January 11, 2007

 

Dear all,

 

The tree is down, the parties are over (My favorite

event being  Js company Christmas party-a black tie

affair.  I managed to toss two DIFFERENT shoes into

the suitcase (Thankfully, there was at least, one right and one left).

Didn't I look the part of the good

corporate wife in one 2 inch sling back shoe, the

other a 3 inch strappy number?! So, THAT was a good

ice breaker.).  Currently, everyone in England is

detoxing. I'm serious.  It is widespread. A hostess

will say to you, "Wine?  Coffee?" and then hushed,

with a wrinkled nose, "Or are you detoxing?"  Of

course, we're not detoxing...

 

The kids get a month off for Christmas and we used

every moment of it.  School let out and I had just

enough time to wash a few school uniforms (bigger

house, still no dryer) before we jumped on a plane

bound for Verona and Venice.  What can I say about

Italy that hasn't been said countless times before?

It is beautiful and the food is divine?  Cliches, but

true.  Italy's hype didn't let us down.  What I was

completely unprepared for, however, was the discovery

of a base and shallow person that I never knew existed

within myself.  The delicious Italian shoes, handbags

and fashions awoke a part of me that apparently, had

been lying dormant.  I wanted everything.  I pressed

my nose up to every shop window without shame.  I

ached to be a tall, thin Italian woman just so I could

pull off the full length fur coat, cinched at the

waist with a thick, black patent belt and worn with

spiked, buttery leather boots.   Hair: jet black and

trendy.  Always sunglasses.  I wanted everything: the

supple shoes, the hand tooled books (such old world

craftsmanship that a simple Harry Potter book becomes

a work of art, priced at over $900), the funky

Venetian glass, the hip eye wear, the marbled paper

and even a hot Italian guy or two.  Everything was

crafted with love and pride (young Italian guys

included).  The hot chocolate was decadent, like

steaming melted chocolate bars, cream on the side.  I

morphed into Veruca Salt just before she was deemed a

bad nut, thrown down a shoot and the Oompah Loompahs

chanted about her demise.

 

We travel the world with a little man who demands we

keep things simple.  While J and I secretly

fantasize about returning to every destination without

children, we are grateful to slow down and see the

world through children's eyes.  This trip was no

different.  A was again the star of the show, with

everyone rubbing his blonde head.  A and R

could have happily remained covered with pigeons all

day in St. Mark's Square ("No, we cannot bring any of

them home...") while J and I sat at a cafe on the

square wearing sunglasses and drinking strong Italian

coffee, trying to look cool.  The waiters offered

S wine every evening, much to M's

frustration.

 

We came back home in time for lunch with Santa at the

Queens Hotel in Cheltenham.  Back to balmy weather and

bad service.  Our Christmas  was happy and relaxing.

We had a New Years Eve party as last year our New

Years Eve was spent tragically homesick.  The party

was good fun and it kept us rocking until 4 a.m..

That is fairly late for a four year old who was up two

nights earlier until 2:30 a.m.  I fully expect a visit

from Family Services.

 

M had his adenoids removed and had nasal surgery

January 3.  We went "private", which means you go to a

non-National Health Service hospital, you actually get

to chose your surgeon and (choke) you have to pay

ahead if you do not carry English medical insurance.

We were told it would all be very "American".  It

wasn't.  First of all, because all the private doctors

work for the NHS, you are assigned a time and date for

surgery around the doctor's NHS schedule.  Our ENT is

allowed to work with private pediatrics one evening a

month.  If that date isn't convenient for you, you

wait until next month.  Most startling, the ENT who

was recommended was called "Mr." Hamilton.  "Not 'Dr.'

Hamilton", I asked?  No, the Brits have some kooky

reason why surgeons are called Mr.  Also, they call

nurses "sister".  Last year, in one of my life's

greatest moments of embarrassment (worse than the two

different shoes episode), I actually asked a nurse who

looked like a bit of a tart if she was a nun.  She

almost fell down laughing, grabbing other "sisters" to

tell them what I had asked, all of them becoming

crippled with laughter, as I stood there wishing I was

dead. Anyway, the private hospitals are not quite the

American spa/country club hospitals we are used to.

The first one we went to for the consultation was

outdated and drab.  M and I killed time by

staring at the carpet playing a fun game called, Guess

That Stain.  Despite looking just like a Travelodge,

the hospital in which M had his surgery was

small, but clean (They are forever shutting down

hospital wings here due to nasty viruses that

"mysteriously" kill a dozen people before someone

remembers to toss a bit of disinfectant around.).  The

Mr. did a wonderful job.  And because he stayed

overnight for observation we were both well cared for

by the sisters.

 

We have been abundantly blessed.  May God bless you

with a year filled with happiness, health and

laughter. 

 

Hopefully attached are a few pictures of us

in Italy.

 

With love from England,

T-Ann

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

December 22, 2006

Hello, all.

