Nappy Valley...in New York

Silent Sunday; The Rules

2012-01-29T17:14:00.000-05:00

Snow embarrassment

2012-01-23T12:26:00.005-05:00

The first snowfall of the season, and a very civilized one it was too. A respectable four inches, which meant that everything looked icing-sugar pretty when we woke up on Saturday morning, but not so outrageous that it meant several hours spent shoveling ourselves out of a hole (like last year).

It was still snowing heavily, but in a fit of enthusiasm, and thinking the roads might be a bit slippery for driving, we decided to walk the mile or so to Littleboy 1's football practice. The boys had already been playing outside for a good half hour by the time we had to leave, and were suitably snowy. I put Littleboy 1's soccer gear in a bag, donned my ski clothes and boots, and we set out. The Doctor and Littleboy 2 followed behind; the idea was that they would come halfway just for the walk and then come home.

It soon dawned on me, as the snowflakes stung my eyes, that 1) walking into a blizzard was not actually that much fun and 2) we had not allowed nearly enough time to get there on foot. Littleboy 1 managed to fall into a slushy puddle within the first hundred yards, soaking his gloves and jacket, and then proceeded to moan and whinge for the entire journey. The snow was in his eyes...he was too tired....he was cold....why on earth hadn't we driven...and so on (you get the picture). Trying to march as fast as I could, I kept having to backtrack to hurry him up, coaxing him up the snowy roads like a little donkey.

Eventually we arrived, 15 minutes late, at the school gym where it takes place. Everyone else (well about half of everyone there normally is, one half having wussily stayed at home while the other 50% made it there warm and dry in their SUVs) was playing football. All the parents solemnly watched as I stripped Littleboy 1 to his underwear, dressed him again, and then proceeded to hang various bits of sodden clothing around the gym, on whatever I could find.

Luckily he regained his enthusiasm within minutes and was off to kick the ball around. But then The Doctor and Littleboy 2 appeared. Littleboy 2 had determinedly followed us the whole way - I think he thought he was going to miss out on something. He was also covered in snow from head to foot, so I had to remove yet more socks, gloves etc. and find places to hang it up, as The Doctor went home to dig the car out.

I could tell they were all thinking, Crazy British Mother, but tried to carry on as if nothing remarkable were happening. Yes, every day I remove a load of wet ski clothing and find door handles to hang it on. Yes, I thought it would be a really good idea to walk a mile in a blizzard with two small children. Yes, I'm looking really quite calm, considering, sitting down to look at my iPhone now, just like the rest of you.

I really quite enjoy it sometimes........

Celebrating Dr. King.

2012-01-16T15:52:00.003-05:00

I've never thought that hard about today's holiday of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day before - other than that, as a federal holiday, it isn't the best-timed. (I don't know about you, but I'm not really ready for a bank holiday weekend in the middle of January - I'd rather have one in the spring when the weather is more conducive to being outside, and we don't just feel as if we've barely recovered from Christmas).

But as the Littleboys grow older, we've started to talk more about the meaning of the day - and it's brought it home to me that it's an excellent idea to celebrate the hero of the civil rights movement. At 5 and 6, the Littleboys already know from their school all about Dr. King, and what he stood for. They know that there was once a time when black and white children couldn't sit in the same part of the bus, drink from the same water fountains or attend the same school. They told me a story about Dr. King having a white friend when young, and the white boy's mother telling the child he couldn't play with his friend. They also told me all about Ruby Bridges, the first African-American child to go to a white elementary school in the South. And they can explain to me exactly why the rules that Dr. King fought against were unfair.

It's more difficult to explain to them why he was assassinated - they seem very confused by that, but I don't want to shield them from things like this, so I just try to convey to them that there were some bad/ignorant people who didn't like what he was doing. I've also tried to impress on them that this isn't ancient history; that this was only going on a decade or so before Mummy was born, when Grandad was a young man. (In fact, watching the DVD of The Help this weekend rather reminded me of this - the early 60s may seem like a world away, but for my generation it really wasn't).

Brought up in a fairly diverse area where they play with black, white, Asian and Hispanic friends, the boys would probably have no real idea about racism so far if we didn't have this day to focus minds on it. In American schools, I feel like they're always focusing on some forthcoming calendar event - but I'm glad that this is one of them. In addition to all the Halloween, Valentines and Mother's Day stuff they come home with, we now have drawings about Martin Luther King Jr.; Littleboy 2 was particularly proud of a paper plate with a picture of him on it, surrounded by black, white and brown handprints he'd cut out and glued on.

Of course the UK didn't have a civil rights movement or a Martin Luther King figure, and our history evolved somewhat differently, but I wonder what is done in British schools to start the conversation about racism and intolerance? After all, though we've come a long way, these are still massive problems for society, and the more education they get about such things from an early age, the better.

A taste of things to come?

2012-01-10T20:14:00.005-05:00

It must be an American election year, because NPR, the radio station we listen to as we wake up each morning now seems to be firmly given over to politics. We are hearing about the ins and outs of the Republican candidates as they fight it out in the primaries, which might be interesting if any of them were at all dynamic or charismatic, but they seem distinctly lacklustre (and they're Republican too, which doesn't help them in my estimation).

This morning we heard about a tiny hamlet in New Hampshire where there were only 9 voters. Newt Gingrich and someone else got one vote each, Romney and Huntsman got 2 each. Wow, hold the front page! If this is a taste of things to come, I might have to start listening to Radio 4 on 'Listen Again' every day, not just at the weekend.

Meanwhile we are dealing with the US government in our own little way. We need to renew our visas this summer, which means a trip back to the UK as you can't do it from within the US. Trying to be organised, we booked the flights ages ago, and The Doctor has assembled all the many pieces of paperwork ready to make our appointment. The other day, he rang up the US embassy in London (at vast cost as they have a premium rate line), paid $16 to even give his name, then gave them all our passport numbers and visa numbers, names, ages, dates of birth, star signs.....only to be told that the only available appointments were in February. Seeing as we are there in April, this is not particularly helpful. They could not tell him when the April dates would come through, so we now have to have the embassy on speed-dial and just have to keep ringing and checking - and eventually paying another $16 to re-register. The last thing we want is to miss the date we want, as the visas take up to two weeks to come through, and of course we need our passports back to return on our booked flight back to America. Sigh.

All in all, January 2012 is shaping up to be a pretty dreary month. For the last two years here, January has been cold and snowy, which although difficult to deal with has been quite pretty, and exciting for the kids. But this year we've had no snow as yet, and the grey, intermittently chilly weather is reminding me distinctly of England. The Doctor and I are also on a health kick, so cutting back drastically on the booze and fatty foods - although I'm still enjoying running, which I guess is something.

The only comfort is a new season of Downton Abbey on PBS, plus a box set of The InBetweeners that my brother-in-law sent us for Christmas (labelled by him as 'The anti Downton Abbey). I'm also excited about seeing The Book of Mormon on Broadway in February thanks to a Christmas present from The Doctor (for UK readers who haven't heard, it's a smash hit musical written by Trey Parker and Matt Stone of South Park fame).

Plus there's the thought of seeing family and friends in April, and spending some time in the UK after a break of nearly two years. At the moment, sitting soberly in my study on Long Island, the idea of a night out with the girls in a Soho cocktail bar seems like a distant fantasy in a far off land. I can't wait until it becomes a reality.

Speed dating on chairlifts and other Vermont tales

2012-01-03T13:36:00.006-05:00

Happy new year!

We have just returned from a week in Vermont. After a seven hour drive home yesterday, the Littleboys returned (grumpily) to school, and The Doctor and I returned (grumpily) to work. And so on to January, a month in which we have both decided to forego wine for three days a week. What is more, since we left early on Boxing Day morning, our house still looks like it did on Christmas Day, with toys old and new strewn everywhere, in between the dried up spines of the Christmas Tree. Happy days.

Vermont was as lovely as ever, but ski-ing this year provided us with some challenges. For one, the snow (not good anywhere in the US at the moment) has been inconsistent, so only 30% of the resort had opened up. When it did snow, the ski-ing was great, but then it would warm up again within 24 hours, leaving the slopes an interesting mixture of slush and ice. There was also a thick cloud sitting on the mountain most days, meaning that the beautiful views of the Green Mountains we enjoyed last year were mostly obscured.

Littleboy 1, at 6, has now also passed the age where all day ski camp is included in the package; we could have paid for him to do it every day, but it's expensive, and after the first two days, when they managed to put him in the wrong class for his ability, we decided he'd stick with the two hour lesson instead. This meant someone had to be back at base camp to pick him up at 12 every day, and because some of the runs were shut, this involved taking a shuttle bus from one part of the resort to the other. (On New Year's Day, sharing this bus with a load of hungover snowboarders was NOT fun).

The net result was that The Doctor and I spent parts of several days skiing by ourselves, and sharing long chairlift rides with strangers. After the first day of doing this, The Doctor compared it to 'speed dating' - you have to pour out your entire life story to someone within a 15 minute window, and then never see them again as you ski off in different directions. Luckily my 'rides' were fairly interesting; a good thing too, since on one journey the chairlift broke down for a good 15 minutes.

Still, we adapted to the new routine, taking Littleboy 1 ski-ing with us in the afternoons as he improved (by the ending of the week he was beating me down the hill, and taking flying leaps over bumps whenever he got the chance.) I still got to have my Amaretto coffees in the Black Bear Tavern, and the warmer temperatures meant at least your hands and feet weren't blocks of ice by the end of the day. Meanwhile, Littleboy 2 progressed steadily at ski camp. After spending just one afternoon with us, when he decided to throw a major, glove-related tantrum midway up the mountain, we decided it was best to keep him there. (We asked him if he would have behaved that way at camp. "No," he answered, wide-eyed. Yup. He is as good as gold with teachers and other people, saving the meltdowns for us).

Anyway after a nice but fairly low-key Christmas Day (Highlights: the boys loved their new toys and were really thrilled by Christmas; Lowlights: I was ill and on antibiotics, and the 'ham' we thought we had bought turned out to be a shoulder of pork due to some communication problem with the butcher) it was good to get away from it all and have nothing more to think about than whether to do another ski run, or go in and warm up with another hot chocolate. We even got to see the New Year in at a rustic Vermont inn, with the boys safely having separate fun on a 'kids' night out' which involved bouncy castles and pizza. Here's to a healthy, happy and productive 2012 for all. Now, pass me the sparkling water....

Happy Chris-Hannukah

2011-12-21T14:18:00.003-05:00

As we count down to Christmas in the NappyValley household this year, Hannukah is a big topic of conversation. I think it's partly because it falls so close to Christmas this year (it started this week) that the boys are very aware of it, and are starting to ask lots of questions about the Jewish and Christian traditions.

Indeed they seem to know more about the lighting of eight candles and spinning the dreidel than they know about the nativity at the moment, and have kept me well informed about the numbers of Jewish and Christian children in their classes.

Meanwhile, the mixed faiths of people living on Long Island makes for some interesting conversations. "I'm Jewish, but we always celebrated Christmas, so I'm a little screwed up about the whole thing," one friend confessed to me. Then there's the Jewish man who lives in our neighbourhood but has the most over-the-top Christmas decorations I've ever seen, and another friend who's Catholic but sends her kids to a Jewish preschool, so ended up lighting a menorah (she sang 'Happy Birthday' while doing it, for want of knowing the appropriate song).

Perhaps this is best illustrated by a conversation Littleboy 1 and I had at bathtime last night.

"Mummy, some people in my class are Jewish AND Christian," he said very earnestly.

"Well," I said, "Maybe one of their parents is Jewish and the other one is Christian."

"Yes," he said. "I think that's it. You know, I think it means the Mum must be Jewish and the Dad must be Christian."

"You're absolutely right," I replied, impressed that he knew that the Jewish religion is passed down through the mother.

"Yes," he continued. "Because Christian is a boy's name. And Jewish? That sounds like a lady."

Merry Christmas, everyone. And Happy Hannukah.

Atlantic to Pacific

2011-12-12T18:07:00.004-05:00

I'm on a West Coast high.

The Doctor was presenting work at a conference in San Diego, so we took the Littleboys out of school for a few days last week and whisked them away to California. It was Littleboy 2's fifth birthday at the same time, so we thought it would be fun to give them a bit of a break from the grind of school and treat him to a birthday at the San Diego Zoo. We visited a friend from University days we hadn't seen for 10 years, who lives there, and I caught up with the lovely Calif Lorna, who very kindly handed us tickets to Legoland California and joined us there with her two boys. The Littleboys had a blast and enjoyed everything, from seeing tigers and pandas to building and racing Lego cars, to the simple pleasures of being allowed to go in the hot tub at the hotel.

It's a long way from New York to California and although some things are the same, it feels in many ways like a completely different country. The landscape couldn't be more different: palm trees, cacti, scrubby hills and canyons, distant mountains. Certainly more like the Wild West than the East Coast, with its forests, autumn colours and windblown sand dunes. But it was the Pacific coastline I really fell in love with. Having driven from San Francisco to San Diego ten years ago, it was the real draw this time.

We stayed in La Jolla, north of San Diego, and woke up each morning to the sounds of seals barking. (They were actually pretty noisy - to the extent that Littleboy 2 complained that they were 'keeping him awake' - something we saw no sign of). Seals basked, flipped and dived in the little cove just outside our hotel, and up the road a huge colony lazed on the sand of another small beach, seal pups frolicking with their mothers while pelicans swooped around the rocks. When the breeze got up the huge Pacific rollers came in and the surfers came out in force.

I could definitely live in southern California. The Mediterranean/desert climate is definitely appealing - it never gets either really hot or really cold, and my friend tells me there are no mosquitoes, which is a real plus as far as I'm concerned. (Although there are rattlesnakes. And mountain lions. And earthquakes. So, not perfect).

But I think I might miss the seasons. Back on Long Island today, it was cold and frosty and crystal clear - a beautiful New York winter's morning. Plus, as far as going home in concerned, California is several thousand miles in the wrong direction.

Still, I'm dropping strong hints to The Doctor to suck up to the professors in San Diego. Not just yet. England beckons first, despite its scary Eurosceptic government, austerity cuts and all the rest of it. It'll be good to go home in 18 months, in spite of the craziness. But California - I'm hoping one day we'll be back.

The Twelve Days of Christmas (US version)

2011-12-02T13:37:00.003-05:00

Fellow bloggers Hot Cross Mum, Potty Mummy and Expat Mum have been posting brilliant versions of The Twelve Days of Christmas, and have inspired me to have a go. While I'm not sure I can match their hilarious efforts, I've been mulling a post anyway about how Christmas seems to start so early here - with people putting up their decorations straight after Thanksgiving - that it almost seems like it's over by mid December. I've also been sent into a mild panic recently by Facebook posts from friends about how they've finished their Christmas shopping, put up trees and made the gingerbread house - not to mention the constant bombardment of emails from Amazon ordering me to sort out my gifts now, now, NOW. So here it is - the US, social-media age version of the Christmas classic.

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me: a Facebook post about putting up a tree.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me: two Amazon SALE!emails and a Facebook post about putting up a tree.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me: three Christmas ads, two Amazon SALE!emails and a Facebook post about putting up a tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: four ‘Happy Holidays’ cards, three Christmas ads, two Amazon SALE! emails and a Facebook post about putting up a tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: five UPS boxes;....four ‘Happy Holidays’ cards, three Christmas ads, two Amazon SALE! emails and a Facebook post about putting up a tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: six trips to Target, five UPS boxes;....four ‘Happy Holidays’ cards, three Christmas ads, two Amazon SALE! emails and a Facebook post about putting up a tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me: seven blow up Santas, six trips to Target, five UPS boxes;....four ‘Happy Holidays’ cards, three Christmas ads, two Amazon SALE! emails and a Facebook post about putting up a tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: eight Gingerbread Lattes, seven blow up Santas, six trips to Target, five UPS boxes;....four ‘Happy Holidays’ cards, three Christmas ads, two Amazon SALE! emails and a Facebook post about putting up a tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: nine mid-season finales*, eight Gingerbread Lattes, seven blow up Santas, six trips to Target, five UPS boxes;....four ‘Happy Holidays’ cards, three Christmas ads, two Amazon SALE! emails and a Facebook post about putting up a tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: ten screenings of Peanuts; nine mid-season finales, eight Gingerbread Lattes, seven blow up Santas, six trips to Target, five UPS boxes;....four ‘Happy Holidays’ cards, three Christmas ads, two Amazon SALE! emails and a Facebook post about putting up a tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me: eleven strings of fairy lights, ten screenings of Peanuts; nine mid-season finales, eight Gingerbread Lattes, seven blow up Santas, six trips to Target, five UPS boxes;....four ‘Happy Holidays’ cards, three Christmas ads, two Amazon SALE! emails and a Facebook post about putting up a tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: twelve sold-out Christmas Aisles, eleven strings of fairy lights, ten screenings of Peanuts; nine mid-season finales, eight Gingerbread Lattes, seven blow up Santas, six trips to Target, five UPS boxes;....four ‘Happy Holidays’ cards, three Christmas ads, two Amazon SALE! emails and a Facebook post about putting up a tree. (Drum Roll....) AND IT WAS ONLY THE FIRST OF DECEMBER!

