October 12, 2007

Good afternoon, all.

With the move behind me, I recently got down to the
business of catching up on my inbox. I had simply
tossed mail into a basket for well over a month (more
like two) and it was starting to pile up (sometimes I
wish I was more Type A). So one morning last week, I
dropped the kids off at school, made a cup of tea and
intended to spend the morning catching up. Imagine my
surprise when I opened an important looking envelope
only to discover it was a court summons for a simple
speeding ticket. Hmmm. Imagine my surprise when I
realized my scheduled court date had come and gone.
Hmmm. Looked as if I had missed my day in court. Not
unlike our justice system, the Brits frown upon people
who do not show up in court. I panicked. I made a few
phone calls and frantically started to look at the
fifty forms included in the envelope. This was
overwhelming, but after reading the first form I was
put at ease slightly. It was a good example of why I
have grown to love this country. The first form was
titled: What Do I Do Now? followed by four lines,
each with with option of how to handle your summons.
Option #4, which was obviously the one I chose,
stated: "Do nothing. We do not recommend this."
However ominous, I was touched that they included an
option for people like me. Then, I found the "means"
form, which was, hands down, my favorite form of all
time. Reading through it gave me a hearty laugh and
did wonders for the Irritable Bowel-like symptoms that
gripped me at the thought of the mess I had created.
Because you are charged a fine based on income and not
severity of crime or a standard penalty, you must fill
out a form informing the court of not only your
income, but, thankfully, your expenses as well. So,
like a simple math problem, you write your monthly
income in the blank and then fill in the outgoing
bills as well. There are blank lines for things like
rent/mortgage, gas and electric expenses, car
payments. However, the best part is when you get to
the lines where you fill in how much you spend on
lottery tickets, cigarettes and alcohol! Man, I need
to develop a few more vices. Or, as my friend Cindy
commented, is there a line for haircuts and facials?
Honestly, knowing I was dealing with a system that
feels gambling, alcohol and cigarettes are legitimate
expenses settled my nerves. Certainly they'd take
pity on me. Sure, one of the kids wouldn't be able to
go to college because of the financial penalty, but
hopefully I wouldn't be doing hard time in maximum. As
it were, J took the morning off work, drove me to
the court house in Wiltshire and was VERY specific
about what I was to say (Not altogether truthful, not
altogether untruthful. I might add, he insists I
didn't listen very well to him-a somewhat reoccurring
complaint-because he claims I made up my own version
of half truths, which at some point, could probably be
safely considered lies). In any event, smiling on the
other side of the bullet proof glass window, I poured
on the Stupid
American-just-trying-to-make-sense-of-my-newly-adopted-country-I-love-so-much
("Who doesn't like rain?") charm and it all worked
out. I walked away with a £60 fine and no jail time.
I call that a very good day.

With love from England,
T

October 3, 2007


Good morning!

I miss writing to all of you. My hands are sticky
with traces of the After Eight mints that I had for
breakfast, so it seems like a good time to avoid the
kitchen and sit down to my computer. I have so much
to cover:
The last bits of our school year (that stretched into
July) were spent organizing our trip back to the USA
and partaking in all the loveliness of this year's
English summer. I make that statement dripping with
heavy sarcasm. Anyone aware that England was having
its worst summer on record could understand why I was
left with raw nerves by the time we made it to the US,
mid July. J called me in England from Wrigley Field
one glorious Chicago summer afternoon while he was
home on business (business?). He was describing the
perfection of Wrigley Field on a warm summer day. My
stomach ached with more than a little self-pity, as I
listened to him while I was sporting jeans and a wool
turtleneck and was still fighting the chills. It was
June 29. The cold and rain hardly stopped from June
until August. We were spared rain two days, I
believe, one for the summer ball and the other for
Parents' Day at school. Otherwise it rained and
rained like an adventure in a children's book until
most of England was quietly submerged in water. Most
businesses were closed until just before we returned
in August. It was a disaster, but being British,
everyone just "got on with it".

The summer ball was lovely apart from the fact that my
friend made me wear her 4 inch heels which rendered my
ankles useless. Admittedly, they did look smashing
with my hand-me-down dress, however, I walked like I
was strapped to stilts, only a bit less gracefully.
We decided to hoof it to the ball (it was two blocks
away) so that we could enjoy a glass of wine without
driving, but, in those heels, on those uneven
sidewalks, the walk took hours if I remember
correctly, and I had to ditch the shoes almost
immediately upon my arrival. But aside from being
shoeless, the ball was good fun and it was a perfect
venue to take note of the budding affairs that were
percolating between the wealthy/bored parents. It
also was helpful in keeping score of said affairs so
that by the time Parents' Day rolled around, you could
hold a comfortable place "in the know" and did not
present yourself as a completely aloof and disengaged
parent, unwilling to keep abreast of campus life.

