HOLY MOLY

So this week I have a deadline in a case that I am working on (peripherally, but still working on), and so I've been working until midnight.  In the mornings, I don't feel so great, especially when Lulu starts warbling for her mama, but by about 4pm, I feel AWESOME.  What is wrong with me?  And how come I don't do this all the time? I would love to sleep four or five hours a night!  Think of all the novels I could read (or all the time I could waste reading Mormon mommy blogs, I'll be honest, or, shop online at j crew which we don't have here and which I miss).

We started the week with a trip to the doctor during which it was confirmed that Tommy has eczema (but a sort of weird kind that's somewhat confusable with ringworm) as well as "slapped-cheek" virus.  Luckily, you can go to school once you have the red cheeks because that's when the virus isn't contagious anymore.  It's a strange little world, isn't it, when a kid can look like he is on his deathbed but he's perfectly fine to go to school, but when he's actually infecting all the other little people, he looks a-okay, fit as a fiddle. You'd think that biologically we would be better-designed -- physical warnings of contagiousness (is that a word?) seem sensible to me.  His cheeks have relaxed a bit, so I'm just waiting for Lulu's to flare up.  I wish I'd taken a photo of Tommy to show you.  I also wish I'd taken a movie of myself talking to the doctor.  "I know I'm the kind of parent you hate, but I've spent a lot of time online and I'm fairly certain he has both eczema and the slapped-cheek virus.  The exzema does seem to be in strange patches, and it's odd that it's on his torso, but listen, couldn't it be ..."  She was really very nice to me (mostly because we are on the private track with the pediatrician and we give them a lot of money every time we go (ultimately Aetna pays, but Dr. Wood doesn't know that), and the eczema is much improved thanks to her treatment plan (which I had no role in developing; I stick to diagnosis -- next stop, medical school!).

Today someone said to me, "oh, peaks and troughs, peaks and troughs."  And I thought to myself:  that's right, self, you're in England, where people don't say things quite right.  The other very English thing that has been consuming my idle thoughts (limited currently by expert reports, but still sneaking in there) are the two Christmas parties I'll be attending at work.  One of them is just with my department, and the other is the entire office.  Neither involve a "plus one" which means I'm on my own unless I miss Eli so much I have to call him which is likely but which I won't be admitting on my blog.  (Although I just did.)

The first one is on a Wednesday evening.  It begins at six and includes a three course dinner, and the bar closes at two am.  This is problematic in many ways:  are we expected to come to work the next Thursday? The party was publicized as giving us a day to recover before the office-wide party the following Friday.  Does that mean we stay home after going to bed past two on a Wednesday? Also, who will I talk to for EIGHT HOURS?  The most worrying part, though, is that it everyone is expected to get very, very drunk.  It is not at all frowned upon in this country to get drunk in front of your coworkers and bosses.  In fact, it is encouraged.  Is that not a bit odd?  To date, I've dealt with this situation by having a glass of wine and then explaining that I need to get home to my children (who are of course already in bed).  But you know, for me to get very very drunk involves, oh, three glasses of wine.  

The second party is on a Friday evening (not to sound American, but this seems a much more sensible evening for a party).  It also has a three course dinner, and lots of drinking, but it offers much, much more.  Its theme, and you will think I'm joking because I certainly thought our email system had been hacked when I opened the invitation, is:  "Unleash Your Inner Rock God."  That's right, friends, my office Christmas party has karaoke.  A full report will be published on this blog on Saturday, December 17th.  I promise. I would promise videos but I think that would be in bad taste (and frowned upon if it were discovered by my officemates; a far worse offense than, say, getting wasted in front of your co-workers).

You can see why my life is overwhelming right now, with all I've got to think about.  And I haven't even touched on expert reports, perhaps because you can't work for 12 hours on them and then come home and want to write about them while you should be sleeping.  

Good night!


(And no, no dead mice here.  AAAAAAAAH!)