I have to admit that just after my last installment,
our magical life in Great Britain broke into pieces.
Ryan got lice at boarding school and gave it to Aidan.
I ignited into a disproportionately extreme melt down
that the children will not soon forget and all but
packed our bags to move home. Jim, who, over the
years, has developed a keen sense for knowing when to
leave the country, was safely tucked away in the
United States and doled out bits of wisdom and
encouragement over the phone which, I have to admit, I
found to be less than helpful. I've been told to
expect the kids will get lice 20 times before we
return to the States. It is as "common as mud" they
tell me. Great. Visit at your own risk.

My parents arrived with Jim and it was wonderful to
see them and hard to let them go. It was a short
visit, but they were able to attend chapel on the last
day of term (beautiful) and were here for Michael and
Siobhan's first ball. Michael in his "dinner suit"
(tux) and Siobhan in her gorgeous dress (ballet style)
were a sight to behold. So grown up. Ball gown
shopping began in early October with a frenzy you'd
associate with a royal wedding. Siobhan, of course,
wanted to look like she was 21 and I was hoping to put
her into something more, say, burlap sack-like. A
compromise was struck with a dress that was both sweet
and sophisticated. They both looked quite elegant.
Michael got to slow dance with the "it" girl in class
which made him feel pretty darn good about life
("Lucky!", Ryan responded).

In case anyone is feeling sorry for Ryan because he
was too young to go to the ball, don't. He had the
good fortune to be asked to a party by the cutest
little girl who has been drawing him pictures of cars
and writing him notes since we moved here. He was
mortified (especially because the girl actually called
and asked ME, not him, which I loved because there was
no way he could cover it up). We, being a very
sensitive people, didn't tease him mercilessly. Much.
And even better that his grandparents were here to
participate. As his luck would have it, we were to be
in London the evening of the party and he couldn't
attend. Ryan is such a reluctant heart throb.

We all went to London and Jim and I were able to sneak
away to see Spamalot the musical based on Monty
Python's The Holy Grail, which we couldn't get tickets
to when it was in Chicago (It was great!). It was
impossible to get a cab back to the hotel afterward,
so against our better judgment we got into a rickshaw.
Because things like this just seem to happen to us,
we ended up WEDGED between two double decker buses on
Oxford Street, one of London's busiest roads!
'Ironic, really', I thought to myself (or words to
that effect). 'All the stupid things I did as a
teenager and now I'm going to DIE in a RICKSHAW?!'
The bus drivers were shouting at the rickshaw driver
and a man inside the bus gestured to me that he'd
pray for us. After we were out of immediate danger,
we politely asked the driver to pull over so we could
exit the rickshaw safely (or words to that effect).

Even with a festive trip to London (where, by the way,
we found a pretty darn authentic Mexican restaurant)
and a visit to Selfridges' Santa, it just doesn't seem
much like Christmas here. My roses are still in
bloom! White Christmas in England refers to the heavy
fog, I think. The stores are filled with lots of
yucky things that English people love to eat. Most
everything they eat at Christmastime is thick, black
and gooey and has a high alcohol content. And not in
in a good way. There are few decorations around. The
decoration of choice is a Christmas tree hung in a
flag pole like device outside of the second story of a
building. It is quite festive and meets my general
approval.

We got our Christmas tree on our way home from London.
We brought almost no decorations with us when we
moved here for a couple of different reasons: First,
I thought I'd fall in love with ornaments here and
could start an all English collection. Second, I was
too lazy last Christmas to pack up all our ornaments
in a way that they could be transported to England
without breakage (Let's face it, I can hardly get them
back into the basement each year without breakage).
Well. The decorations here leave alot to be desired
and are ridiculously expensive (remember we reside in
the land of $8 a gallon gas and $24 toe nail
clippers-I'm serious. Normal cheap toe nail clippers).
Funny thing about Christmas trees is that no matter
where you go in the world, the whole Christmas tree
experience makes you want to have a break down. We
got it home and the stand was too big, the lights were
lame. After a few trips to various stores (the
following day because, of course, all the shops close
at 4:00pm), the tree is up and beautiful and we've
completely forgotten the trouble. Like childbirth.

We've come to another changing of the sports at our
house, so we're off "fitting everyone with new kits".
The boys are quite sad to say goodbye to Rugby season
as they were well suited for rolling around in the
mud, chasing a ball. They are now in field hockey
mode. Siobhan, too, is missing the fast paced field
hockey and will be playing netball. Net ball is like
basketball but without the backboard and you aren't
allowed to dribble the ball. Hmmm. This has the
potential to be another wimpy girls' sport. She is a
bit concerned.

Have a Happy Christmas (so English). Hope Father
Christmas (preferred over "Santa") finds each of you
happy and healthy. Although we will be missing our
family, friends and traditions this year (especially
our ass swinging New Years Eve party where fond
memories were created for both young and old. Like
the year our neighbor, Mark, accidentally lit himself
on fire-good times.), we feel tremendously blessed to
celebrate this season in good health and in true
happiness, in a beautiful part of the world,
surrounded by new friends. God bless.

Cheers!

T-Ann

December 5, 2006

Lately

Good morning!