*mid season finale = for some reason, instead of having Christmas specials as in the UK, US shows go on ‘hiatus’ after Thanksgiving, to make way for multiple screenings of ‘Miracle on 34^th Street’ and ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’. The decent TV returns sometime in the middle of February. Hence the ‘mid season finale’ – preferably with cliffhanger that neither you, nor seemingly the scriptwriters, will remember in two months' time.

Turkey Trotting

2011-11-28T14:11:00.003-05:00

I completed the Thanksgiving Turkey Trot, and have now been bitten by the running bug. I enjoyed the five mile run so much that I was inspired to do another identical one three days later, and I'd like to work my way up to 10k sometime.

For someone who was never a runner, the news that you can break through that pain barrier and feel fantastic after a five mile run is a real revelation. (Although I can't imagine ever doing a marathon. I just don't fancy that kind of pain). As a child, I routinely came last in sports day races (prompting annoying comments from people that they just couldn't understand it, as I had long skinny legs that looked perfect for running. Yes, clearly I was JUST SLOW).

Not only was the race great fun, it was also fabulous for people watching. Having failed to meet up with the people I was planning to run with among the 2000 odd runners, I found myself on my own - something I didn't mind at all once the race got going. I didn't have to speak (probably a good thing) and I didn't have to keep pace with anyone. I just went at my own pace, took in the crowds of runners, and listened to snippets of conversation from around me.

There was the competitive Dad, who told his seven or eight year old son: "Just remember to keep a steady pace at the beginning. Save yourself. Then when we get to Sandy Lane (a gentle stretch of downhill road), we're going to BURN it."

There was the teenage girl who told her friends half way through: "I'm going to take a break now. I'm having iPhone issues." (Clearly much more important than completing the race).

There was the teenage boy standing one the sidelines who held up a placard and shouted 'Occupy Turkey Trot!" as we came through. (It made me laugh, anyway).

I loved how families, old and young, turned out to watch the race, calling out 'Happy Thanksgiving' as well we came through. (I think Christmas day runs should become a tradition in the UK - it's such a great idea). There was a real community spirit and American tradition on display - a nice antidote to the relentless slew of ads about Black Friday and 'Doorbuster Deals' on US TV that gives the impression that Thankgiving is all about spend, spend, spend.

But the best thing about the run? Seeing The Doctor and The Littleboys cheering me on, and finding them coming to meet me as I wended my way back from the finish line towards home. Oh, and the fact that I could eat an enormous Thanksgiving dinner, washed down with plenty of sparkling wine, afterwards - and not feel guilty.

Giving thanks...

2011-11-23T11:23:00.002-05:00

Thanksgiving is almost up on us, and life has been fairly hectic. Even the Doctor (who only reads my blog every few weeks) commented the other day that I haven't been posting as much as I used to.

There are several reasons for this. The main one is that I am just too busy. I work every day, writing for a magazine website, between nine and three at home, and then the boys come home from school at 3.15. I fit in shopping, laundry and everything else when I have a quiet moment at work, and then have fifteen minutes in which to mentally switch between work mode and 'Mummy' mode. Then between three and six, it's homework, reading, piano practice, and activities; swimming lessons, music lessons, playdates. Time to cook dinner, then we're into the whole bed and bath routine. By the evening I am too shattered, plus less keen on spending hours at a laptop I've already slaved over all day.

I've also been gearing up for a five mile run which takes place in our town every Thanksgiving morning, so my energies have been going somewhat more into exercise than usual. (The 'Turkey Trot' , as it's known, is a Thanksgiving tradition in many American towns, although it sounds like something you might come down with on holiday in Bodrum). And I had a lovely weekend catching up with my dear friend Four Down Mum To Go, who was in town for her birthday present and busy emptying the Manhattan stores of their wares.

But another reason is that things are relatively quiet and calm. I loved this recent post by Iota, in which she explains her less frequent postings on her blog by the fact that she is both busy and happy. It's similar here.

I'm into the start of my third year here as a Brit in America, so I'm no longer so bewildered by American customs, language or idiosyncrasies (although some still fox me occasionally) that they seem worth commenting on. I don't have to do anything like take a driving test, apply for a credit card or find out about the American school system. After all the excitement of the tree drama and house move, I feel as if things are on an even keel - and that suits me just fine, thanks very much. I'm not asking for drama.

There will undoubtedly be more blog fodder coming up soon. The "Holidays" are fast approaching, we've got trips to California and Vermont lined up, and the Littleboys are hilariously taking part in a piano recital. (Update: Littleboy 1 has now, amazingly, discovered that he LOVES the piano and is practising non-stop without even being asked to. Littleboy 2 is determinedly refusing to practice his recital pieces.)

But, in the spirit of Thanksgiving (when all American schoolchildren are asked to draw multiple pictures of things they are thankful for, as well as the ubiquitous handprint turkey art), this week I am thankful that all is relatively peaceful.

On second thoughts...

2011-11-20T10:33:00.003-05:00

....Maybe we do need to go and buy a leaf blower.

The Gallery: 11.11.11

2011-11-16T14:41:00.003-05:00

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them.

Sunset, Long Island, on 11-11-11. To see more beautiful posts, see The Gallery at Sticky Fingers.

If it's Fall, it must be cleanup time

2011-11-09T11:17:00.009-05:00

It must be November because huge lorries, with industrial size hoses, are currently plying the streets, advertising 'Fall Cleanup' services. Everywhere you look on suburban front lawns, large crews of Hispanic guys in hoodies are blowing leaves and putting them into black plastic sacks.

You see, practically no-one around here 'does' their own garden. It just doesn't seem to be the done thing. Instead, the majority employ one of these so-called 'landscaping' crews to cut their grass, trim their hedges and, in autumn, clean up the hundreds of leaves that fall. These gangs will arrive in a truck before around eight of them descend on your garden, then leave ten minutes later.

In our previous house, our landlady took care of the gardening, so it wasn't really an issue - although she was never satisfied with the efforts of the firms she employed, and I would constantly be having to report to her that they'd only stayed five minutes. But in our new house, we are responsible for the gardening (along with the burglar alarm, wildly over-the-top sprinkler system and other devices that, ideally, we would be happy to live without). The current gardening team will soon finish for the 'season', and we must then decide whether to keep them on, choose someone else - or go it alone.

Now, I am sure that, were we to own an equivalent sized garden in the UK, we would mow the lawn and clean up the leaves ourselves. It's not a massive garden, and the leaves would be quite manageable with a decent rake. Besides, the Brits love to do their own gardens; gardening is such as integral part of British middle class life. Gardeners are mainly for people with acres of land (or maybe eye candy for modern day Lady Chatterley types). Certainly no-one I know in England employs a 'landscaping' firm to mow a small plot of grass and clear up leaves.

But on the other hand, there are obstacles to doing it ourselves. No-one around here seems to burn leaves on bonfires (I'm not sure if it's illegal, or just unpopular) so that will mean lots of bagging of leaves, of which there are a fair few. We'd also have to get hold of a lawnmower somehow. No point buying one for under two years, and it wouldn't work in the UK because of the voltage. We might be able to borrow one from a neighbour, but if that's not an option, I am really not sure how we would manage the grass.

So do we just throw more money at the problem? The gardeners charge $40 a week, which I am told is reasonable but seems fairly pricey to me (considering the barely 10 minutes they spend here). It costs much more for the 'Fall Cleanup'. Also, they don't appear to do any 'gardening' per se other than grass cutting and leaf blowing - one day I asked them cut back some long grasses which were blocking our back gate, and they looked at me as if I had asked them to fly to the moon and back.

Once again we have a choice to make. Accept that attitudes towards gardening are different here and just spend (waste?) the money. Or make a concerted effort to do the garden ourselves by beg, borrowing and stealing lawnmowers and leaf blowers, baffling all others in the street and earning ourselves even more of a reputation as eccentric English? It's a dilemma....

Silent Sunday

2011-11-06T18:22:00.001-05:00

Long Island Sound, November. (And if you look closely, you might just spot my sons fighting each other with sticks).

Angry Birds, Octopuses and the Snowstorm that wasn't

2011-11-03T14:36:00.006-04:00

Well, Halloween is over for another year (although not the decorations. Most people's decorations are still up, and will be until Thanksgiving, when they'll be replaced by Christmas ones. One friend commented to me the other day, noting that her neighbours had taken theirs down straight after Halloween, 'that pumpkin's going to sit there 'till it rots, or a squirrel eats it').

Amazingly, we escaped the freak October snowstorm that ravaged much of the Northeast last weekend - a good thing too, as The Doctor was away in Texas, and I would have been badly prepared. Our part of Long Island saw only a day of torrential, sleety rain, while areas only 20 miles away saw several inches of snow and high winds that knocked out power lines. Thank God for that, because I am not sure I can cope with any more extreme weather events so soon after Irene. So Trick or Treating went ahead as planned (in some areas, it was actually cancelled because of the danger of downed power lines and pitch darkness. That would have gone down very badly; for some Americans, it is practically bigger than Christmas).

Littleboy 1 went as an Angry Bird this year - a homemade effort, as I was loath to spend $50 on the 'official' costume, but it's amazing what black feathers, black eye makeup and some wings cut out of foam can achieve. Meanwhile Littleboy 2 insisted on wearing his Octopus costume from preschool graduation; this was both easy and also ensured that I received frequent, undeserved praise for what was actually the preschool teachers' handiwork. Yes, the Nappy Valley household takes Halloween a lot more seriously now. This time I even managed to inveigle The Doctor into coming to the school parade (readers from last year will be pleased to hear that everyone respected the integrity of the cordon.)

Now we are into November, and I was slightly horrified to see that the boys have no less than six days off during the month. Only two of them are consecutive - Thanksgiving and the following day - the rest are for Election Day, two parent-teacher conference days (why can't they just schedule the meetings in the evenings?) and Veterans Day on the 11th (which is one of those public holidays when most people still work). I can't keep taking days off work, so I have been hurriedly booking them into sports camps for the day, and arranging impromptu playdates.

What with turkey day looming, then Littleboy 2's birthday (this year to be spent in California) and then Christmas, life seems pretty full-on at the moment.....

Craving British fiction - an expat phenomenon?

2011-10-27T09:49:00.009-04:00

Tamara Drewe: A British classic

When I first moved to New York, I was keen to read anything set in my new milieu. I devoured modern novels set in Brooklyn (I loved Amy Sohn's Prospect Park West), Manhattan (Zoe Heller's The Believers), and re-read New York chick lit like The Devil Wears Prada, suddenly delighted that I recognized the locations and local references. I was also desperate to watch movies set in the city, checking multiple Woody Allen DVDs out of the library. I have made a point of reading many American novels over the past two years. Jonathan Franzen's Freedom, an epic saga of the American family through the 60s to present day, was probably one of the best but I also adored The Help, and loved another book club pick, Girl in Translation, about a Chinese-American immigrant to New York in the 70s.

This was not a new phenomenon; as a child, I loved American fiction. Among my favourite books were Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House books, Anne of Green Gables, Little Women and What Katy Did. American writers from that era seemed to specialize in headstrong female heroines that were particularly appealing.

But recently I have begun to crave English fiction. It's a bit like craving comfort food - at the moment I want to read English novels, set in London, or even better in the English countryside. William Nicholson's two novels The Secret Intensity of Everyday Life and I Could Love You were recent examples. His style is so very understated and British, in a 'Brief Encounter' type way. I've also got a sudden appetite for Alexander McCall Smith's Scottish novels - his characters are somehow so typically British and unlike anyone you would meet here. When I go to the library, I dive upon any book by a British author, and for my summer holiday reading I chose books set in England by British authors I love: Esther Freud's Lucky Break, Amanda Craig's Hearts and Minds and Barbara Trapido's Sex and Stravinsky (downloading them to Kindle as you can't buy them here).

As for films, I recently watched Stephen Frears' Tamara Drewe, a fabulous modern-day riff on Far From The Madding Crowd based on the hilarious graphic novels of Posy Simmonds. Compare it to Bridesmaids, which I also watched recently - this was a laugh out loud American comedy, and I enjoyed it- but Tamara was so much more to my current taste. After a girls' movie night, when I persuaded my American friends to see the recent adaptation of Jane Eyre- amazingly, none of them had ever read it - I did begin to wonder if I was turning into the sort of English person who only really likes costume drama and novels about middle class people living in the Costwolds.

But I wonder if this longing to immerse yourself in the world of home is typical for an expat? Do you always want to read about home when you're away? Perhaps I'm mentally preparing myself for the move back (which is now definitely going to happen in summer 2013, by the way). Or perhaps it's just a form of escape - after all, one of the joys of reading is to escape into a novel, and why not escape to somewhere you're not?

Falling for Fall

2011-10-20T09:57:00.012-04:00

Fall really is my favourite time of year on Long Island.

Summers are fun here in some ways - you have reliably warm weather, sandy beaches, barbecues, a community pool and of course the wonders of summer camp. But on the downside, there are mosquitoes, poison ivy, excessive heat and humidity; oh, and of course, the odd hurricane.

Winters have their pleasures; reliable snow means sledging and skiing, and it tends to be sunnier than in the UK. But they are long and relentless, and the snow gets ridiculous after a while. Spring is sweet but short; you can go from freezing cold to hot and humid in a matter of weeks.

But fall is long; cool, crisp or even pleasantly mild weather can last until early December before winter really sets in in. The turning leaves and foliage are stunning, and the Fall customs - pumpkins outside the door, apple picking and hayrides, and even the over-the-top Halloween celebrations - are really growing on me.

Looking back at last year's blog posts (including this Halloween homes 'n' gardens display) , I seemed to have become obsessed (possessed?) about Halloween so this year I wanted to highlight some other autumnal traditions over here.

First of all are 'Mums'. (No, not the 'Moms' - the Moms are just the same as in Fall as in other times, with the addition perhaps of Ugg boots and a polystyrene cup of hot, rather than iced, Starbucks latte). I'm talking about the 'Mums, as in chrysanthemums; Americans always having to abbreviate any long words, you see. I'm not sure/can't remember if we share this enthusiasm for 'Mums in England, but it really is a phenomenon here - I wonder if the whole of America is just as obsessed? The moment September approaches, huge displays of 'mums' are on show outside supermarkets, garden centers and private houses, and on roadsides you will see painted signs excitedly proclaiming 'Mums! Now! $4.99' (or similar) everywhere. When I was first here, I wasn't sure what this was all about, but this year I have joined in (well, for $4.99, who wouldn't?) and am sporting a potted 'Mum' on my doorstep as well as the obligatory pumpkins (see above). At the New York Botanical Gardens last weekend, we saw an incredible hothouse display of Japanese chrysanthemums, as well as some fantastic carved pumpkins.

Pumpkins are, of course, a massive part of the autumnal decoration tradition. They are not just about Halloween by any means. Quite often you will see displays of giant pumpkins, gourds and squashes outside people's houses, together with a corn dolly or two. (If you want to combine pumpkins and 'mums', there are are 'mums' in jack-o-lantern style pots you can buy). Every town has a 'Pumpkin Patch' or two where you go to select your pumpkin or twelve. You can get a Pumpkin spiced latte at Starbucks (which I haven't actually dared try - it just doesn't sound right to me).

Decorating one's table in an autumnal/harvest style is de rigeur - I am now the proud owner of pumpkin candleholders and an 'autumn harvest' tablecloth. Chances are your children will produce some attractive pumpkin-style craft from school, too (pictured below is Littleboy 1's offering from last year, which I rather love).