Parents Day was, again, the ultimate in British prep
school fussiness. This year was made even more snooty
by the fact that M and S were leavers
(graduates) and we lunched in the "leavers' marquee"
(a big white tent). The day starts with chapel and
afterward children, parents and staff return to school
for tea. Everyone glances uncomfortably at their
watches and as soon as both hands are straight up
there is a mass exodus to the lawn where there are
small marquees set up for "house drinks". Each child
belongs to a house and his/her house master/mistress
serves (although it is mostly the boys serving) the
parents wine and drinks. Thankfully, my inability to
wear heels is rewarded at this one function. It is
always a good idea to resist the temptation of stylish
shoes and go instead, with flats. Many a dear pair of
shoes are ruined on Parents' Day when sinking into the
grass. When the small talk has been exhausted, it is
time for lunch. Most families tailgate unless you are
the proud parent of a leaver (or two) in which case
you have lunch in the marquee. The marquee lunch adds
another hour or so of behaving properly, chasing
grapes around your plate with a fork when you'd really
prefer to tailgate 30 yards away, kick off your flip
flops and just pick up grapes with your fingers.
Then, when it is okay to politely leave, you hook up
with friends and enjoy the rest of the afternoon. We
always seem to be the last to leave.

We flew home just a few days after school broke up.
The trip is summed up in one word: bittersweet. For
every long awaited "hello", there was a painful
"goodbye". We dragged ourselves from dentists to
doctors to orthodontists to mammograms to vets and
tried to see a lifetime of friends and family in
between. At one point when I was losing it on the
phone with J (who was lucky enough to dodge into
work and avoid orchestrating the whole thing) there
was a long pause and he asked, "T, are you having a
nervous break down?" As if there was time... I found
solace in Mexican food.

M and S spent a week in Mississippi
working on hurricane Katrina relief. It was the
highlight of their trip home. We were proud of their
willingness to give a week of their time in the US to
such a worthy cause despite the heat and humidity of
coastal Mississippi in August. They will never be the
same after their work there. They made good friends
and came back begging to go on more mission trips.
R, in his charmed life, scored a trip to Orlando
with our friends the Leys. 9:30pm the night before
departure, Ellen stopped over to ask if R could go
with their family on vacation. So R, while his
older siblings were swatting mosquitoes and raising
walls on homes in the Deep South, was swimming,
running around golf courses, perusing firework stands
and, in general, living the good life that comes so
easily to him. In my next life, I want to
come back as R.

A was completely mixed up by the time we back to
England. Sadly, he lost his English accent and he
misses our old house and dog. In our absence, A
developed an allergy to our cat, Leo, who was "on
loan" to my parents (but as my observant father
quickly figured out, "I guess that means Leo is
staying"). No one could be happier by this unforeseen
development than Leo. Leo laments the day he was
adopted by our well intentioned, but boisterous
family. He does not hide the fact that he cannot
stand most of our family members. He loathes
children's affections. All he ever wanted was to live
with a couple of seniors who over fed him. He hit the
jackpot with my parents. So we couldn't spend too
much time at my parents' which was too bad as A
had his adenoids removed and tubes put in his ears at
the very end of our trip which added another two weeks
to our departure date. A and I spent alot of that
time in Michigan with my Aunt Marilyn and Uncle Dick.
It doesn't get any better than my aunt fussing over
you. A particularly loved it as Aunt Marilyn
OFTEN overrides Mom Rules. In fact, he didn't know
that overriding me was even an option and he took to
Aunt Marilyn (as all children do for this reason)
immediately. They have a resident wood pecker which
A enjoyed watching. When we moved to our new
house, A saw an unusual bird in the back garden
(the only birds he sees regularly are pigeons). He is
sure this bird is a wood pecker. "Look!" he likes to
shout so an entire city block can hear, "Its Uncle
Dick's pecker!"

Alas, we did finally make it back to England and moved
two days later. More on that to follow.

With love from England,
T

June 26, 1007

Dear all,

I will share a few things that I have discovered since
moving to England.