I'm a little belated in getting my latest installment
out. Can't think of any real reason for this, other
than the fact that I've decided to have a go at
"ladies lunching". You may remember that, initially,
I was bewildered by the amount of lovely ladies
lunching in England. They lunch with grace and
dignity. Their hair is always immaculate, their
handbags match their shoes and always, always they
wear stylish clothes. I decided to forget all of
those details and just go to lunch. So I put on my
"smart" coat which covers up my jeans and sweater (or
"jumper" as they say) and do what I do so well: eat
and drink and chit chat. This came in handy recently.
In all seriousness, a couple of weeks ago we headed
into town to see the end of a concert and to catch the
lighting of the town Christmas tree. A crowd of 4,000
was expected so you can imagine the madness when
40,000 appeared. Unfortunately, by the time anyone
realized, we were swept into the crushing crowd. It
was a nightmare. Thankfully, after what seemed to be
an eternity, we were able to turn a corner and get out
of the mess. The cafe owner where I like to lunch let
us in after hours. We ate a lovely dinner, waited for
the crowds to dissipate and headed safely home.

Moments like this make me question who exactly is in
charge in this country, but then my faith is restored
when, say, the power goes out. In England, when the
power goes out, the stop lights do not work. No
flashing reds. No "understood" four way stops. It
could be truly dangerous, but those polite Brits wave
everyone through even at the most difficult
intersections. Unimaginable!

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving in England. The
school had an assembly and a gathering afterwards for
the American families. During the assembly, the
headmaster described the American flag, that it hangs
in every classroom in America, children pledge their
allegiance to the flag every morning and that it hangs
outside every school. The flag that Cheltenham
College Junior School flies on Independence Day,
September 11 and Thanksgiving once flew over Congress.
I was hoping he would stop, but he continued to the
point that I cried! Then, all the children in school
sang, "Make me a Channel of Your Peace" and I could
barely recover! We spent the evening with another
American family. Fiona (who is actually Irish) cooked
the turkey at her house (no way could I stuff a bird
into my kitchenette oven) and we ate at our house
because their house was too small (as small as our
house is, we have a kitchen and dining room). Very
festive complete with pumpkin pie. It felt like a
real Thanksgiving.

The kids made it through their first exams. This is
an exam based educational system. Exams don't just
cover what a student was taught over the term, but
they cover all that has been covered in the prior
years! The pressure is tremendous. Kids are strung
out, crying, staying up late, studying constantly.
It's unhealthy. Thankfully for our kids, I think this
is completely ridiculous. No one is allowed to be
stressed out about these exams (Well, secretly, me,
but only a little bit and I don't let the kids know).
They study, go to sleep early, eat a good breakfast
and get on with it. Michael and Siobhan must test to
get into senior school in the spring. The tests they
took a couple weeks ago are mock, mock Common Entrance
Exams. It's nuts. The kids have done brilliantly!
Last term, Siobhan received the highest grade in her
class in British History. This term Michael received
the highest grade in the ENTIRE EIGHTH YEAR in British
History! How is that possible from a couple of
Americans? Ryan scored a very high mark in Latin
which he only started last term. This was typical of
their marks, scoring just points behind kids who have
had French since the age of three, for instance. I
don't know what to attribute it to. I'd love to take
credit for our bright children, but maybe it was
Prairie Crossing Charter School that taught them how
to think outside the box and enjoy learning. Maybe
this British system isn't as demanding as it appears.
Maybe our American education system gets a bad rap.
Whatever the case, the children are very proud of all
their marks and Michael and Siobhan are all but
guaranteed entry into "the College" next fall.

We had a very "Pride and Prejudice" moment the other
weekend. Michael slept over at his friend Edward's
house. Driving down the wooded lane and pulling in
front of the house felt as if we had stumbled onto a
movie set. This home was designed by the same
architect who designed the White House. The Cotswold
stone house was a country house for a man whose city
house takes up a full block in Cheltenham and is now a
part of Cheltenham College. Gorgeous. The queen
herself wanted to give this home to Charles and Diana
as a wedding present, but the National Trust took
Charles to court to prevent the purchase on account of
the fact that the view is so spectacular, it would not
be legal to fence it in. The view belonged to "the
people". The National Trust won. This particular
day, Royals were hunting on the property (By law they
must allow the public, and Royals, to hunt and people
are allowed to walk the property. Phyllis tells funny
stories of opening the door in the morning and having
scads of Japanese tourists picnicking and looking in
the windows.). The Wong's purchased this home as a
holiday home as their main home is in Hong Kong. Our
Grayslake home would fit nicely into this home's main,
double staircase. Because it is a family home (They
have four boys. Joe, the father, is Chinese and
spends most of his time in Hong Kong, but the boys
were unhappy boarding at school, so Phyllis moved to
England) it is actually very warm. For those of you
keeping score, Siobhan has now changed her wedding
venue to the Wong's drawing room. (God willing, to
one of their sons...)