Fall is also about apples galore. Whereas in the UK we might go apple picking in the back garden, here, there is a whole industry devoted to going to an apple orchard, usually with a 'hayride' thrown in and some apple cider. The latter is not your Strongbow or Scrumpy - that is known as 'hard cider' in the US - but instead a pulpy apple juice, sold in huge vats and on offer at farmers' markets, fairs and the like. It can be served hot or cold. In the shops and farmers' markets, there are fresh apples from upstate New York. It took me a while to get to know the different varieties, as they don't have, for example, Cox's or Bramley's out here, and don't seem to differentiate so much between cooking and eating apples, but if you pick the right kind, they are just right at the moment.

So, while others are bemoaning the end of summer (New Yorkers love to complain about the weather just as much as the Brits, by the way), I'm a fully paid up fan of Fall. I'm currently unearthing my sweaters, loving the lack of biting insects, and looking forward to the turning of the leaves (following, as always, the Foliage report in the New York Times). And after that? Well, there's always ski-ing....

Clearly I have Republican squirrels

2011-10-18T08:53:00.003-04:00

Around this time of year in America, little blue or red signs start appearing on roadsides, on trees and all over people's lawns, urging us to cast our votes for local politicians. Election Day is looming (something I am not particularly thrilled about, because it means the kids are off school, but naturally it is NOT a public holiday, so I am supposed to be working).

While there's no obviously Presidential election this year (I can't wait to see what next year is like), we are being exhorted to vote for County legislators, police commissioners, town controllers and all kinds of legal positions including Supreme Court judges. The 'lawn sign' is an equivalent of you poster in the window saying 'Vote Labour' or 'Vote Conservative', but they are much more ubiquitous, as are car stickers.

I find it all slightly meaningless, because I can't vote due to not being a citizen, but this year I actually know somebody who is standing in a local election - the mother of one of the boys' friends. She's very nice, and a Democrat, so when I bumped into her recently I explained that while I wasn't allowed to vote for her, I wished her all the best. So she asked me if I wanted to put up a lawn sign, and I agreed. When in Rome and all that. (My German friend, on seeing me carrying the thing, teased me: "Finally, you have Arrived!")

Well, the sign was up on my lawn for a total of 48 hours. Coming back from the shops on Saturday, I noticed that it seemed to have been ripped in half, and was hanging forlornly off its poles. There was no sign of anyone nearby, except for some kids playing with a hockey stick and a rather guilty-looking squirrel that was running away, with what looked like a piece of cardboard hanging from its jaws.

So now I don't know what to think. Was this the work of furious new neighbours, outraged that I had dared to put a political sign on the lawn just weeks after moving in, however discreetly placed in the corner (I notice there are no others in our street)? Had the kids had been using it as a hockey goal? Or (sinister music starts to play) do I have Republican squirrels?

Silent Sunday.

2011-10-16T19:32:00.000-04:00

Music practice - where do you start?

2011-10-11T14:08:00.005-04:00

The Littleboys have started piano lessons.

I have to say, week 1 did not go well, at least from Littleboy 1's point of view. It was probably my fault; we were in the middle of the Move, so I picked him up from school, rushed him down to the New House (which we were in the process of moving into) then off to the lesson. So he was both tired and overexcited - a devilish combination with him - and spent most of the first lesson banging on the piano and not listening to the teacher whatsoever. I was mortified, even though the nice East European teacher insisted she was 'used to it'.

The next week, I bribed him with a cookie from the bakery afterwards if he behaved - and he was much better. It's gradually improved; in fact last week he made huge progress, and is now able to bash out a little tune and even draw a treble clef. (Little digression: did you know that in America, they don't talk about crotchets, quavers, minims and the rest? It's all half notes, quarter notes etc. I had assumed this musical terminology was universal, but apparently it's just British).

Littleboy 2 was the keener of the two to play, and his first lesson went well - he listened, did what he was asked and by the end of the half hour was able to identify Middle C. Since then, he's also made some progress - but has also decided that practicing is really not for him. He tends to announce "I'm tired," and put his thumb in his mouth when they idea is mooted (despite having been running around two seconds earlier).

Herein lies the problem - when to find time for piano practice, and how to get them in the right mood? Now I am no Tiger Mother, and distinctly have memories myself of trying to get out of piano practice (and particularly 'cello practice - I played until the age of 16, not particularly well). In fact I even recall taping myself playing for 10 minutes, then sitting reading a comic while the tape played for another 10 minutes, craftily adding up to my 20 minutes allotted practice time. But even I appreciate that they are not going to get very far with playing an instrument if they don't practice - and The Doctor, who is a good musician, says we just have to make time somehow.

It's hard. Littleboy 1 has homework and reading every day now, and if we do another activity after school, it's supper time and homework time before you know it. When we have a free afternoon, it's either a playdate or I just tend to let them play for a bit before homework/suppertime starts- you can't force two lively small boys to come straight in from the schoolbus and start practising the piano. I also know that if you force children to do something they're not in the mood for, they are really going to hate it - and who wants that? We want them to enjoy music, not resent it. When we do have enough time, (for example, yesterday when they had no school due to Columbus Day), the practice went much better - but fitting it in around the normal week is more difficult.

So, I'd appreciate any tips on piano/instrument practice for smaller kids. What time of day works best? Do you have to bribe them (and if so with what?). Do you make them do it every day, or less often - maybe just at the weekend? And how do you strike the balance between being disciplined and making it fun?

A whale of a time

2011-10-06T10:44:00.005-04:00

St Vincent, The Caribbean, 1997.
The Doctor and I go on our first whale-watching trip. This consists of a rickety small boat sailed by a random but genial guy we meet near the beach. He serves us lots of rum punch. We see dolphins. The boat slows down so we can watch them and starts to rock from side to side. I am seasick. Practically on top of the dolphins. We see no whales.

Kaikoura, New Zealand, 2004.
This is meant to be one of the best places in the world to see whales, and we've booked the trip up in advance. But that night, the weather turns bad and strong winds almost decimate our campsite. The whale watching trip is cancelled. We go on a tour of a local vineyard instead. With a flight the next day, we continue our journey to Christchurch. We see no whales.

Fast forward to...Cape Cod, last weekend.

Some friends had regaled us with tales of their wonderful whale watching trip two years ago. They persuaded us to go with them again, for the weekend. It was tempting; I knew the boys would love to see whales (as would I). But The Doctor and I warned them: "We are jinxed. If you're with us, we won't see any whales."

Even so, the boat trip guaranteed a sighting, with the promise of a free trip next time if you failed to see a whale. As we headed out into the blue Atlantic ocean off Provincetown, we still weren't convinced. It seemed to be taking a very long time to get out to where the whales were apparently hanging out today. (I could tell The Doctor was wondering why on earth we had driven six and a half hours to the Cape, then set off on a three hour boat trip with three small children who were already getting bored; plus Littleboy 1 was starting to look rather green around the gills).

But, suddenly, there we were. Finally, we got to see a whale in the wild. And not just one. At least 20 humpback whales, dipping and diving close enough to our boat that we could see shiny black hides, their gaping mouths, not to mention those majestic tails.

The Littleboys were ecstatic; grabbing my camera to take pictures, constantly crying out as they spotted the spouting in the sea that appeared just before the whale did. We had half an hour of whale-spotting, then headed back to land, the boys falling asleep with happy exhaustion. So it really was worth it - even the $25 parking fine when we returned to Provincetown (we hadn't realised the trip would take so long) failed to dampen our spirits.

For bedtime we had one of the Littleboys' favourite stories, The Snail and The Whale by Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler. I love this book as much as they do - it's beautifully written and illustrated and it resonates with me, as it's really about wanderlust. It's about the tiny sea snail who has an 'itchy foot' and is not content with sticking to a rock with the rest of the snails. She wants to travel the world, and hitches a lift on the tail of the humpback whale. After many adventures they return; the other snails say "How time's flown! And haven't you grown!"

And the whale and the snail

Told their wonderful tale

Of shimmering ice and coral caves

And shooting stars and enormous waves

And how the snail so small and frail

With her looping, curling silvery trail

Saved the life of the humpback whale.

Then the humpback whale

Held out his tail

And on crawled snail after snail after snail

And they sang to the sea as they all set sail

On the tail of the grey blue humpback whale.

The Kids are All Right...

2011-09-30T08:58:00.002-04:00

I'm amazed how resilient children are. You'd think that having been made homeless a week before the start of the school year, moving house away from your much-beloved next door neighbour-friends and being told that half your toys have been destroyed would be pretty traumatic. A few weeks ago, I was having horrible premonitions of being called to the school guidance counselor's office to be solemnly told that my children were withdrawn, depressed and refusing to speak.

But the boys have been amazing. They've moved on far more quickly than I have, rediscovered toys they haven't played with in years (plus several boxes of Playmobil they got for Christmas which we had all forgotten about) and have busily set about arranging their new house to their best advantage. And they talk in a matter of fact way about 'our broken house' and how we are not going back there. People keep asking me how they are coping - I tell them that there has been remarkably little effect on the kids.

There has been the odd 'moment'. For example when we were at a friend's house and the boys were playing with a bouncy castle that they had inflated in their living room (yes, their house really is that big). They were playing a game where they would inflate, then let the air out - at which point, they would shout : "There's a tree on our house!" I'm sure child pyschologists would have a field day with that one. LB1 has also asked me if would have to pay our old landlady for the old house 'because we wrecked it' (clearly after all those times I told him not to damage the house, because we'd have to pay for things).

And this morning, as we're packing for a weekend away (school being cancelled for the Jewish holidays) they solemnly ask me who is going to look after our new house while we're away. "What if our house gets destroyed while we're away? What about all our stuff? Should we take our backpacks and toys?"

I reassured them in a motherly way: "Of course that's not going to happen. That was a hurricane, and we were very unlucky. We're going to come back and all our things will be exactly where we left them."

What I didn't tell them was that I had been worrying, secretly, about the very same thing.....

The Great Canadian Roadtrip

2011-09-27T17:50:00.014-04:00

People who haven't heard about the whole tree-on-the-house saga (and that's only about three people in our small town, where news travels fast), have been asking me if we had a good vacation. I've got a bit tired of explaining that yes, it was lovely until our house was destroyed by a giant oak, so I just smile now and say 'yes'.

And it really was lovely, so it seems a shame not to talk about it a bit here, just because the second week was ever so slightly ruined. Rather than write the whole holiday off as a time of stress and worry, I'd like to remember the good parts, and there were plenty of them.

First of all, Niagara Falls was spectacular. Not the town itself, I hasten to add - that is a hodpodge of overpriced hotels, overpriced restaurants (the most expensive meal we had in Canada was in an mediocre steakhouse there), random tourist attractions not related to the waterfall and rather seedy casinos. Everyone had warned us it was tacky, and it was. Although the part of town lower down, near the Falls, is quite pretty, with a very English looking esplanade all planted up with flowers, and a funicular railway. So overall the impression is of a weird mixture of Bournemouth, Disney and Las Vegas.

But the waterfalls themselves- both the famous Canadian Horseshoe Falls and the smaller, but nonetheless dramatic, American Falls themselves are something else. What I hadn't appreciated from photos and films was that there is a huge, swirling cloud of mist that lingers over the Falls, so great is the volume of water constantly raining down from them. It looks like the devil's cauldron, and the air around it is constantly damp with spray, like being in an enormous steam room.

Niagara Parks have done their utmost to make sure you get to see the Falls from every angle possible. There's the Maid of the Mist boat ride (where you get extremely wet). The Journey Behind the Falls, where you go down in a lift and see the Falls from tunnels carved into the rocks behind (you get a bit wet). The completely fake one (Niagara's Fury, I think it's called) where you stand in a sealed room and watch a "4D" video of the Falls, and they throw water on you (you get fairly wet). The latter was a bit silly, but the first two were fantastic, as was the walk along the White Water rapids (Littleboy 1 loved this so much that he announced he wanted to live in Canada).

If you want to escape from Niagara's tackiness, you can drive to Niagara-on-the-Lake, a pretty little town a few kilometres downstream and with a slightly classier clientele than the Falls itself. There, we managed to find a decent meal that didn't cost the earth, and drive down to Lake Ontario for a sunset view of distant Toronto.

After Niagara, we drove to the other end of Lake Ontario and stayed in a little cabin on a campsite. This was a brilliant plan. All the benefits of the campsite - activities for the kids, al fresco meals - but, importantly for me, No Tent (I am not really a fan of nights under canvas). The boys, who seemed to have very set ideas about camping, delighted in having a campfire every night and toasting marshmallows. Every night, they showed an outdoor film on a big screen just across the field from our cabin. They would walk off into the darkness and watch Toy Story 3 or something, while we drank our wine under starry skies. It was great (well, except for the times they ran back saying they were scared, which was pretty much every night).

Here, we experienced more fabulous Canadian scenery. It's all about water, really. The St Lawrence River and its Thousand Islands (where you'd probably pay several thousand million to buy a private home). The Rideau Canal, wooded and pretty and looking a little like the Thames. Lake Ontario itself, as wide as a sea and particularly attractive from the Sandbanks Park, where you can walk along an endless white beach and swim off the dunes in clean, fresh lake water.

After that, we moved on to Ottawa and Montreal, and although that part of the holiday was, well, marred by the Tree Incident, I did appreciate what rather lovely cities these were. Montreal in particular; how wonderful to be able to sit down for a croque monsieur lunch in North America, order in French and feel as if you were in Paris. The children loved the 'Biodome', an ecological park where you experience four ecosystems under one huge dome and see otters, penguins and other cute animals. They even enjoyed climbing up the 410 steps to the top of Mont Royal, the mountain after which the city is named - we made counting the steps into a game.

So would we go back to Canada? Definitely. Littleboy 1 in particular is a big fan, and not just because of the rapids in the Niagara river. Canada appealed to his love of activity, of Big Nature and the outdoors . He's announced that when he's grown up, he's going back there with his own kids, for At Least Two Years.

We might have to join him.

Silent Sunday

2011-09-25T13:47:00.002-04:00

Chapter Two

2011-09-20T14:53:00.007-04:00

Having to move house so quickly and unexpectedly has made me feel as if we are beginning a second chapter of life in the US. If we return to England in two summers' time as planned, our time here will have been divided neatly into half by the two houses (with slightly longer in the old house).

Despite the traumatic events of the past weeks, I don't think the moving itself was as bad as when we initially moved here from London. At least I know where everything is now and how it works - from Ikea to the post office - and I had friends who could take the Littleboys off our hands during the moving day. Never mind that we were basically just throwing our belongings into bin bags, and relying on a couple of friends to help us ferry stuff down to the new house (plus some random tree removal guys who we offered cash-in-hand to help carry our furniture out and put it in their pickup trucks. Only in America).

We're now pretty much unpacked and can start enjoying the new house. We have more space, a far posher kitchen (it has a wine refrigerator. Let me just say that again. A Wine Refrigerator!) and best of all, a beautiful view from our bedroom window (see above). In the morning, the sun shines on the boats in the harbour creating a beautiful rosy light, and in the evening, there are spectacular sunsets. If you look closely at night you can see the spire of the Empire State building with its red blinking light. And, although I miss the wooded vistas of our old place, quite honestly I am done with trees now and all they entail.

Chapter Two also involves being a mother of two boys in elementary school. Every morning, off they go on the bus, with their L.L. Bean satchels and new Angry Birds lunchboxes (I gave in to the nagging for these in a fit of sympathy for them after the house disaster). I settle down to my work, and they come back at 3.30, in a flurry of homework, letters and flyers, half eaten containers of lunch and random drawings, all of which I have to unpack before hurrying them off to some after-school activity or playdate. Remembering which boy needs lunch money/school trip permission slip/library book to be returned is a fine art, which I am already discovering requires military-style organisational skills.

There's a weird sense of deja vu this year, as Littleboy 2 is now in the same kindergarten class with the same teacher that his brother had last year. Despite being the youngest in the entire school ((he was allowed special dispensation to start, although his birthdate fell short of the starting cut off date by a week) he seems to be holding his own, and is very pleased to have found himself in the same class as his best friend from preschool.

Meanwhile Littleboy 1 is adapting to the rigours of 'first grade', with a sheet of homework every night and a no-nonsense teacher who write their names on the board and leaves them there overnight if they misbehave. (Yes, we found out about that one pretty early on). He retains his manic enthusiasm for almost everything, and has recently decided he wants to be a scientist.