First, kids are amazingly resilient. Second, there is
a staggering number of hunchbacks here (again, I
relate this to always having to walk with your head
down to avoid stepping in poop and/or lots of other
items that, to describe them, are nearly always
preceded by the adjective "used"). One of the best
things about England however is, hands down, the
gossip. I am not kidding. I now fully understand why
women lunch. Lunch just tastes better when your jaw
hangs open and rests on a sticky cafe table. The
queen's loyal subjects in Cheltenham are hard at work
creating a steamy storyline for the next PBS
mini-series.

I just found out that our estate agent (and fellow
parent at school) ran off with his sister-in-law last
week. This explains why he wasn't returning phone
calls... God bless them, the wife and her brother had
to make a special visit to Mom to break the news that
their spouses just ran off together. "Kids? Uncle
Nigel is your new daddy!" Family birthday parties
will be a bit awkward for awhile.

There is also the friend of a friend who had a heart
attack and died in his flat he shared with his
mistress. She found him and had to ring his brother
so that the brother could technically be the one to
find him. I'm thinking that even with the brother
"discovering" him, there isn't much of a way to hide
the husband's double life at that point.
There was also another tragic love triangle (again
parents at school) in which one scorned wife committed
suicide after her husband had an affair with her best
friend.

Believe it or not, there is more gossip and it
involves key parties and unplanned pregnancies (in
adulthood) where the well respected father leaves the
country to avoid responsibility. Clearly, these
people where not born and raised in the Midwest! We
never get good gossip like this back home.

We are all home after a week of independent trips.
M and S went to Cornwall for their class
trip. They spent 5 days surfing, caving, doing team
building activities and stretching their survival
skills (mainly stripping their sheets and re-making
their beds and dealing with hormonal roommates). Two
"Wally" awards were given to the most entertaining
kids. M was one of them. That always scares a
mother. One thing is for sure: the Brits adore
M's dry sense of humor.

J and I went away to Poole, a seaside town, for a
few days to soak up the sun, slurp down wine and eat
our meals in peace. R was in Normandy, France for a
week. R loved his trip. He visited Monet's garden
and the American cemetery at Omaha beach, which was
powerful although mostly R reported back about the
quality of the gift shops. The kids were required to
speak French as much as possible and had to order in
French in cafes and speak French while asking for help
grocery shops and around villages. I was surprised to
learn that Ryan embraced this. Apparently, there was
no end to the roar of approval from his friends as he
approached people throughout the trip saying his most
favorite French phrase, "J'ai mes regles," which,
translated means, "I have my period." Nice.

The most exciting thing as of late, however, is the
fact that M and S took their Common
Entrance Exams. While M did extremely well, he
was a bit overshadowed by S who achieved the
highest marks of all candidates who applied to "the
college". She worked so hard! We are proud of her
and people are coming out of the woodwork to
congratulate her...and us. Most people try to guess
which parent S, the overachiever, takes after.
Hmmm. Not so much either of us...

Hope you are enjoying the sun and summer. We have had
terrible weather the last two weeks. Temps in the
60's and spotty rain. The heat was put back on, not
only to take the chill out of the air, but my laundry
will not dry without it. It just isn't right. Still,
it is a small price to pay to live in such a swingin'
country. I should be become a romance novelist.