(I wrote this yesterday)

It's just about 6pm on Thanksgiving day and I'm going to leave work now (about an hour early).  To celebrate of course.  Eli has informed me that he will need to work tonight and would prefer to do something simple for dinner, and so I kindly offered to make scrambled eggs with vegetables from our farmers market box.  He has not responded, which I interpret as a "well, maybe I will cook after all." 

It's our second missed Thanksgiving and while I can't say I miss the self-loathing that accompanies an afternoon during which 3000 calories are consumed, I can (and do!) say that it sure makes me feel far away.  We miss you all and of course are very thankful for you (even those of you who read my blog who I don't know about, perhaps especially those). 

Mouse update and life lately

So.  First, the mouse because I know you are dying to know.  

We have not had any mice in our traps (two of which are the killing variety; one of which is humane but must be because it's easy for small people to access).  I still stomp around when I walk down the hallway into the kitchen so that he gets out of my way.

The property manager suggested we purchase a device that plugs into the wall and emits a noise that is unbearable to mice and rats but not audible to humans.  (The website recommends sending your pet hamsters and guinea pigs to live with friends if you choose to use the device.)  We should receive it tomorrow.  

Of course, as my husband pointed out, I likely won't be satisfied until we have a dead mouse in a trap. Which is horrible, as there is no proof that the hypothetical dead mouse is the mouse who so offended me by scurrying across the kitchen floor.  Neither is a hypothetical dead mouse proof that there are no further mice in the closet, cozying up with the water heater. 

Every morning I tell Eli that we must go into the closet and plug up any and all holes, but we have thus far failed to do it because we both have colds and don't feel well and are unmotivated to do much after work, and because I am scared.

Onward.

Here are cute ones of the kids (taken by E of course):

 And, our outing to the glorious St. Pancras station to see the lego Christmas tree:

(I love that you can see Tommy's green underwear coming out of the top of his trousers in this picture.  He's just such a little kid now.)

A new house for mouse

Tommy has a book about a mouse who finds an apple that won't fit in her house.  She goes on a hunt for a new house, striking out each time, and the search makes her so hungry that she eats most of the apple.   So, when she arrives back at her house, the apple fits.

WE HAVE A MOUSE, and if it is up to my husband, said mouse will have the opportunity to find a new house.  But friends, it will be a new house.  It will not be this one.

I saw it on Friday, but I thought it was my hair falling in front of my face.

Then, I saw it this morning and I made Eli go look for it.  And while I hoped that it was a piece of paper blowing across the kitchen floor, Eli confirmed that it was actually a mouse.

[I'm skipping this bit of the story because my reaction to this mouse was irrational and I don't really know who reads this blog.]

So then Eli and I began the great mouse negotiation.

I said, "we have to solve this immediately.  I will go buy a trap."

He said, "Let's get a humane trap. "

I said, "What in the world are you going to do with a live mouse?"

He said, "Put it outside."

I said, "But it will come inside again."

He said, "But I don't want to kill it."

I said, "Well, I can't really be in the same room with it, so you can do whatever you want as long as you walk it all the way to the green."

THEN, I went to the DIY and bought those glue traps because that's what the clerk told me to buy.  The most effective, he said.  I even bought the more expensive glue traps.  Quality, he said.

I came home and Eli looked at the trap and said, "No way.  I'm not doing that.  You know what happens?"

"Why, yes, I do," I said, "the mouse gets stuck and then you drown it in the mop bucket."

And Eli looked hor-ri-fied (which is fair since my face had been stuck in a hor-ri-fied expression for the past 25 minutes or so).

Rather than divorce, which is where I thought the conversation was heading, we agreed that Eli would go for a run past the Home Depot of the UK (it's called something else, but the buildings and color schemes are the same) and he would buy traps he was comfortable setting out (and then he would run home carrying them).

I did a quick calculation and decided I could live for 45 extra minutes with a mouse (or, god help us all, mice) in the house.