It's all quite different from when we first arrived and I had two little English boys in preschool, one still very much a toddler. They still eat their Weetabix for breakfast, and talk about 'trousers', but they are more and more like little Americans now. The Littleboys are very much aware that they are 'going back to England' in a couple of years, but in reality they have no idea what that will be like. Thus beginneth Chapter Two.

When disaster strikes

2011-09-13T11:01:00.005-04:00

I guess you might have been wondering where I've been.

The answer is that since my last blog post, our lives have been turned upside down, then put back together again.

Just over two weeks ago, during Hurricane Irene, an enormous tree fell on our house. We were miraculously away, far away in Canada, so no-one was at home. My neighbour emailed me immediately, so we knew what was happening, but such chaos was reigning in our town that there was no way we could return straight away. At first we thought the damage might be minor. But then more emails came: the police, fire department, everyone and his wife had been at our house. The roof was smashed in and the whole house was damaged. My landlady was hysterical. The fire department roped off the whole house and would not let anyone in. They said it would be condemned. It was like, said our neighbours, Hollywood in our street.

Far away in Montreal, we were seriously freaking out. The worst case scenario was that we would lose all our belongings to either wreckage or rain damage. Although the tree had crashed into the spare room, the room in which we luckily had hardly any stuff, we had no idea what water damage or rubble was below. No-one was allowed in so no-one could tell us.

As the week went on, we stayed away. Well what was the point in coming back when there was nowhere to come back to? Half the town still didn't have power. While the boys were still enjoying our holiday in Vermont, The Doctor and I were frantically on the phone the whole time, unable to sleep or eat, trying to contact insurance companies and the like. Meanwhile a structural engineer, our landlady and various brave souls went in and grabbed our photos, pictures and precious things - despite being told that the whole house was unstable.

Meanwhile my network of friends in Long Island came through. Someone set up a gift card fund. People offered to lend us furniture. People emailed me the names of realtors and someone told me about a house newly available to rent on their street. It was near our old house, on the same school bus route, and I knew several people who lived in the street. I looked online, contacted the realtor and made an appointment to see it the minute we got back.

I am now sitting in that house. We saw it just over a week ago, and immediately made an offer and signed a lease.

On our return, we spent a week living with our wonderful neighbours, looking helplessly at our old house next door. The tree had to removed before we could go in; there were delays with this due to the power company being too busy to remove cables, and then three days of rain. The town Fire Marshal became my new best friend, stopping in for cups of coffee every day. While this was all going on, the boys started school. Littleboy 2 had his first day of big school, going off on the bus. It went by in a blur.

On Friday last week they removed the tree. That in itself was dramatic - huge chunks of majestic oak being lifted from the roof with a crane. Then, finally, they said we could go in.

We spent Friday night and Saturday removing our things from the house. Amazingly, we lost much less than we feared. The boys' playroom was completely obliterated, but it turned out that half their toys were scattered throughout the rest of the house anyway (good thing they are so bad at clearing up). There was water damage to books, a linen cupboard, a few items of clothing and a few other items - all of which are replaceable. Evertyhing else was unscathed - including an electric piano that had been found sitting on a damp floor, and my laptop, which so far seems to work fine.

We moved into the new house and here I sit. It's actually a much nicer house - bigger, almost too smartly decorated for us, and with a beautiful view of the harbour. But I am mourning the old house - we had such a good two years there, and it is filled with memories. Going round it, it was hard to believe we wouldn't be living there again. I think when you move, you usually have time to mentally prepare yourself; we didn't. It almost feels like someone has died.

But I realise we were incredibly lucky. Lucky to be away when it happened - although I don't think we would have been killed, as the tree fell on a room where no-one slept, it would have been incredibly traumatic. Lucky that more of our things weren't damaged; a fire would have been far worse. Lucky to have good, kind friends and neighbours, who helped us out, helped us move house, cooked us dinner and supplied much-needed wine.

And now, life can start again.

The Gallery: Black and White memories

2011-08-17T08:36:00.008-04:00

This picture is of my grandmother. It's the only picture of her I have from when she was young, and I love it. She was born in 1912, and I think she's probably in her 20s here, so that makes it a 1920s portrait. From the hair and the fur stole, that looks about right.

She was the youngest of seven children. Can I just say that again? Seven children. That was quite a normal family size then. And it would have been eight, because she had a twin brother, who died when he was a baby. She outlived all of her siblings, dying in 2004 at the age of 92. But the last 20 or so years of her life were tough - she had a major stroke in her late sixties, and was totally paralysed down her left side. Before the stroke, she was a talented amateur painter, who I remember driving around in her Mini with a bevy of Pekingese dogs. Afterwards, she was fragile and walked with a stick. She was unable to paint, or even to hold a cup of tea properly, but she remained cheerful and positive, making friends with a whole new set of people at 'Stroke Club' and even travelling out to see us in Hong Kong.

As well as losing her daughter, my mother, when she was an old lady - a huge blow from which I think she never recovered - my grandmother was also widowed in her 60s, when my grandfather died of a heart attack. I was two at the time and I don't remember him. Until a few years ago, I knew little about him, other than that he had been serious, fairly religious and a conscientious objector in the War. But then a few years ago, my sister and I were given a stack of old letters - my grandparents' love letters from before they were married. They revealed a very passionate relationship - he absolutely worshipped her and they simply could not wait to be together. Here he is below. Rather handsome, I think?

I remembered then something that my grandmother told me when I got engaged. She looked at my ring, with its sparkling single diamond, and said that she remembered how her own engagement ring used to sparkle under the lights of the London Underground. She would look at it constantly, she said, admiring its gleam, and thinking how lucky she was to be engaged. I knew exactly how she felt. It was one of those moments of real connection when you almost see across the decades, and realise that the little old lady who you think of as 'Grandma' was once just like you.

This post is for The Gallery at Sticky Fingers, where you will find many other beautiful black and white photographs today.

How to successfully exhaust a 6 year old

2011-08-15T12:06:00.005-04:00

How to successfully exhaust a 6 year old boy:

1. Sign him up for an 'all age' soccer camp, which runs all day, 9-4.

2. Have the soccer camp unhelpfully change its location from down the road to a 45 minute drive away, meaning he leaves the house at 8 and returns at 5. But stick with it.

3. Drop him, bewildered by his long car journey, at football field in the middle of nowhere.

4. Leave to play nonstop football in the baking sun all day, relying on him to reapply suncream himself (he actually did well, but missed the back of his neck one day).

5. Get there to pick him up and realise that he is much the smallest child there, and is playing on a team that includes hulking 10 year old boys and impressively talented 14 year old girls. Also realise that this is no nicely-nicely summer camp where 'everyone's a winner' - it's more like boot camp.

6. Rehydrate and remove sweaty socks and football boots; place exhausted child in car.

7. Just to make sure he's really tired, take him swimming afterwards to cool off.

8. Repeat on a loop for 3 days running.

Result: The surprisingly resilient child will hold his own, impressing coaches and older kids alike. However, he will be so exhausted by the whole thing that he will behave in an uncharacteristically quiet fashion all weekend: sitting decorously by the pool relaxing after a half hour swimming, playing nicely with his toys instead of careering about the house madly, and responding obediently to requests to tidy up.

In other news, here's how to put off a 4 year old from his forthcoming trip to Niagara Falls:

1. Tell him about the scene in Superman 2 where Superman rescues a child who has fallen over the waterfall.

2. In fit of enthusiasm, get the film from the video library and show it to the boys.

Result: 4 year old will announce that he no longer wants to go to Niagara Falls. He only wants to look at it from TV, and will not go anywhere near the top of the waterfall. What he will make of a hotel room overlooking the Falls, I am not sure. Still, at least he got the message that Superman will not be coming to rescue him.....

It couldn't happen here. Or could it?

2011-08-12T13:11:00.005-04:00

Over the past few days, American and European friends alike have been asking me: what on earth has been going on in London?

I really have no sensible answer to give them, other than "Your guess is as good as mine,". Because I really don't have an explanation for the riots of earlier this week - what was it that caused so many people to go crazy, feral and lawless in the spate of a few hours?

You can blame poverty, bad parenting, or a lack of police presence. All of those may well have contributed (although, as one commentator pointed out, if all these kids were communicating by Blackberry, we're talking about a different kind of 'poverty' here). But it's not the only explanation. I can only think that it was a sort of near-hysterical copycat phenomenon, where people heard what was going on and got sucked into it. I'm sure there was some hardcore gang culture at the heart of it, but not everyone rioting came from that kind of background, or so I've read in UK newspaper articles like this.

For once everyone in America seems to know about it. When we had our UK election last year, nobody asked me about it, and when Europe was paralysed bhe the whole volcano/ashcloud saga, hardly anyone I know was even aware of it all. My 'mom' friends were interested in the Royal Wedding, yes, but the recent Norway shootings went unmentioned by most people. But these riots are on everyone's lips. And the unspoken question is: could it happen here?

America has, of course, had its fair share of rioting in the past (the 1992 LA riots are an example). And there was looting on a grand scale after Hurricane Katrina. But would we ever see gangs rioting in the middle of Manhattan, rampaging down Fifth Avenue? There have been some violent mobs in Philadelphia recently, but they've introduced a curfew to sort it out. American police are always armed, and look quite hardcore (except around here, where they mostly hang out in the ice cream shop and supermarket carparks, occasionally putting on a blue light to catch someone speeding). Not that I'm advocating armed police on the streets of the UK - and I'm certainly not an admirer of America's gun culture.

Anyway, I'm rambling. My personal opinion is that yes, it could probably happen in America - people are people, and when lawlessness takes hold, people can act like animals. But would it be stamped out more quickly? I'm sure most Americans would think "yes". But then, up until last week, we British would probably have thought "it couldn't happen here". And on that note, I'll leave you with this Pet Shop Boys classic.

The Gallery: Water

2011-08-10T09:11:00.013-04:00

One of the best things about living on Long Island is the fact we're surrounded by water. Even better than that, we live in a harbourside peninsula with sea on both sides. As I drive to the shops or pick up the boys from school, I get to see the sea - and there is something remarkably uplifting about it, even on a cold winter's day.

We go down to the seashore in all seasons and I love capturing its beauty on film. Whether it is the icy, still waters of Long Island Sound in winter,

or the fierce Atlantic rollers on the South Shore.

In the summer, we swim in it....

...in the spring and autumn, we paddle in it...

...and in the winter we just walk on the beach and marvel at how the sea can freeze over.

And sometimes - as in last night when I took this rather blurry iPhone shot of the harbour after a rainstorm - I just catch a glimpse of it as I'm walking through the town, and it lifts my spirits.

This post is for The Gallery: this week's theme, water.

Waxing lyrical

2011-08-08T08:49:00.004-04:00

After two years in our house, the local mice (the bane of our lives in London) have finally cottoned on to the fact that we have two very messy children who spill food all over the floor, and we have started to have the odd rodent visitor.

Last week's encounter ended up in farcical fashion. I saw a mouse in the hallway and we were trying to shoo it out the door, but what with the overexcited Littleboys chasing it and me hysterically shouting, the poor thing was terrified and crawled into Littleboy 2's Croc. Cue much shouting of 'Eeeuw' from all except The Doctor, who manfully carried him outside and deposited him under the nearest tree.

To prevent any more such episodes, I had purchased a couple of glue mouse traps which I found at the supermarket. These are little trays of very, very sticky glue, which renders the mouse immobile if he is unfortunate enough to step in it. Not the most humane mouse trap, but effective (and I really, really don't want a mouse infestation here). But it goes without saying that if you put your own hand in the thing, you also get stuck in very, very sticky glue....

Anyway, I had stuck the glue traps on top of a cupboard, out of human way (or so I thought). Until last night The Doctor managed somehow to stick the back of his arm into one of them. He first had to rip it off, and the glue is now still wedged into the hairs on his arm, causing much complaining.

Of course, I was the sweetly sympathetic wife. "Ah. Now you know what a bikini wax feels like," I told him. (There is some history to this. Last week I went off for a bikini wax on a Saturday morning, and asked him to look after the boys - he had made a semi-sarcastic comment about how he never gets to go and do things on his own at the weekend, to which I replied; "You think a bikini wax is fun?").

Needless to say, he was not amused.

American boy

2011-08-02T12:01:00.001-04:00

Littleboy 1 seems to be becoming more American than ever as a result of attending summer camp.

As well as him starting to call me 'Mom' rather than 'Mummy' (at which point I usually look around me, and say "Who's Mom? I don't see a Mom around here?"- it amuses me anyway) we have had several little debates over words and instances where I really haven't understood what he was going on about.

Standing in the queue for a water slide one day, he informed me that 'that boy is cutting me!'. I whirled around defensively, looking to see if someone was trying to hurt my son somehow and preparing to berate them, but saw no evidence of this. "What on earth do you mean?" I asked him. "He's cutting me! He's cutting the line!"

"Ah, you mean pushing in!" I answered. Yet another US expression I hadn't heard before.

Yesterday it rained, and despite it still being about 28 degrees outside he returned from camp wearing the jumper we'd been asked to provide at the start of camp. "You're wearing your jumper!" I said. "At camp we call it a jacket," he said.

"Well, it's not a jacket. It's definitely a jumper - or you could also call it a sweater, here, or a jersey."

He laughs hysterically. "How can it be a jersey? It doesn't have a baseball team on the front!"

A new enthusiasm for baseball also means that I have to play it with him in the evenings and am learning all about home runs and foul balls. I think my son is a little unimpressed that I talk about 'bowling' instead of pitching and keep trying to equate it to rounders. I am not good when it comes to these US sports and have only just worked out that one of the games he plays at camp is 'cone ball', not 'corn ball'.

But never mind. He has three days at a 'soccer camp' next week and I know all about that (well, more than I do about baseball anyway). I'll nonchalantly make some remark about the offside rule as I drop him off. Just have to remember not to call it football.......

High, high summer

2011-07-28T21:13:00.003-04:00

The end of July, and the languor of high summer has really set in here.

Hot days, warm nights, the roar of the airconditioning in our bedroom and the smell of chlorine and suncream on the boys (which never seems quite to disappear, despite numerous baths). On the plus side, never having to put on more than shorts and a t-shirt. On the minus side, being bitten by mosquitoes every time I step out of the house - that is, without being encased in extra-lethal bug spray.

When I go out to give the garden some much-needed watering at night, there is still the odd beautiful firefly but these have mainly been replaced by the surprisingly loud hum of the cicadas and chirping of crickets. (My un-scientific observation, after three summers, is that cicadas must either eat or kill fireflies. Anyone know?)

We had the tail end of the Midwestern heatwave last week, but really it wasn't too bad. People from England kept emailing us to ask if it was unbearable. Well, no. Two years ago, we might have suffered, trying to keep the airconditioning to a minimum and going out Britishly for walks. But now, we have learned that if you keep the a/c running at home, head for the pool above all other activities, and don't exert yourself too much, it's actually fine. Much worse was the heatwave of 2003 in London, when I recall regularly having to stand in the fridge door and avoiding the Tube at all costs. (Although on the rare occasion when we did march around outside here , it did feel a little like being baked at 350 degrees in an oven).

While England has its silly season, America always seems beset by political wranglings in the summer. At the moment it is the talks over raising the debt ceiling. Will America default on its loans? Can Obama win over the frankly quite lunatic tea-party-ers on the right? As I write, The Doctor is watching CNN with the strapline 'Countdown to Crisis' across the screen. I ought to care more. I know it is important, but I have this slightly bored feeling with the the whole thing, suspecting that of course they are going to resolve it somehow. At the moment, whether or not it's gong to thunder tomorrow and if so, how much I need to water my hanging baskets seems much more pressing.

I think summer's heat must be getting to me....

Camp visit, with Murdochs thrown in

2011-07-21T11:09:00.004-04:00

It's been a bit of a crazy week here, with broken down cars, stressful grant applications and various work crises on both sides conspiring to disrupt the usual, ahem, serene flow of life in the Nappy Valley household. And it was particularly chaotic on Tuesday, when both The Doctor and I were duty bound to attend a parents' visiting day at Littleboy 1's summer camp, on top of everything else that was going on.