I met Jim in Brussels last week. A getaway like this
requires a bit more choreography now that my Number
One Babysitter, Old Reliable (my dear mother) is
thousands of miles away. I had Aidan's sitter come
here and the older kids were treated to five days of
boarding school. They LOVED it. Siobhan sent me a
text message at one point that said we would have to
fight her to come home. We didn't speak with Ryan the
entire time because he was always running in the yard
with his mates whenever we called. Alas, we did rope
them all into returning home and while little could be
better than a year long slumber party, they each
admitted that it was nice to be home. Siobhan, 13
years old going on 30, told me that she would lay in
bed at night thanking God for the experience of
boarding. She realized that she was blessed to be
experiencing something that most American kids never
would. And Ryan was just glad no one made him take a
shower all week.

Jim, who has been traveling for the better part of a
month, will return from the U.S. with my parents on
Saturday. They'll be here for Michael and Siobhan's
first ball next Wednesday and we'll all go to London
before they return home. I need a dose of Mom and
Dad.

Peace,

T-Ann

November 13, 2006

Hello, everyone!

Living abroad for over six months has given all of us
an appreciation for other cultures, yet all that we
encounter in England is processed in comparison to
everything we know in America. There are things back
home that you simply take for granted. I am not
talking about fabulous Mexican food, wide roads or
show of emotions. I am talking about tow trucks.

Parking and driving in every town in England, is a
nightmare. Cars are parked in both directions on both
sides of the street making two lane roads one lane.
In typical British fashion, one polite driver pulls
over to let the other through. No one is bothered.
No road rage. A quick wave of thanks to the driver as
you pass and you're off. It just happens like waiting
in queues forever without the slightest irritation.

Last weekend, however, a small truck parked behind our
house making it impossible for us to leave. We called
the police and they, being good sports, came out and
gave the owner a ticket, but wouldn't tow it! It
would be like someone blocking your driveway (only
imagine two brick walls on either side of your
driveway-not grass), going to London for the weekend
and you not able to have the car removed! Honestly.
Take a moment. Think about how insane this is. The
van's taxes had been paid and, therefore couldn't be
towed! Not even at our expense (we could be sued)!
THREE DAYS WE WERE PARKED IN!

When our street was to be resurfaced, the department
of highway workers dutifully showed up and idled their
trucks in front of our house for hours, but no work
was done. Why? People did not move their cars from
the street even though the signage was up for weeks
posting the start date. NO TOW TRUCKS. NO DENVER
BOOT. Can you imagine that happening in Chicago? On
the street behind us, they actually resurfaced the
street, but around two cars which hadn't been moved.
It makes me crazy!

When I was in college, I went out one Thursday night
(actually I went out a lot of Thursday nights). It
happened to be Holy Thursday. I must have been in a
celebratory mood (What with knowing the ending to the
story~knowing the end of the story makes Easter week,
living museums and birth stories so much more
enjoyable) because Good Friday morning I didn't feel
much like going to class, let alone walking there. I
drove and parked illegally in the campus bookstore
(VBS for all you DeKalb fans out there) parking lot.
I reemerged from class 50 minutes later only to
discover my car missing. It had been towed. I spent
the remainder of my Good Friday scraping money
together, searching for my car and, pretty much losing
my will to live. I learned my lesson and, to this
day, try really, really hard to avoid parking
illegally.

My point is that in a civilized society, cars must be
towed to preserve order. A shared fear moves a
society along. Remember the Metric Scare of the
'70's? Or Michael Jackson?

All continues to go well here. Michael was moved up a
team in rugby, Ryan was made captain of his team and
Siobhan was asked to participate in a field hockey
tournament and suffered her first really nasty injury:
huge hit to the knee. Jim and I went to teacher
conferences Friday evening and I almost have to wonder
why we bother. We have been having the same
conferences over and over, year after year, like we
are living the movie Groundhog Day: Michael would be
a brilliant student if he wasn't so unorganized ("Yes.
We are aware how difficult it is to be successful
when you never have a pencil."). Siobhan is a delight
to have in class ("Yes. They sure are different,
aren't they?") and Ryan talks way too much.

We attended chapel at school last night for a
candlelight Remembrance mass. The British equivalent
to Veterans' Day is a highly respected day. The
chapel at Cheltenham College is magnificent. The
service was quite powerful. The interior of the
chapel is full of brass name plates with former
students who died in action over the last one hundred
plus years (no shortages of wars in England's
history). Those young men were once so much like our
children, sitting in the same pews. Just when I
thought I may be brought to tears Aidan perked up and
enthusiastically said in a loud whisper, "God Save The
Queen!" (I promise you I sang 'My Country Tis of Thee'
in his ear during the national anthem). And there it
was: the loud thump of every Irish ancestor rolling
over in their graves.

That's it for now. As always, I've gone on far too
long. I hope all is well with you and yours. We
think of each of you often.

Love,
T

October 30, 2006

Good morning and a happy birthday to Ryan, my dad,
Sian, Leanne and Jaci! As I am notoriously bad with
remembering birthdays, but not so bad at remembering
lists, I wish more people would buddy up and share
birthdays like this. It is so much easier for me and,
quite frankly, isn't that what its all about?