With love from England,

T-Ann

June 7, 2007

Good morning.
It seems like ages since I've written. Lots of new
things have been going on in our lives and now seems
like a good time to share.
Aidan added another day to his week at Cheltenham
College Nursery. He is up to four full days. Next
fall (at age 4) he must start school full time Monday
through Friday, 8:15am-3:30pm. All this time spent at
his fussy prep school will be a way for him to perfect
his budding English accent. Some days I feel like I
need an interpreter. Last week Aidan came home from
school and told me he played games in "the hole".
"The hole?" I asked. "No," he said, "The HOLE!"
"The hole?" I said very confused. "No, the SPORTS
hole," Aidan said. Ahhh. I got it: He played games
in the sports HALL! He says things like, "Mummy, I am
very cross with you" and "Where do I put the rubbish?"
And he has chicken pox.
Ryan gave us our first emergency dealing with the
National Health Service. I'll explain without going
into too much detail (for fear Ryan would kill me).
Ryan had significant pain on a Sunday afternoon. We
took him to the hospital (waiting two and a half
hours~ part of that time for a specialist to come)
only to be told there was no doctor who could diagnose
the problem. Ryan's symptoms, however, had the
potential to be quite serious: there was talk of
removing important parts. Parts that only have 4 hours
to live w/o blood flow. So, with no doctor available,
we had to drive twenty minutes to the nearest
children's hospital where they were to be ready and
waiting for our arrival. They knew nothing about
Ryan's arrival and we were left waiting again,
completely unsure of what would happen next.
Thankfully, antibiotics were all he needed. Scary.
If the worst had happened, his four hours would have
been used up trying to find a doctor. The American
system may not be perfect, but ...On a lighter note,
Ryan has really kicked up his golf game and is giving
both Michael and Jim a run for their money. This will
be the summer one of them beats Jim. Most of us can't
wait!
To all you Harry Potter fans out there: Siobhan was
appointed prefect! A prefect is a much coveted honor
in British schools. It is a role of student
leadership. Bravo! Not only that, she was awarded
her academic colors, which is a badge, given for
outstanding academic achievement, as well. She is
most pleased with this achievement because she has
never taken Latin, French, Physics, Chemistry or
Geography before. She managed to catch up and exceed
most of her peers in one year. We are needless to say
quite proud, as are all the other American kids in
school.
Michael is sporting a new pair of orange tinted
glasses (which we lovingly refer to as his Elton John
glasses). During a routine eye exam, we were educated
on a new technology that helps people with dyslexia.
Michael went in for a consultation with an eye doctor
specializing in this and, wow, it's like a miracle!
Words lay down on the page and nothing is moving! I
mentioned to him that after years and years of working
with his learning disabilities he might have wanted to
mention to me that words were moving on the pages and
that some were bold face and some were zigzaged, etc.
He told me he thought that that was the way all
writing was! So he is happy to wear his glasses while
he studies. They are in hip frames, and he looks
pretty darn cute in them.
I have grown tired of lunching and shopping and
cutting my hair and have taken a job minding a darling
shop nearby three mornings a week. It is a perfect no
stress job with all the time off I need to travel and
be with the kids on holidays. Rosa Blue is quite a
girly shop-lots of florals and wonderful English deck
chairs, totes and textiles. Google if you wish!
Lastly, our Commander in Chief, Jim. Jim works hard
and still travels. With exception of his trips back
home, most of his trips are short, for which we are
grateful. We weren't surprised when he was asked to
extend his time in the UK from two to four years.
Anixter, the company Jim works for, had originally
asked us to stay four years. At the time, we weren't
ready to commit for that length of time. Now we've
settled in and everyone is quite content here. After
a series of family meetings (kindly, Jim's boss
suggested that the decision should be the children's)
we've agreed to stay until the summer of 2010. We are
all happy with this decision and it gives us the
ability to truly settle in and set roots. It will be
comforting to a nester like myself to not live such a
temporary way of life. We can bring our dog over and
live a more normal life. The hunt for the perfect
house remains on.
Hope you are enjoying the American summer. Our kids
are in school until July 7th!
With love from England,
T