Not only that, but I was desperate to watch the Murdochs and Rebekah Brooks being grilled by the Select Committee, taking place that very same morning (New York time). This has been one of those sagas that I would have loved to be at home for, dissecting the ins and outs and implications for journalism in a bar with my friends; most people I know out here have probably never even heard of the News of the World. Thank goodness for the internet and Twitter (which, finally, I am starting to see the point of).

The camp visit, of only an hour, had to be fitted in around everything else that was going on that day. Rupert Murdoch had just started speaking as we left, so we pitched up in the car listening to The Murdochs on the radio (perhaps they could turn it into a serial like The Archers?), reluctantly switching it off as we parked in a baseball field. "It's like going on a Cross Channel ferry," remarked The Doctor, as we were directed to park in a line of other cars, bumper to bumper, in marked out lanes.

It was an occasion run with military precision. Hundreds of parents were being marshalled towards camp, wielding video cameras and iPhones to capture the sporting acheivements of their little darlings on film. We had been given strict instructions to 'wear flat shoes, as you are visiting camp' - not a problem for me, as I live in flip flops during the summer months, but there were a few parents who clearly didn't get the memo and looked as if they were dressed for a Regency garden party.

During the next hour, while watching Littleboy 1 play basketball and hockey and swim (parents shouting out comments like 'Top Shelf, Buddy!" at their offspring) I managed the odd furtive look at Twitter to find out what was happening, Murdoch-wise. Sadly I missed custard-pie gate, but I have to say it was worth it to see Littleboy 1 shooting hoops, a big smile on his face whenever he turned around to see us, and swimming underwater like a fish.

And, although I felt a bit guilty at taking a moment to prise my eyes away from my firstborn and indeed my husband wielding foam hockey sticks, I wasn't quite as bad as one Dad, who was actually talking on his mobile as he played hockey during the Dads and Kids hockey game. I wonder if he works for News Corp.?......

Explaining the mysteries of life to a 4 year old.

2011-07-18T17:22:00.004-04:00

I'm really bad at trying to explain religion to my kids.

It probably doesn't help that I'm not religious myself, but at the same time I sort of feel they have to know about it. Littleboy 2 in particular is always asking questions like "Who made us?' and wants to know where everything came from. I always have to come up with wishy washy answers such as "Well, some people think God made us and some people don't believe that," and feel it would be a lot easier if I either believed the Bible verbatim or was brave enough to start quoting Richard Dawkins at him.

So I found myself having the following conversation with him today on the rather hot, sticky walk home from summer camp.

LB2: If God made us, then who made God?
NVG: Well, nobody knows. It's a mystery.
LB2: Did he make himself?
NVG: Well, I suppose he might have done.
LB2: But how can a person make themself?
NVG: Well, God isn't a person.
LB2: What is he?
NVG: Well, he's just like.....a being. Some kind of power. If you believe in God, that is. Kind of like a....a superhero, I guess (struggling to find some comparison that he would understand).
LB2: God is a superhero? Does he wear a costume?

So. Great. Now my son thinks God is on a par with Batman. And I'm still lamely trying to add the 'Some people think...." coda to everything I say.

Where did it all go wrong?

The Gallery: Travel

2011-07-13T10:38:00.010-04:00

If there is one gift I would like to look back and say that I have given my children, it is the opportunity to travel.

I was extremely lucky as a child. My parents, living in Hong Kong, decided to make the most of it and take us on many exotic holidays, stopping off around the world on annual leave back to the UK. So by the time I was 10, I had been on safari in Africa, on the bullet train in Japan, on the beaches of Hawaii, to temples in Thailand and in street markets in Sri Lanka.

The travel bug stayed with me. Once I met The Doctor, we continued to travel. We took overnight trains from North to South Vietnam. We island-hopped in Greece and Inter-Railed around Europe. We drove across Europe in an ageing Golf with no airconditioning (interesting). We saw the sunset over the mountains of southern Sicily (below) on September 11, 2001, not realising that the world of aeroplane travel was about to change forever.

Then a few years ago we took sabbaticals, bought a round the world ticket and took off for far-flung places like Bolivia, Cambodia and Laos (Luang Prabang, below) that we knew would become less easy to visit once we started a family.

After you have kids, of course everything changes a bit. It's more tempting to stay closer to home, to self-cater, and of course you're not going to be staying in grotty hostels any more if you can help it. But, mindful of my parents who took two small children to some wild and wonderful locations, I'm still determined to travel with the family.

Yes, travelling with little ones can be a challenge. But I absolutely love taking my children to new places. Because I love seeing the world through their eyes. Because I can see them learning, experiencing, lapping up life. But most of all because I know that their childhood memories will be infused with these trips, that they will look back on their childhood and these experiences will stand out - paddling in a Norwegian lake (above), summer camp in America, sleeping on an overnight Amtrak train through the Deep South. That's, to be honest, a big part of the reason we moved to the US. That's why we'll nearly always opt for a roadtrip over a week in resort (however tempting that might be). And that's why I'll never say that it's too much work to take my children travelling.

This post is for Sticky Fingers: The Gallery.

Summer days, drifting away....

2011-07-08T12:20:00.006-04:00

I know everyone in the UK is just breaking up from school, but here in the US we're well into summer already and are adjusting to a new routine here in the Nappy Valley household.

Post Fourth of July, all the summer camps have started - so the yellow school buses no longer ply the school routes, but pick up the kids at their doors and take them back and forth. (This has not been welcomed by The Doctor, who is used to their normal routes and has been complaining that they now stop in unexpected places as he drives to work.)

Littleboy 1 went excitedly off to a new Big Boy camp for the first time this week, clutching a baseball mitt he had no idea how to use and several swimsuits. He's away all day, from 8.30 till 4.30, and comes back happy, dirty and exhausted, sporting badges saying stuff like "I'm a winner". (When I asked him what this was for, he shrugged - I suspect they all got that one, but hey, that's the American way).

We went for a very typical All-American old-style summer camp this year, aware that he won't get this opportunity back in the UK. It's set in several acres of wooded wilderness, and the kids keep their stuff in cabins that look like they were built in the 30s, go swimming twice a day and play baseball, softball, basketball, tennis and soccer. He already refers to his friends as his 'camp buddies' (although this could be because he doesn't actually know their names - typical boy) and I am turning a blind eye to the tales of popsicles, Fruit Loops and ice cream handed out at snacks (well, at least he's exercising).

Littleboy 2, meanwhile, starts his morning day camp next week and has been champing at the bit as I've tried to fit in my work around him this week. Screaming that his tongue hurt as I was on the phone to a PR was a low point - luckily, I knew her well enough to explain. As soon as my work day is finished at 3pm, I whip him into his swimming trunks and we're off to the town pool - which has been redone to look like some kind of Caribbean resort, all undulating edges and an island with plants and a waterfall in the middle of the pool. Really, all it needs is a swim-up bar and it could be Club Med. (But, being New York, of course all alcohol is strictly forbidden. Because that would be too much like fun.)

Littleboy 2 can now swim, but he's still too little to leave on his own in the pool, so we spend our hour and a half of time playing 'swim to Mummy' and I watch him jump off the side several million times before it's back home to wait for Littleboy 1 to arrive on his bus.

Then there's just about time for a cup of tea before I'm starting to cook supper and prepare clothes and bags for the next day. If The Doctor gets home early, one or other of us might have time to go off for an evening swim by oursevles - the serenest hour of the day. But by the time the boys are in bed, I'm ready for bed myself. And thus I suspect it will continue, until we head off on our Canadian roadtrip in late August.

Whoever said the summer holidays were relaxing?

Karaoke, New York style

2011-07-03T14:43:00.004-04:00

The wise and wonderful Knackered Mother of Wine Club fame (who has recently been voted one of the five blogs to watch by no less than The Guardian), has tagged me in a meme to write about karaoke, and which song I would pick if I were to partake in this particular activity.

Now this is a little tricky. I haven't sung karaoke for years (unless you count warbling along to the radio in the car, which normally provokes shouts of 'Be quiet, Mummy!' from the Littleboys). I was also wondering to myself how my time in America has also influenced my taste in music, because although you might think we listen to much the same music on both sides of the pond - and to some extent that's true - it is different in many subtle ways.

For a start, American radio does not play British pop stalwarts such as Robbie Williams, Kylie Minogue or Girls Aloud. There are British artists who have definitely made it here and are played constantly on American radio (eg. Coldplay) - but others who haven't (eg. the brilliant Elbow). Our local radio station plays a lot of Billy Joel - he's from Long Island, so perhaps it's not surprising - but it's impossible here to hear the latest from Take That.

In America, even mainstream radio tends to include a little bit of country. (Do they play Lady Antebellum on British radio? I doubt it.) and I think this has come to influence my musical taste. I've always liked Sheryl Crow and Shania Twain, but since coming here I've discovered Taylor Swift. So I guess you might find me warbling along to Taylor's Love Story, or (to be even more All American) about being on the bleachers and wearing sneakers. But I fear I'd be outdone by the ultra-confident nine year old girls who I heard belting out these numbers up on the karaoke stage at our town's summer festival recently.......

So, I think I'd have to settle for a song that sums up my time in New York so far. I may not have seen my name in lights down on Broadway, but I definitely share Alicia Keys' sentiments in this one.

Playdate purgatory

2011-06-29T09:03:00.003-04:00

I have a confession to make: I have come to dread hosting 'playdates'.

Oh, it was fine when the boys were little, and little friends would come round accompanied by their mums, who (hopefully) were my friends too, and we could gossip and drink tea while we supervised our offspring's play. And to some extent it's still fine with Littleboy 2, whose friends still find it exciting to play with Lego, scale the bunkbed ladder and spend hours bouncing on the trampoline.

No, the problem is with Littleboy 1's friends. Sweet boys, generally, but many of them seem to have the attention span of gnats. Primarily, they are usually dismayed when they find out that we have neither a Wii or a 'DS' in the household. I am starting to feel almost cruel for not having this equipment, but then I have to remind myself that my son is only six and actually, he's quite happy without it.

We do, however, have an iPad, and sometimes I relent and let Littleboy 1 play Angry Birds with his friends (although he's only supposed to have one prescribed play on it after supper). But I don't want them to spend the whole playdate on it, so I restrict the time before kicking them outside or suggesting they play something else. But this is easier said than done. We had one child recently who wanted my son to open every single board game we own, only to announce after two minutes of each that he was 'bored of this now'.

The kids here always want to 'see the basement' too. This is because many of them have large, converted basements which are like extra playrooms. I have to explain to them that yes, we do have a basement but it is grotty, spider-ridden and home to only the washing machine, tumble dryer, ancient TVs belonging to our landlady and some random storage boxes. But sometimes they are so determined that we have to venture down there, at which point they look horrified.

The trampoline usually keeps them amused for a while, but then it's back to mooching indoors. Littleboy 1 doesn't help by constantly asking them if they want a snack. I'm happy to give them food, but what do you do if a little guest keeps asking for more and more glasses of milk and more and more pretzels? I'm sure his mother won't be pleased, but on the other hand I don't want to become known as that mean British mother who keeps the food under wraps.

I've always had a rule that there is no TV on playdates - why go round to someone else's house to watch television? - but the other day after two hours of 'I'm bored' I gave in and let them watch cartoons. I felt terrible, but there really did seem to be no pleasing this particular friend.

I don't know. I think I'm fairly hopeless at this playdate business. If anyone has any tips on how to make it more bearable without being the kind of mother who does wonderful creative crafts and painting when other kids come round (I am just not that woman), please advise.

Friday night and Saturday morning

2011-06-25T14:08:00.004-04:00

Friday night:

Mojitos.
The East Village.
A bar with a secret door and dark oriental decor.
Delicious Asian fusion cooking. Delicate small portions.
Loos like mini opium dens - so well hidden by the decor that they are almost impossible to find.
Walking through packed streets, people queuing at club entrances.
'White Slab'. (Sounds like a mortuary, but in fact, kind of a cross between an oyster bar and club.)
Loud, very loud, Abba being played.
People shouting in your ear.
Having to shout to be heard.

Saturday morning (and afternoon)

An annoyingly slow cab journey to the Long Island Railroad - running in heels for the 12.20 train.
Walking home through empty, dark streets.
Bed at 2am.
A long slow morning watching Wimbledon in bed (luckily the boys were having a sleepover with our neighbours).
A croaky voice and ringing ears.
Cars 2 at a large all-American cinema, with popcorn all over the floor.
Driving around various large malls to purchase items such as a 'baseball mitt' .
Dinner at a branch of Ruby Tuesday. Large portions.

Sometimes I can't believe the contrast between the life in Manhattan that is going on, 20 miles away, and our little suburban corner of Long Island. I'm sure if the twenty-something Manhattanites from the bar last night had envisaged our Saturday, they would have been horrified. But this weekend, I'm happy to have experienced a bit of both.

The graduates

2011-06-19T10:13:00.002-04:00

We've all graduated this week. Littleboy 2 from preschool, Littleboy 1 from kindergarten to First Grade. And The Doctor and I finally graduated to iPhones. What is more, we all managed to do this on the same day, which could be counted as something of an achievement.

First, a little explanation for British readers - everything is a graduation here. It's not only something that takes place after three years of college - every school year ends with a ceremonious celebration of some kind, a diploma on a certificate and even, in some cases, gowns and mortar boards. (Picnicking in Central Park yesterday, we saw lots of people wandering around in Harry Potter-style gowns and hats, celebrating graduations of some kind).

Last year I found all this slightly weird - this year, as with so many things, I rather loved it. Littleboy 1's ceremony was first, at 9am. The entire kindergarten year (100 odd children) piled onto the stage in the school auditorium and sang a medley of songs including It's a small word after all and What a wonderful world. First of all, they all trooped down the aisle accompanied by whoops and whistles from the parents (some of the children looked bemused, if not downright terrified, at this point). The performance then began with the pledge of allegiance to the US flag. ("Mummy", Littleboy 1 told me fiercely the night before, "You must stand for the pledge and put your hand on your heart.").

Midway through the performance, the most surprising thing of all occurred. The school principal got up and announced that instead of saying a few words, he was going to sing. Two older kids pitched up with instruments to accompany him. And he launched into song, Frank Sinatra style, with lyrics he'd written especially for the occasion. As he stood there and belted it out, with a brilliant voice, he went up several degrees in my estimation (and I suspect this was the case for most of the parents). The performance ended with the kids singing God Bless America - at which point I caught Littleboy 1 on the video camera singing with gusto about the mountains and the prairies. (Better teach him the lyrics to 'Jerusalem' pretty soon, I guess.)

After a brief appearance in his classroom (hundreds of grandparents and extended family enthusiastically taking pictures of the kids, everyone eating cupcakes and cookies), I legged it to the car and drove to Littleboy 2's preschool for the graduation show and picnic, making it there just in time to join The Doctor for the 10am kick off. Littleboy 2, in contrast to last year when he sat down and refused to sing, performed Octopus's Garden and other marine-related numbers with aplomb, dressed in the cutest octopus costume. As we waved goodbye to preschool for the last time (he starts big school in September), I felt pretty emotional, but he seemed to take it all in his stride (or perhaps didn't realise the significance of being hugged by his teachers for the last time).

Our third stop of the day was the local Apple Store. Yes, we had finally decided to upgrade our phones (mine was so old that the guy didn't even know what cable to use to transfer the data on it - from memory, it must date from about 2004). And we had taken the plunge and decided to join the Long Island masses with iPhones. We had always resisted temptation before; they are pretty expensive here, because you are tied into a 2 year contract. But here we are are, now happily playing with our brand new sleek white slabs of metal. For the first time ever, I have email on the go. I'll be able to read all my lovely blog comments, and comment on my favourite blogs, in the playground, at the beach, and while waiting for the boys to finish swimming/soccer/get off the bus. I guess I have graduated to the cult of Apple.

We're all going on a summer holiday. Or maybe not?

2011-06-14T15:43:00.003-04:00

Over at Pond Parleys they are having a debate about the joy of staycationing, and it's prompted me to think about the differences I've noticed between the UK and America when it comes to the good old summer holiday.

As the end of term approaches, I know that in England there would be just one conversation at the school gates (not to mention in hairdressing salons everywhere). "Going away this summer?" But here, it is just not really a topic of conversation (other than the people who ask me if we're going back to England). You're more likely to be asked what summer camp the kids are signed up for, or whether you're planning on joining the town swimming pool.