We are celebrating Ryan's birthday by eating macaroni
and cheese (his birthday choice) and then off to a
wonderful restaurant for dessert. This influx of
carbs will, no doubt, have all of us crashing into
hypoglycemic despair by 8:00pm, but without trick or
treating the following day, it should all even out.
Halloween, we've been told, is merely a blip here.
The college kids, however, were out celebrating in
costumes over the weekend. Siobhan and I came upon
three "devils" peeing between two cars on our side
street Saturday night. I honked the horn hoping to
startle them and thus have them pee all over each
other, but they must have been fairly numb at that
point, because they hardly reacted. Siobhan asked why
college kids were so irresponsible. I said I didn't
know.

We enjoyed our week long half term break. The first
days were tough. Michael and Ryan produced gym bags
filled with wadded up wet swim suits, towels, rugby
socks, rugby shoes, rugby shirts, rugby shorts, gym
socks, gym shoes, gym shirts and gym shorts. If you
could have only smelled the towel Ryan was using to
"dry" himself off... I thought I had made my point
pretty clear three weeks ago, in a very loud and
animated sort of way, that sweaty and moldy gym bags
weren't my cup of tea, but apparently my message
didn't get through. The mold and mildew smell hung
around for days before all the items could be washed
and the gym bags bleached.

Without any definite plans for half term, I woke
enthusiastically one morning determined to get
everyone out of this very small house. When Aidan
woke up I told him that we'd be going to a castle
later that morning. He looked completely underwhelmed
and said, "Oh. A castle." Amazing that almost six
months to the date of our arrival in this ancient
country everyone is tired of castles. Even the three
year old. Needless to say, I dumped the idea.

We did spend two days in London, however. It was good
fun. We first hit the British Museum which is filled
full with stolen artifacts from countries all over the
world. Each section has a clearly chiseled gratitude
stone where they thank some important person for
"donating" all the items. For instance, in the
ancient Greek section (so large it becomes boring
after awhile) Lord So and So is commended for
securing a letter of permission from the TURKISH
government to go into Greece and take whatever he
wanted from the Acropolis and ship it back to England.
Hmmm. Jim and the kids were in Athens last May. The
Brits have a much more extensive collection of Greek
artifacts than the Greeks do. Most "bits" at the
Parthenon, for example, are reproductions. The Brits
still refuse to give anything back. It actually made
me really mad and plus it was gorgeous outside, so we
left the museum after a short time and headed out into
the warm and sunny weather (The weather report when we
left was calling for 90% chance of rain and cool
temps. We have enjoyed a warm and dry autumn here
mainly because I lug an umbrella around. If I have an
umbrella with me and wear a sweater, the skies clear
and it becomes warm.)

We enjoyed the open air double decker buses, parks and
meals outside. There was an obligatory stop at the
Hard Rock Cafe which didn't thrill Jim and I at first,
but we had the best cheeseburgers! I am not
exaggerating when I say that I have not had a medium
rare anything since moving here. I don't normally
order meat or french fries here because they are
terrible. This burger (cooked medium rare, but with
all sorts of eat-at-your-own-risk warnings) was so
good it made me homesick. I started to get all
sentimental and missing guacamole again. God bless
Eric Clapton for donating a guitar to his favorite
American diner in London. The rest, as they say, is
history.

Halloween will be tough for the kids to miss. I
haven't bought any candy as I am told no one trick or
treats (they don't sell fun sized sweets here). The
Brits are almost apologetic for this (as they are with
just about everything-like the weather), but we are
looking forward to Guy Fawkes night on Saturday.
We'll go to a celebration at school complete with a
huge bonfire, burning effigies, fireworks, hot dogs
(no, thank you) and mulled wine. Is there a better
way to celebrate the foiled gun powder plot? You
know, the one 400 years ago where the Catholics tried
to gain control of the English government by blowing
up the Parliament building but whose plan was
discovered and they were all shot, stabbed or hung?
This is why no one in the royal family can be or be
married to a Catholic to this day. Ahhh, those crazy
Catholics. I'll have another mulled wine, thank you.

I start painting lessons this week with my friend and
personal trainer, Kelly (I'm hoping to get her out of
the gym in order to introduce her to the wonderful
world of gluttony and sloth). The painting lessons
are a part of my elaborate get rich quick scheme that
involves not working evenings or weekends, when Jim is
out of town, half term break, term break and summer
break. Also Fridays.

The boys enjoyed watching the Bears play on Sunday
night. We get the games live, which is pretty
amazing. Jim tried to buy Ryan a Bears jersey for his
birthday while at home last week, but there were none
available. Chicago must be in Bear mania! Have a
wonderful American Halloween and eat an extra Dark
Chocolate Milky Way bar (or 13) for me.

God bless,

T-Ann

October 16, 2006

Hi, everyone!

We are enjoying our first autumn in England. The days
are cool (50's and 60's) and mostly clear.
Cheltenham is such happening place to live. This past
week, the literary festival was in full swing. Jim
and I got tickets to see Frank McCourt at our town
hall (a beautiful venue). Frank was very funny and
witty. He talks just like he writes and shared many
great stories that made us realize just why his
Angela's Ashes, 'Tis and his latest novel, Teacher Man
are so popular.

