Tractors

This morning Tommy woke up, said good morning and suggested we go visit Robie. "And Grandpa Bob ... and Grandma Antsy ... and Margaret." Then, he launched into a description of the tractors on Margaret's farm (I don't actually remember any, but apparently there were five).

A couple of mornings ago, he announced from his chair during breakfast that he was going to Grandma Sid's for five. We sorted out that he meant five minutes. He likes to tell me that he's going various places (to the hardware store is his favorite), but he'll be right back, "and you won't miss me, mom, okay?"

We put together a big puzzle a couple of days ago, and he looked at it and said "you know what mom? I think I did a good job. By the way, thanks for the help, mom!"

Tommy's preschool teacher told me that he and another little boy go into the bathroom, each get situated in their cubicle, and then chat.

Tommy got his hair cut on Monday, and the hairdresser complimented him on his hair: "It's so thick, and it's such a lovely color." That night during bath, while I was washing his hair, Tommy complained, "but you'll wash it off!" And I said, "what do you mean?" And he said, "you'll wash the lovely color off!"

Lizzie

Lizzie can point, clap and raise her hands when we ask "how big is Lizzie?" She also waves (though possibly accidentally). She loves to eat buttered toast, peas, and butternut squash. She says "mmmmmm" when she eats things she likes. She stares at people on the bus until they smile at her. She goes to sleep all by herself, no more rocking. Lizzie is just at a completely adorable stage. I will be posting some learning-to-crawl pictures shortly. She is still working hard on crawling.

On the downside: she threw her cupcake hat over the side of the buggy while I was running last Thursday and I didn't notice. When I did notice, we had just 10 minutes before we had to pick up Tommy, so I couldn't go back and find it. This week I have recovered a sock, but lost a paci. I am finally not feeling sad about the cupcake hat, but it took a week. I loved that hat.

I still don't have a debit card.

So I've mostly posted about the nice parts of London. But there are some crappy, frustrating parts as well.

For me, the very worst part has been attempting to obtain a debit card for our UK bank account. This bank account was opened by my husband when he was here before the rest of us, and he opened it using his Bechtel address. So when we went in April to get me added to the account, the bank informed us that I could not be added until we had a permanent address. Of course, that did not happen until the end of June. When we went into the bank in June, we were informed that I needed to be listed on a utility bill. Of course, we did not have a utility bill with our names on it yet. We had to call the utility company, have a three way call in which I consented to be added to the account, and then wait for six weeks until our first statement appeared. When I returned from the Seattle trip, we had a council tax statement with my name on it, and so the very first day I was back in London, I took my passport, the council tax statement and the form to the bank. I submitted it. The banker man told me that I would receive a debit card in two weeks.

I never received it. The bank lost the form, and the copy of the council tax statement and the copy of my passport. AND the application for my UK credit card as well.

In the meantime, we lost the council tax statement, and our utility statements are all electronic. So I finally remembered earlier this week to go get the form again (no, we didn't keep a copy), but when I went to submit it, I took a LETTER from the gas company, not a statement, to the bank and was rejected. Now this is the crazy part. I actually started to CRY in the bank. Not like big sobs, but I couldn't talk and just stalked out of there. And then I texted Eli that if we can't switch banks, I want to go back to the US. Of course, we can't switch banks because everything is automatically debited from our account and it would be such a hassle. But.

Now you all know the dark side of living in the UK. It is full of totally inefficient assholes. (Many of them have horrible teeth.)

Tommy at school

I know, there should be photos. But there aren't. Lizzie and I went to Tommy's school yesterday because they had a party for Miss Alma, who is going on maternity leave. We really love Miss Alma and are very sad that she's leaving, but we are going to go visit her after she's had the baby. Anyway, after pounding two cups of juice and inhaling two (small, but still) pieces of cake, Tommy got out his rug (part of Montessori is getting out a small rug to put your materials on) and showed me the red rods and made shapes with them. Then, and this was my favorite part, he put them away!! The other kids liked Lizzie quite a bit, and Tommy enjoyed telling them not to touch her and that she was his baby. (Still working on sharing.)

The school hunt has progressed. I am on my way to an open morning at a school nearby. Tommy's current head teacher came from this school and has only great things to say about it. She said that the children there are very happy, and I'm not sure I could think of a better measure of a school. Lizzie and I also went to an open morning yesterday at the primary school associated with Tommy's preschool. It's a Montessori school and right now it has just four kids. The principal of the school (of all the Paint Pots schools) is really great and I also liked the teacher -- but I am still anxious that it will be difficult to get him back into the conventional British system if we do Montessori now. But I also think Montessori is awesome, especially for a kid who asks me things like, "what's in dirt?" And now I'm done being boring.

We have friends coming for brunch tomorrow and I want to bake scones except I can't figure out how to measure the butter. It just comes in blocks here. I think I'm going to get a scale this afternoon. Anyway. Big problems from here in London.

Happy weekend, everybody.

School

So it turns out that I'm not as on top of things as I thought. The crazy Brits start their children in school when the children are just four. (How did I miss this? Because I have no British friends.) So, next fall, in less than a year, Tommy is supposed to start school. Even the American school starts them when they're four. They just tack on a second year of kindergarten. If we'd stayed in the US, I would have had this year plus two more to figure out school for Tommy, as I wanted him to do kindergarten at Montessori. But now we are here.

Apparently the Brits haven't read all the articles about how kids who start school later are more successful.

Sigh. If I'm not posting, it's because I'm calling up all the snotty schools in our neighborhood to beg for a spot. Or to beg for an assessment. (Not sure what you can assess about a four year old.)

How to play football:

Coffee morning, bread and bows

So this morning I dragged myself to a coffee morning for the parents at Tommy's school. It was hosted by a lovely woman, in a lovely flat (they bought both flats on the floor of the building and then gutted them so the result is especially stunning). All the moms ("mums") were very nice and welcoming -- they commented that I was the only new mom to attend and the hostess even thanked me for my effort. Anyway, here's what I learned: I am the only mom without a full time nanny, and we are poor compared to all the other families at our school. I have tentatively arranged playdates with three of the mothers though, which is wonderful.

On the way home from coffee, I purchased this for Lizzie's hair:

Yesterday I baked bread. It turned out very well and I am very proud of myself. It had to rise twice, so it felt especially labor intensive. Isn't it pretty? It's almost half gone already!

Happy weekend to all of you.