The first summer we were here, I noticed that people didn't really seem to be going away, and I put it down to the recession. Towards the end of August, people mentioned either going down to the (Jersey) Shore, or 'out east' - which only means one thing, because you can't get much further East in the US than Long Island: ie the Hamptons. But this was only for a long weekend, or at most a week. Many Americans only get a couple of weeks holiday a year, so hardly anyone takes a two week trip anywhere.

Since then I've realised that this is a common phenomenon and probably not recession-related at all. People just don't seem to take off on summer holidays. Perhaps it's not surprising - after all, why go away on a beach holiday when you have beautiful beaches right on your doorstep on Long Island? Trips to 'beach' type destinations, like Florida, the Caribbean or Mexico, tend to be taken in the winter here. But even visiting different parts of the States seems to be fairly unusual, unless people have family there.

Taking a day trip to a theme park does seem to be popular - we have places such as Sesame Place and Hershey Park within driving distance, and people do fly down to Disneyworld, although usually not in the summer. As for travelling abroad, most people I know have been to Europe once or twice - but usually during their student years, or perhaps on their honeymoon. The idea of abroad with a family seems out of the question for most people- and I am sure it isn't that they couldn't afford it, as we live in a fairly affluent area. (I'm sure families with equivalent incomes back in London would be summer holidaying in Tuscany or the South of France.)

This summer we've decided we'll head to Canada, via Niagara Falls, with a few days in Montreal than heading back via Vermont (because we loved it so much in the winter). Although we're not even getting on a plane, this is fairly adventurous compared to what most of my friends are planning (not least because we're driving all the way. With the Littleboys. Are we quite mad?) I've spoken to many people here who have never visited either Canada or Niagara Falls (which is in New York State, on the American side, although a long drive from here). I suppose the equivalent in the UK would be never having visited France, or Scotland.

So I wonder; is it just that we Brits feel a hunger to get away because of our dismal weather? Or are we more natural travellers than the Americans, who seem quite content to stay close to home. Personally what I love about travel is the chance to experience completely different countries and cultures (whatever the weather, although obviously sun helps), not to mention different food. So the idea of only ever staying in your immediate area seems stifling, however good the weather and scenery. I'd love to know what others think, and what it's like in other areas of the States.

June, with a vengeance

2011-06-07T18:11:00.002-04:00

In the past couple of weeks, summer has hit home. Long Island has transformed; going from a distinctly chilly spring to temperatures of over 30 degrees in a fortnight. The sprinklers are on in the playgrounds and the shops are packed with people frantically buying watermelons and suncream.

The school year suddenly seems to reached a pitch of crazed proportions too. Everything seems to be packed into the last fortnight before they break up: field trips, sports day, art shows. This calls for some creativity on my part now I am working from 9am-3pm every day at the moment. Yesterday I started working at breakfast time in order to get stuff done and be down at Littleboy 2's preschool by 9.45 to accompany them on a field trip. Having marched a bunch of preschoolers round the duckpond, I raced back to my desk an hour later to continue the work day.

Today was sports day, or Field Day as it's called here, at Littleboy 1's school, so I dashed down there at lunchtime to watch them playing relay races in the searing heat. Next week I will have to do a mad dash from Littleboy 1's end of term play and 'graduation' from kindergarten to Littleboy 2's end of term play and 'graduation' from preschool, which are scheduled within an hour of each other (luckily I opted not to work that day). I am lucky enough to work from home so, usually, I can wangle it somehow; how full time office working parents manage to go to any of this stuff I have no idea (and suspect that there is a lot of guilt involved).

The Littleboys are looking forward to the end of term now; it may be much earlier than in the UK, but there's no airconditioning in most of the classrooms at school, and they are coming home hot and tired. With the light, hot evenings, they want to stay up late and rebel at me trying in vain to maintain their 8pm bedtime.

A the same time there's something so promising about early June. Everything is still green; there are still the vestiges of blossom around, but the roses are in full bloom, the hydrangeas are just coming out and in a week or two, there will be fireflies in the garden. Everyone is still enjoying the heat, rather than complaining about it, the evenings are getting longer, and the year still seems young, rather than dying again as it does in the dog days of summer. Even switching on the airconditioners still seems like a novelty.

Update...

2011-06-02T12:13:00.004-04:00

So in answer to various comments on the last post, here are the answers:

Initials
The GOP = The Grand Old Party. Nickname for the Republicans.
The DMV = The Department for Motor Vehicles. Otherwise known as the seventh circle of hell.
NPR = National Public Radio. The nearest thing America has to Radio 4.

Foods
Sliders: mini hamburgers and buns. Slightly gross name, actually a great idea.
Matzoh: an unleavened Jewish cracker traditionally eaten at Passover.
Challah bread: another Jewish food, the most delicious brioche-type bread.
S'mores - melted marshmallow and chocolate sandwiched in between two Graham crackers (a popular American cracker, pronounced 'Gram'). You're supposed to eat them round the campfire.
Goldfish - a snack brand beloved of American kids. (When the boys were first offered Goldfish, I did a bit of a double take).

By the way did anyone spot the non-deliberate American spellings in the last post? I spelled neighbour as neighbor, and honoured as honored. The reason is that I'm writing for an American publication these days, and I'm having to auto correct my spelling all the time. So it's starting to come naturally.

My father has now returned to England, after a hot, sunny and very American week. We spent a night listening to the roar of the Atlantic out in Montauk at the Eastern tip of Long Island (pictured, above) then caught a ferry over to Mystic, Connecticut, where we didn't eat Mystic Pizza, much to the disappointment of my friend Middle England Mum, but instead gorged on lobster by the harbo(u)r. We then returned for an all-day party held by our neighbours, at which I received the first of many mosquito bites of the summer, followed by the traditional Memorial Day parade. Littleboy 1 announced that he liked the cheerleaders, with their short skirts and twirly batons, best. (I think my Dad may have agreed....)

Tonight I am off to watch Derek Jacobi in King Lear - injecting a little bit of British culture back into the proceedings. As The Doctor remarked, it seems a little incongruous to be driving in Brooklyn to watch a cast of British actors perform Shakespeare. But that's the beauty of New York.

Things I have learned in two years

2011-05-24T11:51:00.012-04:00

Exactly two years ago today, we were getting off a plane at JFK with two overexcited small boys, and about eight suitcases containing a lot of our worldly goods. As we piled into a yellow taxi and headed for Brooklyn, we were arriving in a new country with nowhere to live, not even knowing exactly where we would live, no schools or nurseries sorted for the children, no car, no furniture, no friends. When I look back on it now, I think I was remarkably calm.

It has definitely been a steep learning curve, and there have been lows as well as highs. But I have no regrets, and if you asked me to move to the States all over again I would.

So what have I learned in two years in the New York area? Well, hundreds of things, but I thought I would just jot down a few to mark the anniversary. Some of these are genuinely things I really had no clue about before we left the UK - just goes to show that however much you think you know American culture from TV, books and films, it is very different living here.

1. I know what the following initials stand for: the GOP, NPR, the DMV.

2. I have become familiar with the following foods: matzoh, sliders (we even cooked them on the BBQ at the weekend), s'mores, challah bread (now Littleboy 2's favourite lunch), Goldfish pretzels (Littleboy 1's favourite snack).

3. I have learned that bigger is always better. If you are asked to a party and hostess tells you just to bring yourselves, bring yourselves plus three large dishes of food. And one small present looks bad at a kid's birthday. Buy something in a huge box, plus, possibly, another gift as well.

4. When my neighbor told me two years ago she was going to be honored at a gala, I thought it was some kind of carnival and she would be travelling in a float. I really did. Now I know that a Gala is a fundraiser at which someone is honored with speeches, presentations and ads in a journal.

5. I have learned that America is a country of extremes. Extreme weather (just look at the devastating tornadoes this week); extreme politics; extreme views. None of your British reserve or moaning about the drizzle. Things are either fantastic, or devastating. Never just a bit 'meh'.

6. I am learning to embrace the 'soccer mom' culture of the American suburbs. I'm not actually turning into Sarah Palin, but I genuinely enjoy watching the boys playing football*, and caught myself turning up in the soccer mom uniform of baseball cap and denim shirt last week. *(Actually, truth be told Littleboy 1 plays football. Littleboy 2 mainly sits in the grass and plays with the dandelions. The Doctor confesses that this is what he, too, did during sports classes as a child).

7. I honestly thought that summer camp was when you went away and camped in the woods for six weeks. Now I know that this is 'sleepaway camp', and summer camp just means a form of (hopefully fun) childcare to ensure that you don't go crazy during a 3 month summer holiday. I have become a fully paid up fan of summer camp.

I could go on, but I'm running out of time and today my Dad arrives from England for a week. I'll be interested to get his take, not just on how the boys have changed since his last visit, but how I've changed too. Because it's been an educational experience for all of us.

All partied out

2011-05-17T12:50:00.005-04:00

This time of year is all about parties for me. No, I'm not sipping champagne in some fancy Manhattan locale, if that's what you thought (as if). I've spent the past few weeks both organising both Littleboy 1's birthday and helping to organise a local fundraiser.

The birthday party was probably the easy part. I gave The Doctor the task of creating the Angry Birds cake, and he did a great job (see picture). Never mind that the purchase of the Angry Birds keyrings, at vast expense from a dodgy website, seems to have resulted in our credit card being stopped because somebody fraudulently used his details.

As for the party itself, we had bravely decided to have it at home - an unusual thing in this area, where most kids' parties take place at themed venues, where everything including entertainment, pizza and cake is thrown in, but the price can be upwards of $500. Instead we hired a magician, re-erected the boys' trampoline and prayed for good weather. The signs on the day were not good - a damning forecast of heavy rain. We spent the morning hurriedly clearing the decks of our house, making space for 20 kids. I had already made up pass the parcel in anticipation of lots of indoor games being required.

But, 30 minutes before the first guests arrived, the skies cleared, the sun came out and the sodden trampoline was dry enough to bounce on again. We were away. The party was a success, with everyone playing mainly outside - I practically had to drag them in to play pass the parcel, a game American kids are not really familiar with but seemed to enjoy hugely. They ate their pizza outside on picnic rugs - another aspect I am sure was eccentrically British, but seemed to go down well. As they left, one little girl informed me it was the 'second best party' she'd been to - the best being her own. I took that as a vote of confidence.

Meanwhile, the other party I'm involved with has been causing huge stress. These fundraising Galas are huge in the States, and I had no idea previously what was involved. Basically the occasion always has an honoree, and that person's friends and family are encouraged to come along and spend a lot of money on tickets, raffles and auctions. There is also a 'book of the night', in which people are encouraged to take out ads saying what a wonderful person the honoree is and congratulating them. Muggins here - a volunteer with the organisation - ended up being the editor of this tome, and has spent the past week dealing with all the fun involved in producing a magazine with a team of volunteers who don't really have time to do it, people sending in ad copy via fax at the last minute and other ads mysteriously disappearing. Add to that a diva designer who threw a strop and resigned via email, and you have about a week of sleepless nights. And that's on top of my real job - the one I get paid for. Sigh.

Oh well. I shall be more than ready to don my cocktail dress come the weekend and party. At least this time I won't have to worry about kids injuring themselves on the trampoline...it'll just be the irate adults whose ads never made it into the book.

The Gallery: Chilled Out

2011-05-11T11:52:00.002-04:00

Yes, yes, I know I'm breaking all my own rules. But when I saw that this week's Gallery theme was 'Chilled Out', I knew exactly which picture I wanted to use (I took it a couple of weeks ago). Besides, he looks so cute here I couldn't resist. Littleboy 2 loves to chill out, preferably with thumb in mouth. So he was delighted by my friend's new hammock.

Mother's day strikes again

2011-05-08T17:50:00.004-04:00

Longstanding readers may remember that last May, I committed a cardinal sin.

I booked Littleboy 1's birthday party for American Mother's Day.

I had no idea that Mother's Day was this sacred day in the U.S. Not just a day to give Mothers a card, or maybe a bunch of flowers, but a day to be set aside as extremely special, on which nothing else can take place, especially something that doesn't involve the immediate family. It was as if I'd suggested a wife swap party or going out clubbing on Christmas morning - the horror in people's voices as they replied that no, they couldn't possibly come.

This year I cannily booked the party for next weekend instead, but I still found myself completely amazed by US Mother's Day. All week, people have been asking me what was I doing for Mother's Day - to which I had to politely shrug my shoulders and mumble that I wasn't sure. The truth is, we had no special plans - if I was going to celebrate Mother's Day at all it would probably be the British one. It was nice when the Littleboys gave me their cards from school ("I love you, Mom"), but I was quite happy with that, thank you very much. They'd already been ordered to bring money to buy presents at a 'Mother's and Father's Day fair' (Littleboy 1 chose surprisingly wisely; a plant for me and a torch for The Doctor).

As the day grew closer everyone was wishing everyone a Happy Mother's Day. Even the schoolbus driver said it on Friday as I and the other 'Moms' collected our kids at the bus stop. Meanwhile, a group of us were trying to organize a group photo to be taken for an event we're involved with; a time needed to be found at the weekend, but then one person pointed out via email that 'Sunday is Mother's Day' so of course should be completely ruled out.

My European friend, who has been here for five years and is therefore more ingrained into US calendar dates, thought it might be nice to do something for Mother's Day - perhaps go out for lunch. But when she phoned a local restaurant, it was completely booked out. We decided instead to go for a picnic, so this morning I set off to the supermarket and the bakery to get some supplies.

I kid you not, the supermarket was like Christmas Eve at Waitrose. The trolleys had run out; people were queuing to get inside. The clientele was almost totally made up of Dads, buying special Mother's Day lunches and bunches of flowers, and a few kids. The few other women there looked harried and pissed off.

Undaunted I carried on. I went to our favourite French bakery; it does the most delicious croissants and rolls. They were sold out - at 10am, which is unheard of. (I learned later from our picnic companions that they were sold out at 9am). Everyone was also in there buying huge cakes for guess what? Mother's Day.

I eventually tracked down croissants at the third bakery I visited (luckily we are blessed with a lot of bakeries in town). Phew! As I drove home, every single ad on the radio seemed to be Mother's Day related.

The picnic went very well - it was a glorious day and we walked on the beach after lunch, the boys dipping their toes into the still icy water. As we got back into the car, Littleboy 1 gave me a handful of shells he'd collected. "For Mother's Day," he said, beaming angelically.

I'm still resisting, but next year you might find the lure of Mother's Day is too much. I will be expecting a large cake, thank you very much, will have booked the brunch weeks in advance and will send out my children for croissants at dawn.

Now we are six*

2011-05-03T12:10:00.004-04:00

*With apologies to AA Milne. Whose classic children's book is one of Littleboy 1's birthday presents today.

*Now we are six, we love Angry Birds. We are the author of several books on the subject, all illustrated in great detail and stapled together lovingly. We are confidently expecting an Angry Birds themed cake for our birthday, but we may not get one, as Mummy is just not that creative (and yes, I have seen the video made by that enterprising father). Possibly Daddy will come up trumps. We also like to build Angry Birds structures in the garden, using planks of wood from the fence and rocks from the landlady's flower beds. This is not always popular with Mummy and Daddy, although they secretly admire our creativity.

*We remain a cheap date. When asked where we want to go for our birthday treat supper, we opt for one of the town's most cheap and cheerful pizzerias.

*We are a promising footballer (much to our parents' surprise, as neither excelled at sports when young). After the not entirely successful stint at basketball, we show great prowess on the soccer field, having taken to it like a duck to water. And if that doesn't work out, we are also a talented skier, impressing all instructors with our ability as well as our enthusiasm.

*We are learning to read and write, something that thrills our Mother. We love to create books, and she was honoured to star in one of them, the bestselling tome All About Mummy. We also like to read the Biscuit series of books, which to our delight features the words Woof Woof on every page.

*We have a lot of energy. This is great, except when the school, for reasons best known to itself, decides that it won't have outdoor play for six weeks because it's cold outside. We then present our teacher with some challenging behaviour, rushing around like a mad thing and bouncing off the classroom walls. Remarkably, this behaviour disappears once outdoor play is resumed.

*We are constantly covered with bruises from knee to ankle. Not to mention that scar on the forehead and other weekly injury hotspots. All that sport and rushing around like a crazy person takes its toll, you know. But, most of the time, we don't seem to mind. In fact, we take life's knocks with remarkable equanimity. As long as we are allowed to play a little bit of Angry Birds on the iPad......