Aidan started his full days of school last week and
Jim and I celebrated by heading down to London. I
felt kind of guilty, but we dropped off our little
Aidan, jumped in the car and the tires almost squealed
in the parking lot as we raced out!

We bummed around London mainly enjoying the difference
in scenery. We stopped at Selfridges Food Hall, and
feeling a bit full of ourselves, decided to indulge in
some exotic, luxury food items. We left with some
Kraft macaroni and cheese, Hersey's syrup and 2 boxes
of Arm and Hammer baking soda (can't get it here and
my little fridge needs all the help it can get with
the smelly cheeses). At $36, it was a real splurge!

The kids are doing well in school. Aidan is adjusting
slowly but surely. I hear him talking to his toys in
French, so they must be teaching him something. He
sings his patriotic lullabies (like You're a Grand Old
Flag and the preamble to the Constitution from School
House Rock) which makes me happy. The head of upper
school hung an American flag up because there are so
many Americans at the school now (I think its up to 7
in the upper school). It has since fallen (Michael
found it on the floor and like a good citizen, picked
it up and handed it in). The headmaster asked if I'd
help with some kind of Thanksgiving
celebration/education, which I thought was quite sweet
and inclusive of him. After agreeing happily, I am
now struck with fear that it may somehow involve
baking.

Ryan scored a try (a goal) in rugby during his last
game. He was one happy boy! Now, of course, he's
even more puffed up than usual and has no problem
micro-managing the guys on his line. He went to an
all day field trip to a battle reenactment South of
London on Saturday. He loved it (although the French
still won). He is trying to grow his hair out, but is
currently sporting an early Paul McCartney/helmet head
"do" that is hard to look at.

Siobhan was chosen to be a monitor! We are very proud
of her. Responsibilities are that of a prefect, a
student supervisor (without having to purchase new
uniform pieces-she wears a special pin, thank God).
She can boss kids around (a personality trait
perfected by age two), give black entries (those
annoying little marks that bring about certain doom if
enough are amassed) and she is called upon to be a
leader in the school. She had to interview for the
position last year. Her housemaster confided in me
that he highly recommended Siobhan for prefect last
term, based on her leadership qualities, but there
might have been a mutiny if "the new girl" swiped the
much coveted position. There were two girls and two
boys selected to be monitors.

Michael continues to work like a dog at school and
rugby. He prefers rugby. He is really getting good,
although he is black and blue all over. He is
learning the differences between American football and
rugby the hard way. The boots' metal cleats are about
an inch and a half long. He has already gotten one
under the knee cap and was kicked on the side of the
face. In rugby, you don't tackle too low and you get
yourself up and out of the way of boots after a
tackle. All the boys at school look like the walking
wounded!

Jim is doing well and enjoying his work. He makes
quick trips to Paris, Milan and Prague and is home in
a day or two. He will be back and forth to the US
quite a bit before the end of the year, but we can't
complain as he hardly travels like he used to back
home. On a recent trip a funny thing happened to him
in the airport. There was a group of six people
following him everywhere. He'd get into a line,
they'd follow. He'd go up to the desk to ask a
question, they'd follow. He went to the bathroom,
they'd follow. Finally, they got up the nerve to
approach him. They thought Jim was the travel guru,
Rick Steves!

Goodbye from the land void of Holloween decorations!

T-Ann

September 28, 2006

Good afternoon!

We're back from our trip to Sweden and Denmark and
have managed to eat our way through two more
countries! This makes us painfully aware of England's
gastronomic (a word they use all the time here which,
actually, makes me feel sick when I hear it)
inferiority. The food is fresh and creative in
Scandinavia, overcooked and involving too many organs
in England.

Our trip started with two days and a night in
beautiful Copenhagen. Scatter my ashes there, please!
The architecture is breathtaking: old, romantic
buildings next to modern buildings that manage to be
clean and organic without being sterile and cold. How
do they do that? The shopping was phenomenal. The
playgrounds are gorgeous, like enormous hand painted,
wooden toys. I've never seen anything so well crafted
and sweet. Bicycles rule in Copenhagen. Thousands of
bicycles everywhere. Devoted lanes (very spacious) on
all streets make it easy to get anywhere. We were
skeptical that leaving the city on a Friday at 5:00pm
would bring us no delays, but sure enough, we didn't
encounter one traffic delay over the bridge back to
Sweden even with a lane shut down for repair. Cars
aren't the prefered mode of transportation. Hard for
us Yanks to wrap our brains around that...

Sweden was not unlike Wisconsin save the
undecipherable road signs and the courteous drivers
who used the left lane only for passing. Volvos for
everyone!! A day in Lund, where my cousin lives, made
me want to throw everything I own out and start over
with colorful, modern versions. Even in this ancient
town, that bright, Scandinavian simplicity was
everywhere. One day, we took a ferry to the island of
Ven where we rented bikes. Ven (which, loosly
translated, means something like, don't look now, but
if you lose control of the bike on this gravel path,
for sure, you and that boy strapped to the back of the
bike, will careen off the side of the cliff) is a
picturesque island scattered with farms and cottages
and darling gardens. The blue sky was cloudless. The
sea glittered, broken up only by the sailboats. Ahhh.
It took me all of about two minutes upon our arrival
home to check out rental details for next summer!

