expressions, as if we were the least interesting people they had seen all week. Never mind; we enjoyed ourselves. And as we neared the house, we found one last patch of snow-covered grass--not to be taken for granted so late in the day, with sunshine and temperatures well above freezing. Iain insisted on having a run around and throwing a couple more snowballs. 

 

Just as we crossed the street to go home, Iain said,'we had a lovely walk, didn't we?' indeed so.

Little soldiers

 Here's Thomas, in the lead. He then agreed to take up the rear position after I explained that often the commander is behind the troops, watching the battle as it unfolds. (I admit that I have no evidence for this, but it worked.) Besides, I said, it's important to make certain that none of the troops are left behind. Thomas took this responsibility seriously, mostly. 

 

 

 Then we stopped--they wanted to sit on the bench. I agreed, with the proviso that they let me take photos of them all together. Iain usually resists having his picture taken, so this was significant. They were keen to have Lucy join them, too: I took her out of the baby Bjorn and let Thomas hold her. They are not ideal subjects, and I am not a great photographer, but we managed to get a couple of shots of everyone...though not all facing the camera!

 

Our shining moment as a corps was an incident of real teamwork. I couldn't take a photo, as we were all involved: Anna tripped and ended up with a Wellington boot full of water. The ground was saturated, so she couldn't sit down to take the boot off. Iain and I helped her to stand on one foot (which she can do, but not certainly enough or for long enough to get a boot off) while Thomas removed the boot, emptied the water, and replaced the boot.

If you can't understand why this is remarkable, you should spend a day with these children sometime. They're lovely, but working together in an organised fashion is not their strong suit. I was amazed, and so proud of them. We walked and played together; I had to be 'private mummy' for the afternoon. Well, a private whose job was keeping the officers in line. But the officers were good, and the rest of the troops (that's Anna, Lucy, and me) obeyed orders. So I think we won, if that was the goal. Win or lose, we had fun, and gave daddy a quiet living room in which to nap. 

I'm glad the kids had fun. At one point along the way, I thought to myself, 'they might actually remember this when they're grown.'

I rather hope they do.

 

 

Tea party

 

Here is Anna, hitting a developmental milestone. It isn't the first time she's set up a tea party for her dolls and stuffed animals. But it is the first time I have ever heard her offering (and pretending to serve from the large teapot) chicken and leek pie. 

 

That's my girl. 

Bedtime can wait

When you're having this much fun, why go to sleep? Too bad it isn't Friday night...

Bath time is fun!

What more can I say? This is a girl who loves the bathtub!

The extraordinary ordinary

Lucy has discovered she likes food. She'll try whatever everyone else is eating, if I'll let her. So the past several weeks have been a time of discovery for her: rice was a big hit, and so was carrot cake. (No big surprise there!)

Some days life with four children feels like--in the words of an amusing quotation that I didn't quite grasp before I had two children--'being pecked to death by a chicken.' And how! There is a relentlessness about it. There is also something magical about it. This week Iain played me his version of the appropriate music for the scene in which Batman meets the vampire. Thomas made a power point slide show about mammals--on Saturday morning, just for fun. In the meantime, Anna and Iain were busy creating a fashion show downstairs. Lucy never lacks for entertainment. We have a few of the baby Einstein videos the others watched as babies, but I think she's just as happy watching what goes on around her.

After all, it is pretty amazing.

Scarborough via Whitby

Walking to the shops in Bearpark village this afternoon with Lucy, I saw the number 48 bus, traveling towards Durham on the Bearpark Road. I know it pretty well, and could tell you the bus times from about 7.00am until 11.00am. Lucy and I catch the bus into Durham a couple of mornings a week. There's a stop just across the street from her nursery. Occasionally the double-decker bus comes at 8.02: we can't get on that one with the stroller (or, as the bus driver might say, the buggy-- a word that still conjures images of dune buggies in my mind). These are the sorts of things you pick up. I wish I could say the bus driver is always apologetic. Usually, yes, but every once in a while a driver will look at me as if I am wanting to board the bus with a crocodile. 

This afternoon, though, I wondered about that bus. The front of the bus always displays something involving Durham city (via Bearpark) or New Brancepeth (if heading out of town). Never before have I seen it say anything so wildly inaccurate as 'Scarborough via Whitby'.

At least I know where Whitby is, though I don't have any idea how to get from there to Scarborough. I guess if I were in Whitby, now I know I could catch the bus.

A broken finger

It hasn't slowed Thomas down too much. He did, however, break his left ring finger playing a schoolyard version of hockey. Nothing too spectacular: he fell down. So he was off school on Wednesday. I was glad of his company as I waited for Lucy's check up (just a weigh in, really). We played an epic game of go fish. And the best bit: when the only other person in the waiting room came over to chat, Thomas asked where she was from. 'Bangladesh,' she answered. 'Have you heard of it?' I smiled, and said to Thomas, 'What's the capital of Bangladesh?' 

Without hesitation, Thomas replied, 'Dhaka.' 

The look on the woman's face made my week. 

Snack time!

I did my homework. Somewhere in the back of my mind was a concern about feeding eggs to babies under the age of 1. So that's egg yolk on the toast. Turns out Lucy enjoyed it until the novelty wore off. In general, though, she's doing well with food. Although she eats baby food (in interesting combinations from Ella's Kitchen), she prefers to join in the family meals whenever possible. Fortunately, we eat a lot of pasta!

If only her older siblings were so eager to try green beans...

A sloshy stroll

It was meant to be a walk. Really. I insisted on Wellington boots for all (even wore mine) because I knew how soggy it would be. Unfortunately wellies seem to be a license to stomp in muddy puddles with reckless abandon. Unlike our New Year's Day walk two years ago in the snow, this sojourn ended with dirty children, with boots full of murky water. And yes, that's mud on Thomas' face.