Royal Wedding; my highlights

2011-04-29T13:02:00.004-04:00

*Watching it from bed. Surprisingly OK, even if it was 5am. I made good use of my new teapot.

*Waking up Littleboy 1 at 7 to see the carriages leaving the Abbey. He was so excited.

*Quotes from the Littleboys.

Littleboy 2 (seeing the full leaves on the trees in London): "is it June in the film?"

Littleboy 1: Where's the King? There's no King? (I explain about the Duke of Edinburgh). He must be older than the Queen. He's taller. Where's the president? (Good question....)

Littleboy 2: I like that girl. The one in the white dress. (Good taste....)

*Switching channels to NBC, because the BBC coverage was getting rather dry and boring, and finding them explaining that Kate's father would be walking her up the aisle. We quickly switched back.

*Peeking at Fox News for some classic quotes. On the security contingent: "There's 40,000 cops there, and they don't have guns. That's unbelievable. Can you imagine that in New York?"
Fox also had a countdown clock to 'The Kiss'. Pure class.

*Catching up with everyone's comments on Twitter and Facebook. Events like these are really where social media comes into its own - and keep me really connected to what my friends are thinking back in the U.K. (and in the blogosphere).

Happy public holiday, everyone. I hope you're enjoying those parties.

Oh to be in England, now that April's here

2011-04-26T11:17:00.002-04:00

It's finally happened. After two years of being in the US I'm finally homesick.

Prior to this, I was actually starting to wonder if there was something wrong with me. Although I missed friends and familyI never once stopped and thought I'd much rather be back in the U.K. than here. I put this down to a combination of things: a childhood spent abroad, which meant I lacked a deep-rooted tie to the UK; unusual family circumstances (both my mother and mother-in-law died over a decade ago, and both families have been through some difficult years); and, of course, being happy with where we are in the US.

But I don't know what it is about this last couple of weeks. There was Easter; normally a big family occasion for us, this year we were totally alone. It seemed as if everyone else had something to do or somewhere to go, except us. This is one of the downsides of expatriate life; when it comes to the big family occasions, you're on your own. Seeing my father and sister on Skype was lovely, but I'd rather see them in the flesh. Then there is the Royal Wedding; although I'm not exactly a flag-waving monarchist, I'd like to be in London at this point, all full of wedding fever. Knowing that England has been having a glorious spring doesn't exactly help. The weather has been indifferent here at best (although it's finally hot today). On Friday, we went to the beautiful New York Botanical Gardens. They were lovely, but I couldn't help thinking about Kew Gardens and all the wonderful times we have had there.

One thing that has cheered me up a little has been being nominated for blogger awards The MADS. I'm very grateful to anyone who has already nominated me; if anyone else wants to, just go to the website and follow the instructions. You don't have to be a blogger to take part!

And if you want to make me feel better about not being in England, tell me here how you'll be celebrating the Royal Wedding on Friday. Whether you're in the US, UK or somewhere else. I'd love to know.

Tales from the nail salon

2011-04-20T13:30:00.007-04:00

When I lived in London, I think I could count on one hand (or should that be foot?) the number of times I went for a pedicure. It just didn't seem like a priority, and I only got my nails polished professionally when I was going to a wedding or some other smart event that required more than my own efforts at toenail painting.

But here it is a different story. While I wouldn't say that Long Island mommies are more glamorous than those in London, when it comes to the feet they are decidedly more high maintenance. In spring and summer, everyone sports perfect-looking painted toenails and sleek-looking feet, so if you have chipped nail polish and heels like leather you are definitely going to stand out. Going for a pedicure is also a fairly social activity; many women go with their girlfriends and have a catch-up while they sit there, and you also see mothers and daughters doing it together.

(This may be a sign of the times, but when I was growing up I don’t remember my Mum ever suggesting I went for a manicure or pedicure. Indeed, I'm fairly sure she never went herself; although she was always well-groomed, with nails she filed herself. But now it is quite normal to see mothers dropping off their teenage daughters at the salon – I’ve also seen little girls sitting alongside their mothers having their tiny toenails done.)

So yesterday I took myself off for the first pedicure of the season (no, I don’t do it year-round – what’s the point when your feet are encased in boots all winter?). I’m probably being a bit optimistic because it certainly isn’t sandal weather yet, but it felt like time and, having my first week off work since January and with the Littleboys esconsed in a sports class, I felt perhaps I deserved a touch of pampering.

The nail salon is also a great place for people watching. On a rainy Tuesday morning I was the sole customer (no pun intended), until Sweatpants lady walked in. In many ways she was so typical. Huge cup of Starbucks in one hand, iPhone in the other, dressed in her gym gear. She was midway through a phone conversation as she walked in, and proceeded to chat loudly for the first five minutes while the nice Chinese salon lady waited patiently to ask her what she wanted done. (Nail bars here are always run by Chinese or Koreans).

Sweatpants has a cursory look at the colours on offer and then asks ‘Don’t you do 'Minx'?”. The Salon lady looks blank. “It’s like, a sticker that you stick on. It lasts for two months. It’s so fabulous.” Salon lady shakes her head again. Sweatpants carries on about the wonders of Minx, although quite clearly it isn't on offer, until she runs out of steam. But then: drama! She can’t pick a nail colour. Cue long, long conversation over which colours will last longest. Eventually she picks two colours – plum and silver. “I can’t decide – I’ll decide while I’m sitting here.”

At long last, her pedi begins. But we aren't quite there yet. It’s nearly time for the colour to be applied. Then she looks up. “Did I see ALL the new colours?” she asks. The nail lady shrugs and gestures back to the shelf where she had spent at least 10 minutes. “Oh, I didn’t see those ones round there!” she exclaims. And she leaps up, mid foot-scrub, to take another look.

I left the salon at this point, so I’m afraid to say I can’t reveal what colour she went for in the end. But I did wonder if she made the right decision. And I'd also love to know what the salon staff (who have a habit of talking very fast in Chinese while glancing furtively at you, which convinces me they're sharing how appalled they are by the state of my feet) had to say about it......

How do you know your kids are becoming American?

2011-04-18T14:52:00.006-04:00

How do you know your kids are becoming American?

1. They use the expressions 'awesome', 'Oh, Man' and (more recently) 'Oh, brother' on a regular basis.

2. They can identify a quarter, and talk about dollars, but have no idea about pounds and pence.

3. They ask you who the first President of England was.

4. Some of their favourite foods are hot dogs, pizza and pretzels.

5. They know the entire pledge of allegiance to the U.S. flag off by heart, but can barely even recognize the Union Jack. 6. They are experts on the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State building, but couldn't point out Big Ben or Buckingham Palace.

7. Their artworks so far this school year include Lincoln's Log Cabin, George Washington's Cherry Tree, pictures of yellow school buses, and dissections of pumpkins.

8. They are already excited about the summer because of summer camp. 9. They think it's quite normal for their parents to take home the remainder of a restaurant meal in a box....

10. ....and it's also perfectly normal to go for a restaurant meal at an unusual time of day. Eg. Sunday lunch at 11am.

I'm beginning to think it's time they learnt a little bit about their home culture. I might even make them sit through the entire Royal Wedding next week. Mind you, on the strength of 9) and 10) I think we parents might need a crash course in being British, too......

Easter on Long Island...a very New York blend

2011-04-12T12:37:00.008-04:00

Easter-time is a little different in this area of the U.S. We were away last year, spending time with the boys' cousins down in Florida, so I didn't really take in the differences between the UK and US at this time of year. Basically, they boil down to the fact that 'Easter' is not really mentioned in an official sense - instead, we have Spring Recess to look forward to for the boys, but there are no public holidays on either Good Friday or Easter Monday. (I keep having to stop myself referring to the 'Easter holidays', as it would mystify most people or be somehow politically incorrect, but somehow this phrase is ingrained in me after years in the U.K.)

There are various Egg hunts happening in town, but in keeping with the non-religiousness of public schools, and the large Jewish population, the whole thing seems to be slightly rolled in with Passover. The Easter Bunny, meanwhile, seems to have morphed into a kind of second-tier Santa, bringing not necessarily chocolate but general gifts - one mum friend told me her teenager had asked for a new CD from the Bunny.

This week I attended what was dubbed a 'Spring Celebration' in Littleboy 1's classroom. They had an egg hunt and a special snack of matzah (a cracker traditionally eaten at Passover) dipped in melted chocolate. An interesting blend of two religious traditions, I thought - and something that struck me as likely to be uniquely New York. I kind of like that.

Despite the vagueness over Easter, Spring is definitely here now, although the weather continues to veer wildly from warm to freezing cold. Cherry blossom, magnolias and daffodils are out all over town (Potty Mummy, here's a special picture of my flower beds just for you); winter clothes are being stashed away and everyone is asking you where your child is going for summer camp, as the long, hot summer holidays loom ever nearer. Before I know it, it will be May - and the second anniversary of our arrival in the States. It's funny going back and reading about our first impressions of the area, and our househunting experiences - two years on, so many things now seems normal, but I'm also constantly surprised by so many differences.

Birthdays, teapots and the lurgy

2011-04-07T15:25:00.005-04:00

"Mummy," said Littleboy1 about a week ago. "Are you so excited that it's your birthday next week?"

"Er, well, I suppose so," I replied.

He was also shocked to hear that I was not having a party. Not renting out a room at Pump It Up for all my friends to jump on bouncy castles, nor hiring a magician, nor even giving out party bags. (Birthdays are a big feature at the moment, with all of his friends seemingly about to turn six in the course of a few months, and we are constantly buying presents, searching for strange party venues in the mall-ridden hinterland of Central Long Island, and trying in vain to prevent them necking entire goody bags full of candy in the car).

Still, he thought it was exciting, so on the day, he and his brother thoughtfully woke me up at 6am to give me their card. I tried sending them back to bed, but then felt so guilty that I invited them to come back in, and we had a present opening session in the half-light of dawn. Luckily one of my presents from the Doctor was this beautiful new teapot (perhaps in recognition of my love of tea) , so at least there was a chance for some caffeine.

In other news, I managed to flummox a mother at one of these parties by asking her if her son had escaped the 'lurgy' that was going round the school. Even as I said it, I thought "I bet that's a British expression that she won't understand", but it came out anyway for want of a better word. "Lurgy?" she asked me, wide-eyed in horror. "What IS that?"

I had to look it up later and it turns out 'lurgy' was invented by Spike Milligan on the Goon Show. Who knew?

The donkey's anatomy

2011-03-31T12:05:00.004-04:00

I just knew he was going to say it. We're at a party, and the boys are playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey. It's a little girl's party, and there are many little girls there, all looking pink and pretty in princess dresses. Littleboy 1 is lining up behind several of them to take his turn.

The girl in front of him, blindfolded, pins the tail on - right between the donkey's legs.

My son turns to me, face shining excitedly and I know exactly what's coming - but there is no way to stop it. He announces loud and clear - "Mummy! That's not the Donkey's tail. That's the Penis." And, as if we hadn't all heard the first time, he then REPEATS it. (He learned the word recently, and has now decided he's going to use it, instead of the rather more innocuous Willy, at any available opportunity. After all my efforts to stop him talking about butts etc.........) Fortunately I don't really think the little girls around him really took this in. But one mother sitting nearby looked aghast. "Did he just really say that?" she asked. "Yes," answered my husband. "Well, at least he's anatomically correct."

And actually, I quite agree.......

Staying on....

2011-03-26T15:22:00.005-04:00

So The Doctor returned from London recently with some slightly unexpected, although not completely unanticipated, news: work-wise, it makes sense for him to stay out in the US another year.

This means that instead of heading back to England in just over a year's time, we'll be here for another two years. We'll be rejoining the London masses (if all goes to plan) with an eight and a six year old, not the seven and five year old I'd imagined. (Littleboy 1 doesn't know this yet; I'd better explain it soon, because he's always telling people he's going back to London when he's seven.....).

So how do I feel about this? Mainly, good. We like living on Long Island, and time seems to be passing so quickly at the moment that the idea of having to organise a family move again in a year's time is faintly terrifying. The boys are at good schools, I've finally found some decent writing work, we've made friends and everything's pretty stable at the moment, so why rush back and start all over again?

There are, of course, downsides. It means continuing to let our London house (oh joy - we are about to get a new, third set of tenants); I am very conscious of the danger of losing touch with friends and family; and of course, moving back will probably be that much harder because the longer we stay, the more boys (and I) will have forged stronger friendships and local ties.

In the short term, though, it has galvanised my husband into action on one front. All the (mainly electrical) things we held off buying because "we're only going to be here three years" are now mysteriously appearing in our household, the idea of putting up with life without them finally having become too much. In the past month we've gained a new TV, plus an 'Apple TV' device that allows us to watch British shows; a new clock radio; another electric toothbrush (we don't have to take turns now - laughable, isn't it?); and we've just ordered a new desk for The Doctor (no more fighting over desk-space!).

I think I'm going to have to keep an eye on him. If he goes and buys the Dyson, and that coffee maker he's been muttering about since we got here, I think I might have to start worrying we'll never go back......

Winter's last gasp

2011-03-24T10:10:00.004-04:00

We thought you were long gone.

Last week, the air was soft and mild. Crocuses, violets and even tulip leaves emerged tentatively from hard ground, and tiny pink blossoms appeared on the trees' bare branches.

On Friday, schoolkids queued at the newly reopened ice cream parlour wearing nothing but t-shirts. Littleboy 1 went to the park in his Crocs, and to school without a coat. We even - shock, horror - opened a window one night because it was too warm in our room.

We thought Spring was finally here.

But you weren't finished with us yet. Good thing we didn't pack away the snow shovels.

Bargain!

2011-03-20T14:50:00.004-04:00

This post stems from a conversation the Doctor and I had the other night about how, in America, nothing is ever priced at what it supposedly costs.

Not only do most shops appear to have a permanent sale on; but it is not unusual that you pick up an item in, say, Gap, and go to the checkout to find that it costs a completely different sum - usually about $10 less - than the price tag. (This is, of course, always a pleasant surprise and tends to make you feel positive about the shop, so I wonder if it is deliberate.)

The Doctor has a colleague who has some iPhone app that lets you compare prices in different shops. So, for example, he was in Staples, and found that an item actually costs less around the corner in Rite-Aid. Apparently, when he pointed it out to the store manager, they simply lowered the price for him. This has also happened to me - I recall one occasion when I wanted to buy a marker pen that didn't have a price tag, and they just gave it to me for free.

In fact, I am constantly surprised that store staff seem to have complete free rein in these matters. I'm sure that in Britain, lowering the price of an item would require lots of tutting, hours of computer research and quite possibly a phone call to Head Office. Can you imagine trying to bargain down the price of stationery in WHSmith? Er, I don't think so. Whereas here, you could probably go around a shopping mall behaving if you were in a Moroccan souk, if you had the nerve.

I suppose it's all part of the American culture of customer service; 'the customer is always right' and all that. (Apart from in government offices, places like the Department for Motor Vehicles and the US Post Office, where the customer is regarded like a highly dangerous criminal).

We Brits are, on the whole, not that good at it. For example - I hate being followed around clothes shops and asked questions, and nothing is more likely to make me leave without buying anything. I'm also bad with coupons - the staple of any shopper on Long Island. We're used to supermarket loyalty cards in the UK, but redeeming a printed coupon you get sent in the post? I always forget to take it with me, and by the time I do, it's out of date.

Our family had one particularly shameful episode where we had a meal at a Wendy's burger restaurant (a slightly nicer version of McDonald's) on our way to Vermont and received coupons for a virtually free meal next time. What happened? The Doctor immediately threw them away in the bin along with the rest of the packaging on his tray. This didn't stop us going back to Wendy's the following week on our return journey - but, we agreed, the meal was so cheap it wasn't really worth losing any sleep over.

We are clearly bad bargain hunters.

The Gallery: Oaks and spanish moss in Savannah.

2011-03-16T12:42:00.007-04:00

This week's Gallery is themed around trees. Living in an area thick with tall trees, I had plenty to choose from but eventually decided on these photos, taken in Savannah, Georgia, on our holiday last April. One of the most striking things about this beautiful city is its trees, gnarled old oaks hanging with 'Spanish moss'.