The highlight, though, was undoubtedly, my cousin
Cheryl's wedding. What does the wedding of two
environmentalists look like? Heaven! Cheryl and her
husband Stephan wanted a wedding with the smallest
footprint possible and they achieved that with
stunning success. The wedding took place in a small
village church with the groom's father presiding. The
beautiful bride walked down the aisle wearing her
mother's wedding gown past pews decorated with a
single rose held in place with garden twine. All the
flowers were collected outside the night before and
arranged (I thought professionally) by the maid of
honor the morning of the wedding! There were readings
both in Swedish and English. A beautiful service, but
we should have snagged seats closer to the front. I
wanted to knock over all the tall Swedes in front of
me (In fact, my cousin, Mike, the father of the bride,
was up and down the aisle talking to his wife, Sue and
looking quite nervous before the ceremony. I didn't
realize it, but, he hadn't seen us amongst all the
tall guests and the wedding was being held up as he
waited for our arrival! Finally, he saw us and the
bride made her entrance.). The reception was
exquisite. I was honored to sit at the head table and
happy to not have to supervise Aidan near all the
candelabras (Candlelight is everywhere in Sweden, even
our hotel restaurant was bathed in candlelight each
morning.) The food served was locally produced and
organic. So delicious. We ate course after course,
sang songs and enjoyed toasts until probably 10:30pm.
As guests mingled in an adjoining room (Eleven
countries were represented! All their friends are
gorgeous and friendly. I think they should start a
match making service...) the reception room was
overhauled for dancing and more food! Dancing began
and light snacks (hot dogs with light beer or milk-I
love that!) were served. We left after Ryan fell
asleep at the table about 11:30pm and the party was
just getting started! Mike and Sue got home at
3:30am!

It's funny where life takes you. I remember holding
Cheryl for an entire day at a family reunion when she
was an infant. Twenty-some years later, there we all
are (Mike still filled full with the blarney) in
Sweden together. Being a mere 1 1/2 hour plane ride
away, Cheryl, in Sweden, is my closest relative.
Whodathunkit?

September 20, 2006

World News

In news across the pond, Michael's popularity rating,
while remaining high with the younger generation, has
plummeted with the older, those-who-are-raising-him
age group. He has been shrouded in a cloud of
allegations including constantly losing his school
supplies, not doing what he's been told, keeping
unsatisfactory living conditions on his side of the
room and, what could be seen as his greatest offense,
putting clean clothes into the dirty laundry in order
to avoid putting them away. His initial spin was
twofold: plead the 5th and cry conspiracy theory.
Both were met with harsh criticism. His supporters
are calling for patience assuring the masses that
this, too, shall pass, while his opponents are all but
certain he'll never secure a job and leave home.
After a short retreat, Michael's camp has reemerged
and has made damage control a top priority. With the
eminent threat of the loss of after school sports,
Michael has become dutifully remorseful, but has
stopped short of actually promising to never have it
happen again. This latest spin, while widely agreed
is a first step towards healing, has also been seen by
some as a thinly veiled plan to lay in bed at night
and pray that one of his siblings messes up and takes
the pressure off him. This move, while deserving of
some merit, may prove too bold and risky so close to
his birthday, but, if he intends to make a full
comeback, he'll have to take chances.


Ahhh. That said, the rest of us are doing well.
Aidan continues to not want to go to school and has
asked to return his uniform. Ryan is really cranking
out the Latin and French and is loving rugby. Siobhan
has finally settled in with a really nice bunch of
girls. She is enjoying the challenging academics and
the guts and glory of field hockey.

My dear friend from high school, Colleen left, after
seeing more of Great Britain than we have, but not
before encouraging the kids (this is her claim to fame
and has won her a top spot in the children's hearts)
to practice irreverence for their parents whenever
possible. This is charming. Trust me. Only she can
get away with it.

We are off to the airport tonight to catch a plane to
Sweden in the wee hours of the morning. My cousin,
Cheryl Prindiville, is getting married there on
Saturday. We are so thrilled to be able to attend!

Love,

T

September 9, 2006

Greetings, America!

So tell me. How is Katie Couric doing? Our honorable
former governor George Ryan is off to prison. Tom
Cruise not only showed off his new baby, but made up
with Brooke Shields. Have I missed anything?