May 1, 2007

Hello, all.
The children are finally back to school after a month
break. That's a long time. We had an amazing month,
though. Aidan and I sneaked away to the United States
for 10 days. It was as if we had never left, except
all the children had grown. Dividing our time between
my parents' house and Prairie Crossing, I got alot
accomplished: visiting the dentist, doctor and
stocking up on American goods. I was struck with how
clean the American streets and sidewalks are. It's
like they had been sanitized. I've grown used to
stepping over lots of disgusting things on the
sidewalks in England. Maybe one day I'll share my
list of personal favorites with you...
Meanwhile, the big kids were off skiing with a group
from school in the French Alps. Nice life! They flew
into Torino, Italy where the last winter Olympics were
held and drove to Serre Chevalier, France. After
watching the Olympics, it's easy to envision their
location. They had a blast skiing for a week. Siobhan
was awarded "Smiler of the Week" and Ryan earned the
"Top Skier Award" for his group. A very proud boy he
was. The only dark cloud over the week was an 18 hour
flu that spread quite quickly. Michael got it the
last day, so thankfully, he didn't miss any skiing,
but did have to travel home feeling lousy. I'm still
hearing funny stories about their trip, mostly how
much fun the teachers were outside of school.
We all returned home for a few days (Poor Jim had to
stay home and work. He puts the "fun" in
fundraising.), shook off jet lag or, in Siobhan's
case, her bout with the 18 hour flu. Then it was off
to Southern Spain for nearly two weeks. Our trip to
Spain started off like most of our vacations: Jim
steps in dog poop outside while loading the car in
pre-dawn darkness, unknowingly tracks it through the
back garden so in order to reach the car without
stepping in it ourselves, we all have to huddle
together like we're Scooby, Shaggy, Thelma, Daphne and
Fred and tip toe on a single, weak beam from a dying
flashlight.
Southern Spain, if you turned your back to the sea,
looks like every Western movie you've ever seen.
There are donkeys, skinny and sad, wandering up the
hills. There are emaciated bulls grazing up the
mountainsides. The sheep that dotted the landscapes
looked malnourished and depressed. Quite different
from the cute, fluffy well adjusted sheep we have in
England. Yet for all the stark beauty, along the sea,
Spain was awfully built up. Like Florida. We stayed
in Sotogrande, in a luxury flat owned by a friend of a
friend. White marble floors, spa-like bathrooms, all
white furniture, vintage French ticking slip covers.
The veranda had lounge chairs, a huge round table
which sat all of us and two full sized couches just
perfect for napping. It even had such luxuries as a
washer AND a dryer as well as this nifty gadget in the
kitchen into which you could put all your dirty
dishes, add a little soap and short time later, poof,
they'd come out clean. Gosh, I wish I had one of
those...
The area we stayed was surrounded by a marina so we
spent time fantasizing about life on board the
vessels. Sign me up. The area boasts not one but two
polo clubs, so it was truly a study of the good life.
The wealthy Spaniards were the most gorgeous people
I've seen in my life. Effortlessly dressed in casual,
but elegant clothes. The men, women, children, even
the grandparents were stunning and looked as if they
had stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad, (though most all
of them chain smoked). Couple the polo crowd with the
yachting crowd who were all "Jacqueline Kennedy-The
Onassis Years" and it felt like we were extras on the
set of a movie. We spent a couple of days in
Marbella, which is a favorite warm weather destination
of celebs. The atmosphere is much more over the top
and flashy, but what a family friendly place with
American style playgrounds, beach side restaurants and
carnival-like activities for the kids. Great people
watching, too-lots of high heels and hair extensions.
During our time in Spain, children loved playing on
the beach (such a shame the weather was unseasonably
cold). One day, the big kids and I sailed a catamaran
on the Mediterranean Sea and we hung out eating lots
of fresh fruits and fish (we introduced pate to the
kids-Aidan came running to me announcing in a
horrified way, "Daddy's eating cat food!") but hands
down, their favorite thing in Spain was actually not
Spain at all, but Gibraltar. Gibraltar is this huge
mountain jutting curiously out from the sea. Being a
part of the United Kingdom, it is connected to Spain
by a man made landing strip. You drive up, show
passports and wait in line until an official gives the
all clear. When the coast is clear, you drive across
the airport's runway to get onto the "island".
Gibraltar is grimy. The streets are narrow and, not
surprisingly, quite steep. The children will forever
hold in their hearts the memory of Jim desperately
trying to maneuver the huge rental, manual van through
the tiny roads with inclines like San Francisco. As
he was stressing out I, his loyal navigator, best
friend and life partner, was encouraging him, in my
cheerful and ever supportive way to relax. For some
reason, he found this irritating and about the same
time, as he was turning onto a side road, the van
stalled. In the middle of an intersection. On a
steep hill. With a 3 point turn necessary in order to
complete the turn. Suddenly, life in the front seats
became even more animated as Jim colorfully pondered
the virtues of family vacations and I, perhaps too
loudly, questioned his attendance record at drivers
education classes. In the end, he burned so much
rubber that there was a tremendous squealing of the
tires along with a fabulous cloud of smoke and we were
off. The poor kids in the back suppressed their
laughter for at least three blocks before Michael
said, "Does anyone smell smoke?" and they went to
pieces...That van provided more laughs throughout our
vacation than I could ever count (mostly the kind you
have to suppress until the heat of the moment has
passed).
Anyway, you're thinking, "Wow! Good times, Pierce
family", but that wasn't the best part of our time in
Gibraltar. We toured some military tunnels
(interesting) and St. Michael's Cave which has been
made into a natural amphitheater (interesting and
breathtaking). Then, at the top of the mountain, we
came to the area where there are wild apes. They are
really more like monkeys. How cute they were
entertaining the tourists as we pulled up. We got out
of the van, I walked around it and suddenly, I felt
someone try push me down. A split second scan and all
children were accounted for-no pranksters. A split
second after that, I realize I have four soft hands
on my head: a monkey had jumped onto my head. Instead
of reacting like a cool person, I reacted like someone
who might have a bat stuck in her hair. I started
screaming and running, bent over trying to shake it
off, forgetting in the moment that it was a MONKEY and
it was quite used to being tossed about. So, for what
seemed like an eternity (20 seconds?), I ran around
shrieking, bent in half, shaking my head until the
monkey tired of me and jumped off. Aidan then became
hysterical (mostly because I almost pushed him over)
and I happily waited in the van with him for the
remainder of our time there. They were nasty little
monkeys, climbing all over the van, sliding down the
windshield with their hairless rear ends and sticking
their hands in through the slightly open windows like
it was a horror movie. Michael, Siobhan and Ryan
loved every minute spent with monkeys climbing over
them. Two got into a fight on Michael's back and
shoulders! Ryan begged for days for us to get one as
a pet. As if...
I'm attatching a picture of the kids in Sotogrande
with Gibraltar in the background, of Ryan and Siobhan
on a bungee jumping thing in Marbella, one of a wild
sky over Tarifa (the wind surfing capitol of Europe,
so close to Africa you can almost touch it) and one of
Michael with monkeys on his back, so to speak.