Lucky for me, Eli ran into a chap (that's what you call them here; I was on a conference call during which a man referred to the group of us, two women and a man, as "chaps") who had spoken with an exterminator prior to his trip to the UK Home Depot, and this man directed Eli to the "best" traps according to the exterminator. (Of course, I had already bought the most effective, quality mice traps on the market.)

Eli bought two of the "best" traps and one trap that will catch the mouse alive. (I am assuming he is prepared to come home early if the mouse gets caught in that one during the day tomorrow.)

Everybody keeps saying that I'm lucky it's not a rat, but I honestly don't know.  If there were a rat in my house, I would go to a hotel and refuse to come home until the problem was solved.   (I would happily contribute to the solution by calling an exterminator, and also arranging to meet said exterminator no closer than a block to the house to give him keys.)

There are moments in your life when you realize that you are a grown up.  I had this feeling when I moved into the apartment in the U District with Lauren and Jenny and Sarah.  I also had this feeling when I got married, and again when we had Tommy.  But god, as I walked home from the DIY, I realized that I AM A GROWN UP who must deal with her own mouse problem even though I HATE MICE.  And it was just horrible.

So wish us luck.  (And if you have any tips or suggestions, please do feel free to share.)

*We went to St. Pancras yesterday to see the two-story-high Christmas tree made of lego, and Tommy used the word glorious to describe the station.

*I think Lulu might know her colors.  She seems to like green the best, but maybe it's just the easiest to say.

Join me...

on a trip down memory lane.  (For most readers clicking is optional, but not for Lib and Em.)  (And if you click, make sure you pay attention to (1) The Boss and (2) Tina Turner's hair and (3) the fact that I probably didn't know who Bob Dylan was in 1985.)

Eli and I were listening to the Bare Naked Ladies Christmas album tonight while we cooked dinner (as I am a huge fan of Christmas music) and the BNL cover this song, which made us think of the above.

I'll be back soon with another very sad post which involves a mouse.

Tommy!

We had Tommy's parent-teacher conference this morning and so strap in for another one of those posts that focuses on his wonderful qualities.

First, I should explain that both Eli and I really like his teacher, Miss Jo.  She's from New Zealand and told us today that she's getting married over Christmas.  She has a nice manner about her and a positive approach to teaching and managing the classroom.

Anyway, she said a bunch of very, very nice things about Tommy.  She also said that when she asks questions to the class, he very often calls out the answer before anyone else has a chance.  Miss Jo believes that most other children in the class now think that he will answer so they don't bother.  She asked Eli and me to tell Tommy that, when they're sitting on the blue carpet, he needs to put his hand up before he answers Miss Jo's questions.  Also, his handwriting is seriously bad (my words, not hers) and she thinks it might start to affect his reading progress.  So we're tasked with working on that.  Lucky readers, she suggested sending postcards to friends and family, so watch your mailboxes for postcards from Tommy!

She gave us his file to review this weekend and here are some of the things in it:

"Today during lunch playtime, Tommy noticed a child playing alone.  He decided to share his toys with him.  When a teacher approached, Tommy said, 'I saw him playing all alone so I wanted to share my things with him.' "

"Upon arrival every morning this week, Tommy has chosen to create a 'newspaper.' Each day the concept is the same.  He selects a large sheet of paper and a box of coloured pencils then finds an empty table to work from.  Tommy then draws a series of coloured groups on the paper.  Today a teacher asked what he was doing.  'I'm making a newspaper.'  The teacher asked if he could read her a story.  He responded, 'No, its only children's stories that I write.  I don't do adult stories.' "

"Tommy is very eager to learn how to read and write words.  This week I introduced to Tommy the word 'the.' I explained to Tommy, 'the' is a tricky word which I call a camera word meaning its like when you look at a photo you know what the picture is.  I suggested to Tommy to take a photo of the word 'the' and to store the photo in his brain.  Today when Tommy was playing with the magnetic letters Tommy said, 'I know a word to make!  How about I make 'the'? You know the camera word.  I've got a photo of it up here (pointing to his head).  Do you remember when you talked about camera words, Miss Jo?' Then Tommy found the letters and proudly showed me his board."