Aidan and I enjoyed a quintessential day in the
Cotwolds on Friday. We drove through "chocolate box"
villages, down one lane winding roads to Aidan's
babysitter's new house in the country. It is a
converted farm building. Darling. We took a long
walk collecting wild black berries. It was a perfect
autumn day with a warm sun and crisp temperatures. We
walked through the woods and over a stream, stopping
to play Pooh Sticks (stick races) on the water under
the cutest foot bridge ever. Just like The Hundred
Acre Woods. It left me looking around for Piglet,
Tigger, Owl and friends. Aidan's squealing scared
away all the sheep in a neighboring pasture (I didn't
know sheep could run). We collected berries on
hedges, that, I swear, looked like a post card. The
branches of the berry bushes grew wild and framed the
village down in the valley below. By the time we got
back to Clare's house, Aidan's lips were black with
berry juice and he was exhausted. We came home and
made blackberry and apple (from Clare's tree) crumble.
If that didn't bring on an English accent, I don't
know what will!


The kids started school this week. Aidan is off to a
wobbly start, I'd say. He loves the uniform and being
big, but isn't interested in going to school (two days
a week to start-next year he is required to go five
full days, so we may increase Aidan's days to three
later in the year). Wednesday night he was up from
11:30pm-2:00am with a tummy ache. Shades of Ryan who
had Sunday night tummy aches for two years when he had
a difficult teacher! Aidan begged me not to take him
but, alas, he went the second day (he actually
convinced Siobhan to carry him the entire way to
school). His first day he came home blotchy, with red
puffy eyes from crying. Broke my heart. He did
mention a girl he described as "My special friend. I
love her. I miss her. I want her to come to our
house and we could buy juice and I could share it with
her..." Quite smitten, I'd say. I asked his teachers
about her Thursday, hoping that she could come over to
play one day, but it turns out she was an older sister
of a classmate. She was Siobhan's age. Figures. All
in all, I think he'll make it. I was quite broken up
after I dropped him off. I got my hair cut (Again.
It is officially short.) and bought myself a watch.
Retail therapy. I phoned Jim, who was in Paris, and
told him I thought that he had actually gotten off
pretty cheap. When Ryan went to kindergarten, my
therapy came at a much higher price tag: Aidan.

The big kids adapted seamlessly to their new classes
and routine. Siobhan and Ryan will be taking Latin
and French this year. Michael will stick to the
non-Latin tract spending his extra time fortifying
English and French. I love the autumn and winter
uniforms: Michael in grey trousers, blue and white
pinstriped shirt, tie and navy sweater. Siobhan in a
black watch plaid kilt, light blue shirt, tie and navy
sweater. Ryan in the same grey corduroy shorts, brown
shirt, itchy wool knee socks (he ditched the dreaded
sock garters and takes his chances with black entries
and a note home) and blue sweater. Aidan is in the
identical uniform (but his wool allergy is paying off:
cotton socks). Adorable.


Life is typical at Cheltenham College Junior School.
All three go until 6:00pm each night. Lots of rules.
Michael and Siobhan had an assembly the first day.
The headmaster passionately explained that the
children must be well groomed. He left and the Head
of Upper School, Mrs. Holt, went up and down the rows
of kids pointing out which boys needed haircuts
(notices would be sent home), which children were in
defiance of the critically important No Sleeves Pushed
Up policy, and whose shoes were untied. Mrs. Holt
then proceeded to lecture the children about what a
privilege it is to attend this school. Our kids
should be thinking about all the children in Sri
Lanka, who are very poor but proud of their school
uniforms. Seeing as I had to pay $40 for an art smock
alone for Aidan this term (and what is so wrong with
one of dad's old dress shirts on backwards?) I don't
think Mrs. Holt spent much time thinking about the
fact that those poor Sri Lanken children probably made
our kids' uniforms in sweat shops for a penny a day...

The kids enjoyed a field hockey camp the week before
school started. Siobhan will play field hockey as her
fall sport (finally a REAL sport complete with
bruising) and the boys will play rugby (More curiously
short shorts. What is with the English?) in the fall
followed by field hockey in the winter. Ryan will
play field hockey for fun on Friday afternoons this
term. Jim and the kids played in a pick up game on
Tuesday nights at school towards the end of the
summer. Jim really enjoyed it. He is at his best,
athletically speaking, when competing against 12 year
old girls.

Jim returned from Paris on Thursday. Travel since
this latest terrorist plot has become barbaric. On
his last trip to the U.S., there was a mechanical
failure and they all had to spend the night in an
airport hotel without luggage! United wouldn't
release the luggage, so everyone arrived the following
day wearing dirty clothes. All toiletries must be
checked, so no toiletries either. Yuck. In Paris, on
his return flight, security took away Jim's half eaten
chocolate bar, but allowed him to carry on 6 bottles
of wine. Go figure.


We are eagerly awaiting the arrival of my friend,
Colleen, this weekend. She is another favorite with
our kids. Colleen must be brave. Last summer she
vacationed with us on Cape Cod. Our time there
included rainy days, piercing wind/sandstorms,
oppressive heat, naked native Americans and one case
of projectile vomiting. She proclaimed Jim to be the
most patient man alive after that vacation. Colleen
attributes her desire to remain single and childless
to us. We couldn't be more proud.


Lastly, for those of you early Christmas shoppers, The
Stilton Cheese Makers Association is launching a new
perfume, Eau de Stilton. The PERFECT stocking
stuffer.


Love,

T