With love from England,
T-Ann

March 12, 2007

Elizabeth Hurly

...did not invite me to her wedding. I didn't really
expected an invitation, seeing as I've never met her,
but while living here I've developed a smallish Mom
Crush on Hugh Grant and it would have been nice to
have seen him in a tux. Liz got married in
Winchcombe, a nearby village (she lives in the
Cotswolds) and it was all everyone could talk about,
the traffic, the road closures, who they knew who was
invited. Blah, blah, blah. Secretly I loved this as
I became a local, however briefly, and was able to
lament about the traffic and influx of celebrities
although it didn't affect me one bit. I did, however,
see one of Liz's centerpieces as a woman I know is a
wedding/event planner at Sudeley Castle where Liz's
wedding took place. The centerpiece was stunning.
Obviously, budget was not really an issue.
I have begun the arduous task of house hunting in
England (looking, in fact, in Winchcombe). We need
bigger digs. Giving "The Bickersons" (Michael and
Ryan), who share the tiny fourth floor room, more
space just may add years to all of our lives. In one
of my more charming moments, I gushed to our landlord
that because I thought he was SUCH a great landlord,
I'd ALLOW him to buy us a bigger house. He, as you
would expect, thought I was insane. I asked him to
take a few days and just mull it over. Sure enough,
three days later he called and was actually thrilled
to buy us a bigger house. I've viewed 17th century
stone cottages, Victorian Cotswold stone cottages,
Regency terraced houses, thatched roof cottages as
well as more modern homes. If there is one thing I've
learned from all all this, it's that the English have
quite a penchant for red and/or orange sculpted
carpet.
The kids continue to do well in school. Michael and
Siobhan did very well with their mock Common Entrance
Exams (earning the top marks in the entire class for
history and English, respectively). Michael
inadvertently called me, "sir" the other day. Was I
impressed! Not only was this a telling sign that he
is a polite chap in school, but, on a personal level,
I found this a considerable step up from the Darth
Vader theme song that he usually hums when I walk into
the room.
Ryan is feeling a bit better about his role in
Shakespeare's A Mid-Summer's Night Dream. He found
out that his role is actually a man who PLAYS a woman.
So he'll wear a fake beard AND wear a dress. Somehow
the fake beard makes the whole girl-role more
palatable. He also has to wear a wig, so, I assume,
he'll have lice again before the week is out.
I loved seeing my high school friend, Cindy, last
week. She marveled at how the big kids morphed into
slaves who cleared the table, washed, dried and put
away the dishes as well as put their younger brother
to bed. All the while we sat around. Cindy, a
fashion designer, is tiny. Siobhan was not shy about
holding Cindy accountable for her promise of
hand-me-downs. Cindy had just traveled from Seattle,
to Paris to London to Cheltenham and here was Siobhan
pressing her for freebies. I suppose if I fit in
Cindy's clothes, I'd do the same thing...
Aidan is having his friend, Tilly, over this
afternoon. Having forgotten the buying-of-the-juice
ritual, I am a bit panicky. Aidan wants everything to
be perfect (he insists we bake cookies). He adores
Tilly. He describes her as having "golden curls"
although she has the same white, wispy hair that he
has, only longer. This morning, I ask that he not show
off when Tilly arrived. He asked what showing off
meant. I explained (using examples such as not
throwing toys, not running around screaming, not
making every toy car or train crash with such force it
becomes a hazard, etc.) and he looked up at me,
crushed and said, "But Mom, I like showing off".
But, enough about us. How are YOU doing?
Love,
T-Ann

