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.