There are more, but I will not subject you to them.  Happy weekend!!

Be careful what you wish for...

I didn't have enough to do at work for months and now I find myself with too much.  I'm not complaining, exactly, but it's been stressful and I am pleased that (1) I met a big deadline this week and (2) I have a four day weekend (because Mandy is going on a little holiday and we are swapping Monday for Friday next week).  Anyway, for those of you who have emailed me, I am sorry that I've been ignoring you and just wait for the weekend.

I've been leaving the office pretty late and tonight I called Eli as I was walking to the tube to tell him I was on my way, and a little mouse ran across my path!  So I screamed and immediately felt embarrassed that the other commuters heard me.  I cannot remember - ever - a time that I was not scared of mice even though I know it's ridiculous.  I'm not scared of spiders.  We have one living behind one of the sinks in our bathroom.  When I first noticed him, Eli instructed me to leave him alone, and now I actually sort of like it when he comes out (typically just the morning).  (Plus, we have some tiny bugs that come out sometimes and I think of the spider as the ecologically friendly extermination strategy.)

And now you're sorry you've wasted your time reading this blog today.

We're having a more fun than usual week actually, because Uncle Brett is back in town!  (Lulu just calls him Brett but there's not really a "t' sound on the end.)  He is here for work, so we haven't spent loads of time with him but he has walked Tommy to school for three days.  And tomorrow he has a light schedule so he can play with the kids after we pick Tommy up from school.  That's all I've got.  Actually, I have a couple of go-karting movies from a birthday party last weekend, but I'm too tired to upload them...

The end of the tunnel...or cast (plaster)

Until today, Eli and I had been relatively impressed with NHS, but the cast removal experience left something to be desired.  Namely, two hours of my life that I will never get back.  

Tommy had an appointment at 9:50 and we arrived at the hospital at 9:43 (you can take the girl away from the rest of the Kents, but you can't take the Kent out of the girl -- what's that expression?).  Anyway, we waited until after 11 to get the cast removed, and then waited a bit more to see the orthopedist (plus two students).  I liked the doctor quite a lot, but that type of wait in a children's department (with all the children screaming about blood draws plus Alvin and the chipmunks on the television) is a bit hard on the nerves.  Anyway, the cast is off, he has a follow up appointment in three weeks which we are free to cancel if his range of movement is back to normal, and that's it.

Unfortunately, he is forbidden from doing anything he would consider fun until his arm is working normally.  The doctor explained it like this:  "he might fall, and he wouldn't use his arm to catch himself, so he would take the impact on his head."  Lovely.

 Emotional tv watching:

 The tickling saw removing the cast.  He can explain everything about this saw -- as soon as we left the hospital, he called Eli and gave a detailed description of it.  (For those curious, the saw vibrates rather than rotates, which is why it doesn't cut the skin.)  Tommy thought it tickled, thus the name.

When the cast came off, Tommy complained that his arm hurt.  Turns out, I could've done a bit more to prepare him for the fact that it would feel odd.  Next time!  (Please, no.)

Better late than never

I forgot to post a picture of the jack-o-lantern.  Isn't Eli a good pumpkin carver? He's even better considering that both kids were "helping" him.

This morning when Mandy arrived, Tommy was desperate for attention during the three minutes that Mandy and I have daily to discuss things (not ever enough time).  So when we walked out the door I said, "okay, you have my undivided attention.  What would you like to talk about on our walk?" and without any thought at all he said, "Jungle animals.  Did you know that cheetahs like to sleep on big rocks?"