February 28, 2007

Dear all,

I'm back to my computer after a hiatus spent shaking
off the flu. No flu is fun and this one, with its
insomnia, was particularly trying. Aidan, Ryan and I
had it all at once. One night, I staggered from
Aidan's room praying he'd sleep when I spotted a
figure in the dark, crouched on the stairs leading up
to Michael and Ryan's room. I screamed and lurched
backwards, throwing myself directly onto the red hot
radiator. I then started shrieking and was joined by
Ryan who was now screaming as well, (probably because
his mom looked like one of the three stooges)
(apparently HE was the figure crouched on the
stairs...) So everyone in the house is awake, blood
pumping. And so it went for days.... in a sleep
deprived state I cut my hair even shorter (am I trying
to get it to evolve off?). I now look like my mom,
which isn't necessarily a bad thing, I guess, its just
that THAT wasn't quite the look I was going for.
The second half of my hiatus was spent truly enjoying
myself. Our dear friends back home, Wes and Ellen
Ley, (interesting fact: Ellen's maiden name was May.
How I wish she had hyphenated...) sent their
beautiful daughter, Virginia, to visit us for a week.
My eyes welled up when she walked in the door! At
nearly 16 she had grown up so much in a year. I loved
my time with her: shopping, painting and doing
touristy things like trying to drive on the English
roads in the snow. What a good sport she was, too, as
not one, but TWO of her days were snow days!
Impossible, but, yes. Snow.
In the midst of all the snow, Jim and I had
reservations at a lovely restaurant nearby. It was
the LAST thing in the world I wanted to do: dress up
and slush through the snow. Jim would hear nothing of
rescheduling. He had arranged to have drinks before
hand with friends at their home. I grumbled all the
way to the Mitchell's, through the snow, wondering
aloud (and not in a particularly loving way) why Jim
had agreed to stop by for a quick drink. To drink and
run: so rude. Was I stunned when I realized I had
walked into my surprise birthday party! You don't
know what good liars your friends are until they lure
you into a surprise party. It was wonderful and just
what the doctor ordered to cure my crankiness. I am
blessed to have made such good friends in the short
time we've been here. I am blessed, too, to have such
a patient husband!
The following week we took the kids to Brussels,
Bruges and Paris for their half term break. I highly
recommend Paris for a 40th birthday. While the
weather didn't cooperate, we had a great time and I
had the added pleasure of inadvertantly being treated
kindly by the Parisians, several of whom mistook me
for being French (must be the chic, European hair).
We were nearly crushed in the Louvre while viewing the
Mona Lisa (someone needed to tell a particular
nationality of slight but pushy, camera wielding
tourists that they weren't attending a Who concert).
The wind and rain dampened our Eiffel Tower experience
just a bit. We got out of the cab, walked under the
Eiffel Tower, a process that takes about 70 seconds,
when Michael says with his dry sense of humor, "Well.
We've done that. Can we get back in the cab, now?"
Quick thinking, I suggest tea at the Ritz. Sadly,
without reservations (or a pedigree) the Pierces were
not welcome. We were directed to the nearest
Starbucks.
That evening, just when I thought all the excitement
of the day was over, Jim suggested that he and I go
down to our hotel bar for a celebratory drink. Of
course, I couldn't forgive myself if something
happened to the kids alone in a hotel room so they
came with us. Jim muttered something about having too
many children all the way down to the bar where he
went to order drinks. I secured a booth out in the
completely empty hallway. The kids could play all
evening without disturbing anyone. Perfect. Jim
returns with the drinks, sits down and immediately,
Aidan screams somewhere down the hallway. His
brothers-who-should-have-known-better were at the top
of an escalator. Aidan had jumped on the escalator
alone and tumbled. Thankfully, Siobhan jumped on
after him and she broke his fall, but he needed to be
taken to the hospital to get stitched back up. The
hospital was NASTY (second only to the doctor I saw
when I got a bladder infection once while vacationing
in Barbados back in the early nineties. As I sat with
pigeons in the waiting room, the doctor came out
without a shirt or shoes with what I could only hope
was mud smeared across his belly). The ambiance at
the hospital included a cell like waiting room, men
being brought in and out wearing handcuffs, lots of
shouting and a guy, hooked up to an IV who shuffled in
occasionally (we were there for nearly four hours) to
bum cigarettes from other trauma patients. Aidan was
brave and is good as new.
The children were admirably daring their food choices
throughout the vacation. No creature great or small
was safe from Michael it seemed: he ate horse (a bit
tough-Aidan chewed a small piece for 10 minutes before
we had him spit it out), snails, mussels, rabbit and
frog legs. My personal favorite was the Belgian
waffles which are made from dough, not batter.
Divine.
We are all doing quite well. Michael and Ryan were
asked to "join" the "handwriting club" at school. (If
I had a dime for every time those two had to stay in
from recess to practice handwriting...) Ryan was
cast in a Shakespeare play at school as: a girl (Man!
Are the Brits STILL doing THAT?). Siobhan continues
to study like crazy to pass her Common Entrance Exams
(Michael, who actually SHOULD be studying like crazy
to pass the Common Entrance Exams, prefers to watch
reruns of Myth Busters on TV). Aidan continues to be
Aidan. At his conference last week, his teacher
assured me he is nothing but cooperative in school
each day (I furrow my brow and look at her
suspiciously. You're talking about Aidan, right?).
Jim continues to travel to beautiful countries around
Europe where he pretty much only sees the airports. I
continue to be 40.
Attached are three photos: one of the kids in
Brussels, one of a very embarrassed me being escorted
into the Ritz while my obnoxious family snaps photos,
pretending to be the paparazzi and one of Ryan walking
to school with no coat (not cool) and wearing his
required shorts!
Many blessings to you and yours. I love hearing from
you!

