Next up: Cornwall

That's right. If you're familiar with English geography, you'll know that Cornwall is a long way from Durham. We're hoping for a bit of sunshine, and planning to see the sea (whether or not the sun is shining on it).

If you're wondering how we're going to keep the children occupied in the car...

Yeah, me too. We'll keep you posted.

Anna comes home

It probably shouldn't be news, but it is. Iain wanted a bath; the water was still running. Lucy slept in the bouncy seat. Lewis had gone to collect Thomas from school. And I had that strange sense--intuition?--that it was too quiet.

As I neared the bottom of the staircase, I saw the door standing open. I took the last few stairs too fast (I'm still very stiff and sore from my failed sprint), without thinking about it. Ouch! I headed for the door as quickly as I could, and started calling Anna's name as soon as I crossed the threshold. I called down the back of the terrace and up toward the road. I hoped Lucy was still sleeping. I called out toward the woods, and hoped Iain was all right in the tub. And as I called down the colliery road, knowing I would have to give up in a minute and check on Iain and Lucy, I heard her voice.

She answered. She actually answered. Not only that, she came back, carrying the paper sword and shield she'd made on a field trip that day. It would have made a great photo, Anna hurrying toward me down the road, sword in hand, shield on her arm. But I hadn't stopped to get the camera (or even my phone) on the way out the door. I scolded her for going, but praised her more for coming back. It was a first, and her timing couldn't have been better.

The bathtub didn't even overflow.

Not the plan for Friday

There probably ought to be a photo. But if there were, I would probably rather have it destroyed. A photo of what, though? Of the fall? Of me being carried off the field? Of me being loaded into the ambulance? No. No photo required.

I was hoping to impress a guy, as usual. In this case, my 7-year-old. So I brought my old running shoes along for the mothers' race on sports day last Friday. I've been running since having Lucy, nothing spectacular, but up to 3x/week the previous week. I didn't think I would win; I've never been especially fast or competitive. I just hoped to make a good show of it.

Well, it certainly was a show. Not, however, the sort of show I was hoping for. Apparently the jogging I'd done since the baby was born was no preparation for a flat-out sprint. My hips decided they weren't up to it, and over I went. Not a trip-and-fall, catch-yourself-on-your-hands sort of thing. No, I crumpled, hit shoulder-first, and couldn't get up again. No permanent damage, no broken bones (but no x-ray, either). I will be fine, just taking lots of painkillers and wincing for a week or two.

And Thomas wasn't even that impressed.

adventures with Iain

Although a baby sister wasn't on Iain's list of desirables, he's finding that it has some surprise benefits. Chief among these (though Iain doesn't ascribe it to Lucy) is his weekly day off from school. Since he's had a lot more time in 'school' than the others, it seemed only fair to give him a little break before he starts properly in September.

So every Friday Iain stays with me (and Lucy), and we take walks and sometimes run errands. Last Friday was a particular thrill, as we went to meet a friend in Newcastle--and took the train. A train ride or a bus ride makes for a great day. If there's an advantage to not having a second car, it's in the adventures in transportation it affords. Today, after Mass at St Godric's school, Iain and I found ourselves needing to make our way home. We caught a new-to-us bus and wheeled Lucy aboard, and headed into Durham. Iain's favorite bakery is near the bus station, so that was our first stop. Then I remembered there was a park not too far away, one I pass by on the walk to (or from) Durham. We went off in search of it, but failed to find it. Never mind: Iain's found a street to explore, so off we went, soon finding ourselves in St Margaret's church yard.

It wasn't really where we wanted to be, but Iain didn't mind. We were on to the next thing: finding somewhere to feed and change Lucy. We parked the stroller (or buggy or whatever you want to call it, depending on your country and region of origin...) by a bench and he ran up and down while I took care of Lucy's needs. Then some shopping, back to the bus station and on the bus home.

And we were grateful the rain held off.

strange creatures

In the summer of 2009, I asked directions of a woman walking along the Bearpark Road. Of course, then I didn't know it was the Bearpark road. I also didn't know that two of the three possible paths I faced (in which I should have gone the way that looked like it was only meant for tractors) would have taken me towards home. Yes, I had a two-out-of-three chance of getting it right, and managed to go the wrong way. (Fortunately I did lots better on multiple-choice exams at school, or I wouldn't have done so well on the SAT and GRE.)

These days, I run regularly along those paths, and I know where they lead. I know that the way through the farm leads to Baxter's Wood, and brings me back to the Bearpark Road. The path that says 'Bishop Auckland' takes me to the picnic ground, where Thomas likes to kick his football. And the way through the field, up over the hill, which looks like it just leads out into the farmland, takes me straight back to the house in Broompark, where we lived in the summer of 2009. 

Now it is I who present the puzzle, apparently--and not just to the horses. It seems that the jogging stroller is a completely unknown item in British baby gear. The first person I encountered along the railway path just looked suspicious and a little amused. (Read: she looked like she was thinking, 'what on earth does that woman think she's up to?') The second person said with surprise, 'I thought you were pushing a wheelchair when I saw you in the distance'. (Ok, I admit that I thought, 'what? haven't you ever seen one of these before?' Obviously that was the case, I just hadn't realized it yet.) The third person to comment said, 'you're very keen, aren't you?' (I didn't even understand this question until he repeated it the second time. I had flashbacks to my first days living in North Carolina: are these folks speaking the same language I learned growing up in California? No offense to my southern friends: it's beautiful. I just couldn't understand it to begin with.)

Finally, I asked a group of young women whether they knew about the phenomenon of the jogging stroller. This time I was the one who had to repeat myself. (First of all, it's not a stroller, it's a pushchair...) Never heard of it. I can't imagine what women who are 'very keen' on running do when they have babies--wait until they can leave the baby and then go? I like running on my own, but sometimes I have to run and there's nobody who can watch the baby. 

So I continue to puzzle the natives. Even the horses, apparently. 

Anna's baby Lucy

Anna swaddles her baby doll and prepares to put her down to sleep.

If you wondered who was the most thrilled about the birth of baby Lucy, it wouldn't take long to work out: that would be Anna. Anna went to camp a few weeks ago (which is another story, and not one we can tell yet: Anna said she enjoyed canoeing, the climbing wall and the zipwire, but hasn't offered any sort of narrative!); when she returned, she greeted Lewis and Iain at the door, exclaiming, 'I miss you!' (Yes, we're still working on the past tense. Never mind, you get the point.) But she didn't stop there. Immediately she went through to the living room to find--you guessed it!--baby Lucy. 'Hello Lucy!' she smiled with complete delight. 

Did she even acknowledge me? Of course not. 

baby Lucy

Lucy arrived about 7.30am on 2 May, her due date. More to follow when I can use both hands to type...