I am sure most of you think that I have a blog just so I can tell the stories about how cute my kids are. But that's not true.  I also like to whine about things.  For example, last Thursday on the Tube, a woman was plucking her eyebrows.  And today, Queen Latifah on "Inside the Actors Studio" made me a little bit crazy.  The Gatwick Express that contained my cute husband stopped randomly for so long this evening that I had to make myself a sandwich so as not to starve.  (I know, I know.)  Finally, today I discovered that becoming a qualified English solicitor will involve months of study for one exam and that after I pass that one, I'll have two more practical exams that will involve me correctly managing eighteen different scenarios over the course of six days.  Of course, there's no way to know whether it's worth spending all my free time studying for six months because we don't know anything about Eli's work.


Sigh.  


Tomorrow, a post about all the happy lovely fun things.  (Or maybe we'll wait to Friday when I'll be able to joyfully tell you about how Tommy is cast-free!)

Claude Monet

On Friday morning Tommy surprised me when, after breakfast, he sat down to draw and said:  "I'm going to draw a picture by Claude Monet...Here is the Japanese bridge...Here are the lilies...And here is the water."  He took it to school to show Miss Jo -- so I had the opportunity to thank her for teaching him about Claude Monet.

Guy Fawkes

We have lovely British friends who got us tickets to a bonfire in a communal garden so that we could celebrate Guy Fawkes like the locals.  Guy Fawkes tried to blow up parliament unsuccessfully, and to commemorate his failure, we have bonfires and fireworks on November 5 every year.

First, a nice lady gave Tommy two sparklers.  They were fun!  (I was quite worried about him swinging it around, but the British parents all let their kids be totally nuts with them, so I calmed down.)

 See the HUGE bonfire? There was a fence that kept the people quite far away from it, thank goodness.  We mostly had no idea where Tommy was, but at the beginning, I'd shown him where to meet us if he was lost, so we didn't worry too much.  It's a very secure garden, so we knew he couldn't get out, and they kept announcing lost kids over the loud speaker, so I figured if things got too bad, we'd hear about it.

 Before the fireworks, we convinced Tommy to come stand by us.  Here he is on Eli's shoulders, next to our friends Rory (waving) and Simon.

 Fireworks.  They went on for 20 minutes and Lulu was terrified.  I have never in my life wished for fireworks to be over quite like I was wishing for these to be over.  It really hadn't occurred to either of us that she would be so scared of them...

Living in the moment

The post in which we all feel relieved

I have had such a lovely week at work.  I have been busy.  I even filed something today.  And most of what was filed, I drafted.  Here, you file things with tidy corners on each document.  It is so cute and strangely satisfying that I will need to take and post a photo.  Anyway, let's all feel happy and relieved.  I have been busy and I love it.

Below are pictures from a fun little moment this weekend.  Eli was cooking our Sunday lunch and to get the kids out of his way, I took them to a to a small fair in Parsons Green.   It was there that the silver lining of Tommy's broken arm presented itself to me:  he and Lulu can ride the same rides.  Poor Tommy saw lots of fun things he couldn't do because of his broken arm.  Little Sister was happily able to do everything Tommy did.  They had so much fun!

Yesterday on the way to school, many commuters laughed as Tommy and I had a very earnest conversation about who Tommy should marry.  He is choosing between Gioia, his friend from nursery school, and Sophia, his current best friend.  I suggested that he wait and decide in a few more years but he feels strangely compelled to decide right now.  He has also informed me, two mornings in a row, that his friend Isobel is coming over for a playdate this afternoon.  After I explain that I'll need to arrange the playdate, he says, "okay, mom, but could you just do it?"

Lulu sleeps under blankets now.  She is insists on the blankets as soon as she gets into her crib and snuggles into them.  Eli observed tonight that she doesn't cry at all when we put her to bed if we leave the door open.  She doesn't have a nightlight so he thinks that she's scared of the dark.  I am a horrible mother!  Of course she's scared of the dark; she's a big girl now.