With love from England,
T-Ann

January 15, 2007

Good morning and happy 2007 to you and yours.

We had a beautiful Christmas here in Jolly 'Ole
England. Christmas Eve, we lunched with Santa at The
Queens Hotel, the venerable and fussy hotel in town.
It was quite festive with Christmas crackers and paper
crowns. Later that afternoon we went to church and
the Brits confused us once again. They were all in
jeans. Now. What was THAT all about? Cheltenham is
much dressier than I can usually manage and then when
I do dress up, everyone is in jeans? Christmas day
was divine. We spent the entire day in pajamas and
only got dressed when it was time to visit friends for
drinks and dessert. It was a peaceful day. New Years
Eve was difficult for all of us and was easily our
toughest day in terms of homesickness. We spent the
early evening at the most tedious dinner party, which
ended up being a blessing in disguise: we were all
thrilled to come home, get comfy and ring in the New
Year by watching 2006's Most Annoying People on t.v.
How Kate Moss's emaciated and rotten toothed boyfriend
could have annoyed more people than George Bush in
2006 is beyond me.

So. The new year, coupled with the fact that I am
staring a milestone birthday in the face, has meant
that I have been doing alot of searching. Not much
soul searching, mostly just wrinkle searching. When I
turned 30 I swore that I'd take really good care of
myself so that I'd look fab when I turned 40. It
turns out, however, that I spent a good deal of my
30's changing diapers and driving to basketball games
and somehow missed my opportunity to find that perfect
moisturizer. Damn. Now I stare into the mirror and
wonder when all those lines showed up.

So, after one particularly good long look in the
mirror, I discovered what appeared to be the start of
a fairly healthy mustache. I was mortified! OMIGOD!
When did THIS get here? So I march myself down to
Boots and spend some time in the women's facial hair
removal section (That there were so many products to
choose from, gave me assurance that I am not alone).
Waxing is not for me. Not because I couldn't handle
the pain (which I probably couldn't) but because my
plucked eyebrows grow back at unprecedented speeds and
thought of starting a five o'clock shadow scares me.
What if, God forbid, I should get food poisoning and
need to be hospitalized? What if I didn't have access
to a beauty specialist? I could be laying there,
sicker than a dog, growing a mustache and looking like
Rip Taylor. No. No. There had to be another option.
I found it: Simple. Just exfoliate it off.

I go home, read the instructions. The instructions
say to start in a clockwise motion with this emery
board thing and then work into a counter clockwise
motion. Already I'm lost. Do they mean clockwise
when I look in the mirror or when I look down? So, as
is my nature, I think to myself, 'How hard can it be?'
and ditch the instructions altogether. I guess that
was a big mistake because I ended up looking like
someone who just had the great idea to rub off a
mustache! I looked TERRIBLE! It reminded me of how
my friend, Kurt, looked when he fell down and scraped
his upper lip the night before he graduated from
college. But without the broken tooth. There really
is no way to cover up what looks to be a SEVERELY wind
chapped upper lip, so instead of worrying about beauty
(it is only skin deep, I remind you) I have now been
able to focus on more meaningful ways to better
myself, like throwing my shoulders back, lifting my
head up high and walking down the street pretending
that I do not have what looks to be a communicable
disease on my upper lip. That builds character.


Love,

T-Ann