The trees are everywhre, lining the shady, fountain-filled squares and avenues of this gorgeous Southern city, lending it a mysterious and and almost tropical flavour. Together with its stunning colonial architecture and the laid-back Southern vibe, they make Savannah a magical place to visit. We celebrated my birthday here, and while the presence of two Littleboys meant we didn't quite get around to the candelit meal in a plantation house overlooking the Savannah river that I'd imagined, just wandering round these beautiful streets, with the azaleas in full bloom, was enough to make it memorable.

Stitched up

2011-03-13T17:34:00.006-04:00

Littleboy 1 had his first ever visit to the Emergency Room the other night. Really, it's amazing that he's managed to get through five years without one, considering how much of a daredevil he is, but somehow we've avoided it (or perhaps been negligent parents?). We did have one trip with Littleboy 2 in London; a rather surreal occasion when he got a hair twisted around his toe as a baby and it started cutting off his blood supply (don't ask). But, really, for the parents of two small and lively boys, we've been pretty lucky.

Anyway, looking at the deep gash in his forehead on Thursday evening - the result of running headfirst into the sharp corner of a wooden cabinet - it was fairly obvious that he would need stitches. The Doctor took him off, while I stayed home with Littleboy 2, and a couple of hours later he related his first experience of an American ER - because although he works in the hospital next door, he's never actually set foot in there.

The verdict? Very much like an NHS Casualty, he reports. No beds, so patients sitting on trolleys in the middle of the ER - he and Littleboy 1 were at one point right next to the reception desk, where they were apparently privy to all kinds of confidential patient information.

There were many, many forms to fill in and also a fair amount of incompetence; although the Doctor had said he was happy for an ER physician to do the stitching (rather than a plastic surgeon), the plastics doc turned up anyway, and apparently at one point there was a near-fight between the attendings over who was going to deal with Littleboy 1's case. They ended up going with the plastics doc (mainly because he'd already started); now we wait with bated breath to see whether we will receive an enormous bill, as we aren't clear whether our insurance will pay for all of his services. And of course, we've been given countless instructions about follow-ups with the doctor - to make sure it's all healing properly and of course rack up some more bills.......

Anyway, Littleboy 1 took it all in his stride and was pretty stoic; he even did not appear to mind that he couldn't take part in gym, swimming or basketball the next day. I think secretly he was quite excited by the whole thing, once he'd got over the initial shock, and enjoyed showing off his war wound to his teachers the next day.

Just as well, really: because, although I hope we won't be back in the ER any time soon, in all probability it won't be our last visit there....

The Gallery: One Word. Pancakes.

2011-03-09T15:57:00.005-05:00

We ate pancakes last night in honour of Shrove Tuesday, even though it's not a tradition here. Our pancakes are different from American pancakes, which tend to be thicker and more doughy - I would call them crepes, although my pancake chef husband tells me his grandmother (American) called them 'German pancakes'. Anyway, they were delicious - first the savoury ones stuffed with cheese, bacon and mushroom, and then a couple of sneaky little pudding ones with lemon and maple syrup (well, there have to be some concessions to our American location).

For the first time ever, Littleboy 1 actually partook of the meal, and pronounced them 'delicious'. His brother still wasn't sure, but then, he doesn't actually seem to like anything but plain pasta at the moment. So now it's Lent, of course, and I have just had a virtuous cup-a-soup for lunch. Only one problem; there's still some pancake mixture in the fridge.....

This post was for Tara's Gallery at Sticky Fingers. Theme: One Word.

Moving to NY? This could be a book for you...

2011-03-06T11:21:00.005-05:00

There is no doubt that moving abroad is a huge upheaval - especially if you have a young family. Over at her blog, Home Office Mum is currently debating the pros and cons of a move to Seattle, and it reminds me of when I was worrying about our imminent move to the US two years ago. I was lucky enough to receive plenty of good advice via the comments on this blog - for example, essential information about whether Marmite is readily available (it is) and what to wear on your feet in an East Coast winter (LL Bean boots - I now own a pair). For the uninitiated moving to the US, I would also highly recommend Pond Parleys, which holds weekly debates on aspects of UK versus US culture.

For that reason, a PR request to review a book aimed at expats moving to New York recently caught my eye. The book, New York New York: So Good They Named It Twice* is subtitled An Irreverent Guide to Experiencing and Living in the Greatest City in the World. The press release compared author Rob Silverman to Bill Bryson (a favourite of mine), so I agreed to write a review.

The author is a Brit but came to New York in his twenties, married an American and has never left. He's quite clearly madly in love with Manhattan, but is able to critique it quite well from a British point of view. Bryson he ain't, but he does a decent job of covering all the basics: how to rent an apartment, how to drive and park in the city, how the school system works; even how to order a sandwich in a deli (an eye-poppingly lengthy process involving many, many condiments and different types of bread). He also does a good job of explaining the tipping culture - something that completely foxed me when we arrived here.

Having said that, quite a bit of the book is not really relevant to me - I live in the suburbs, not Manhattan, and indeed the author is scathingly rude about the suburbs, citing friends who have moved there and turned into boring, Stepford-wife type families who have nothing better to do than gossip about the neighbours. Well, I have to say, I can't really blame him; I used to think like this when I lived in London, but having lived in the suburbs for 18 months now, it's not all bad - not all suburban kids spend their lives being ferried around in cars from mall to mall. I also love the community aspect of being in a smaller town - Silverman boasts that he has no idea who his neighbours are, but I've found having friendly neighbours a godsend after arriving here and knowing nobody. I'm not sure I'd want to have moved to Manhattan with two small kids and never interact with people in my apartment block....

Anyway, the book is pretty practical, and if you're thinking of moving to New York City with a family, it would be a useful read. The author is at his most amusing when describing family anecdotes - for example, having to make restaurant reservations for his wife at the last minute, or putting the phone on redial to get through to a private school's admissions number. And he's clearly passionate about his adopted home city; something I can completely understand.

*available from Broadfield Books, $17.99. I received a free copy for writing this post.

Out of the mouths of babes....

2011-03-03T18:33:00.004-05:00

Before I came to the States, one of my worries about the Littleboys would be that they would pick up American accents which would take years to wear off.

Funnily enough, this no longer bothers me. So what if they sound like little Yankees when we return to London; if they pronounce bath as 'bay-yeth' and fast and 'fay-ast'. In a way I think I'd prefer that to either a Sarf London accent (which they'd have picked up if they had gone to the local school) or sounding like a mini Hooray Henry (if we'd gone private, perhaps...).

However, it has been dawning on me recently that there are certain expressions here that, while they seem perfectly acceptable in America, would not go down well in a British school.

For example: we've been given a book to read by Littleboy 1's school. It's a book that the whole school is supposed to read, two chapters a day, to encourage a love of reading, and of course, I'm all in favour of that - although I do think that a chapter book that appeals to 8 year olds is a little over the head of a five year old who can't even read yet. But, still. We started reading it yesterday and in the first chapter, was the sentence: "What a bummer!"

Reader, I missed it out. I do not want my five year old going around saying 'bummer' - which I am sure he would find hilarious. Sure, he's bound to pick up such expressions as time goes on, and I know it's not exactly a swear word (or curse word, as they would say here). But I don't want it to be from a book - surely that would sanction it as being something that's absolutely fine to say? And it's not the first time we've had that in a book - it was there in another kids' story, which he brought home from the school library.

The other one is 'butt'. Now I may be wrong, but isn't 'butt' perceived as pretty crude in the UK? (Personally it makes me think of Beavis and Butthead- ugh). I don't know what small children should call bottoms in England - bottoms, I think is probably the best - I'm not sure I'd even be comfortable with bum till they are a little bit older, and definitely, arse can wait until later. But here in the States, butt appears to be a perfectly normal word, used by teachers, gym instructors and everyone else. Consequently, Littleboy 1 always now refers to 'my butt' (usually with weird kind of gyratory actions) and also, annoyingly, seems to have picked up the expression 'butthead'. Again, I really don't know how this would go down back in England, especially at school........ so I keep telling him to stop using the word, and have even tried to explain the differences between here and there. (Sadly I think the horse may have bolted on this one...)

So tell me, should I just chill out? After all, my own language isn't exactly perfect, and I don't object to adults or older children saying these words. Am I over-reacting, and should I just let it lie......or accept that it's, well, a bummer?

Winter recess. Not exactly a vacation for me...

2011-02-24T13:53:00.006-05:00

The Littleboys are on Winter Recess this week. (They don't call it half term here. Actually they don't talk about terms at all, it's 'semester' - I keep getting strange looks from people when I refer to 'next term' or 'end of term'. )

It's also known as Presidents' Week - Monday was a public holiday, Presidents' Day, celebrating the birthdays of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. Littleboy 1 made a puppet at school that had Lincoln's face on one side and Washington's on the other (with cotton wool balls to make Washington's white wig hair). I thought it was great. The boys were delighted with it and played games with it all the way to swimming lessons last week in the car....

Anyway, Winter Recess poses a problem for me at the moment, as I am, for the first time since the boys were born, working every day. When they are school, from 9 until 3, I can usually fit all my work into those hours (luckily I can work from home). But this week, I had to find some kind of childcare/entertainment for them for at least some of the day, as the job is only for three months and I can't really take a week off.

Luckily, America is full of 'vacation camps' and workshops specfically for this purpose, and I managed to find a reasonably priced indoor 'sports camp' where the boys play soccer, basketball and baseball all morning. The only problem is, it's only from 9.30 till 12, so time is of the essence when dropping and collecting them (and the afternoons are another story altogether).

Every other working mummy in town, as well as an army of SAHMs, must have also discovered this camp, because the arrival and departure for this place is a complete nightmare. Unusually for here, there are only about 10 parking spaces outside, and of course everybody drives huge tanks of cars. Everyone drives, and promptly double parks, blocking others in. You can tell who the working (or just very busy) Mums are, desperate to get away early in the morning, and infuriated if they are not able to because a mammoth SUV is in their way. Meanwhile other mums want to hang around, chatting, oblivious to the fact that their car is blocking someone else. It's total mayhem. My strategy is to drop them off very early and pick them up very late - but as the week goes on, others seem to be cottoning on to this cunning ploy...

Anyway, the combination of work, household and the boys has really been pretty challenging for me this week. I am exhausted and also I am starting to wonder; how on earth do working parents cope with half term in the UK (and indeed school holidays)? Do you always have to take holiday? Are there 'vacation camps' or the equivalent? I am hoping to work at least part-time when we return to England, but am beginning to wonder now if it will just be impossible.....Thoughts, please!

Littleboys & The City

2011-02-21T12:11:00.006-05:00

When we first moved to New York, trips to Manhattan were anything but easy with the boys. On our first visit to Central Park, we managed to lose Littleboy 1 for a very frightening 10 minutes in one of its vast playgrounds; then there was that time, described here, where I was so distracted by the boys I thought mistakenly I'd left my purse in a taxi, causing The Doctor to make a mad dash down Fifth Avenue in 90 degree heat. Visits to museums were fraught; at four and two and half, the Littleboys tended to run around frantically touching things they weren't supposed to touch. (A visit to the Metropolitan with my Dad, I seem to recall, consisted mainly of chasing them.)

Although it's an easy train journey from here, by the time you factor in taking two tired boys there and back, 40 minutes each way, and with the two of them usually behaving appallingly on the train itself, the whole day becomes very stressful. On our first visits we were also encumbered by a pushchair, making the subway nightmarish; it was no better in taxis, where the boys tended to crawl around the back seat, delighted by the lack of carseats. Since then, although we've made the odd foray to places like the Statue of Liberty or the Brooklyn Bridge, trips into central Manhattan with both Littleboys have been fairly few and far between.

So yesterday, I am happy to report, was a bit of a milestone. We got up early, got to the Museum of Natural History as it opened, and spent a (mostly) trouble-free couple of hours looking around. Now four and almost six, the boys are fascinated by dinosaurs, partly thanks to Dino Dan, a fab Canadian TV show that has really stoked their interest, and impressed me by identifying not just your basic dinos, such as T-Rex, but stuff like Euoplocephalus which certainly would have had me stumped. Littleboy 2, following his starring role as a walrus in a play about polar animals, was also very pleased with the Hall of Ocean Life, although he did complain that there were no Orca whales. Shocking.

We only had one strop (in the cafe, where a cup of water instead of a $4 apple juice caused a minor meltdown on Littleboy 2's behalf) and saw everything we wanted to see before going off for a slap-up brunch with a friend on the Upper West Side. Even here, the boys behaved well (thanks, partly, to us letting them play Angry Birds on the iPad) while we knocked back Mimosas and over-the-top egg dishes.

The afternoon turned, somewhat accidentally, into a long ramble through Central Park. We had thought we would go there briefly and find a playground; but the park is so much bigger than you expect, and we kept finding new little pockets, such as the Belvedere Castle (view from which is pictured above), which just had to be explored. We didn't find the big playground we remembered (the scene of Littleboy 1's disappearance) but we found a smaller one with a great curving slide built into the rock, down which small children were luge-ing on their coats.

It was almost 6.30pm when we walked back up to our front door. The boys were filthy; thanks to the muddy park and the grimy floor of Penn Station, where they had insisted on playing as we waited for the train. They were tired, of course - but they were still walking - in fact, no-one was carried the whole day - and any whining had been kept to a minimum during the return journey.

What's more, after a hot bath and hairwash, they appeared to be raring to go again - while we were ready to collapse, exhausted, into bed.

So; with just an extra 18 months on our side, the combination of Littleboys and the City turns out to be a successful one after all. And with (probably) half our time here already elapsed, I'm going to have to make sure we make the most of it.

Valentine's Day; the screenplay

2011-02-14T18:25:00.006-05:00

3.30pm. NVG, opening the boys' enormous plastic bags full of Valentines gifts from school today.

Let's have a look at this.....whoah, don't just dump it all on the table, let's get it out carefully.

And this is from.....Tara? Lara? Oh, OK. Wow. Lovely. Homebaked cookies in a little bag all tied up with pink ribbons. Lara's mother obviously cares a great deal about Valentine's Day. (Mutters) Alternatively, she has FAR too much time on her hands......

And this is from Kate. Well, I'm glad to see they bought the same cheap crappy cards with a Dumdum lollipop as us!

Ah, that's interesting. Boy with very rich, influential parents....the tiniest, most rubbish looking cards in the bag. Glad I'm not the worst cheapskate in town.!

Blimey, this mother's printed out a special card with her child's face on it......

More pencils. Oh joy. Put them in the pencil box. And hologram stickers....no, you can't eat them. A little heart shaped notebook. That's quite cute, but don't start ripping pages out now......

And this one's made home made cards for every single child in the class. That IS actually quite impressive. I quite approve of that...although it must have been SO much work.

Oh, you want to take the candy off the cards? OK. Don't eat it all at once. That's right. Yes, I agree the cards are quite boring. But you might want to actually see who the candy is from. Let's put it in the bin later..

(Later)

The Doctor (coming home from work and seeing pink mess of candy and cards spread out on the table): Uuughh. What is all this appalling stuff? And why are the boys running around like sugared-up maniacs?

NVG (proffering bin): I told you so.

Valentine's Day. What happened to the romance?

Race to Nowhere - a thought-provoking film

2011-02-10T12:29:00.006-05:00

The other night I pitched up at the local high school (along with, it seemed, every other parent in town - the enormous parking lot was rammed) for a screening of a film I'd read about in the New York Times.

Race to Nowhere was made by a California mother, Vicki Abeles, after she became concerned about the stress that her children were under in school. It deals with the pressures of homework, of over-scheduling children, of the desperate attempts to get into 'good' colleges - especially for children who are considered high achievers.

In the film, there are (real life) children who stay up till 2am to finish their homework; who stop eating, sleeping, who take Adderall, a drug prescribed for ADD, to stay awake; who admit readily to cheating in tests; who have nervous breakdowns and drop out of school. (One comment that really struck a chord was that we are raising a generation prepared to do anything, and to cut any corners, to get a high-paying job -and look at the bankers. We are paying the price.)

While there were probably always examples of teenagers who became over-stressed by school (I remember one or two at my school) it seems the problem is becoming more widespread, as American colleges, largely funded by donors, try to attract the best pupils and get the best results. This in turn leads schools to set ludicrous amounts of homework in an attempt to get their pupils into colleges....and parents to put pressure on their kids, not just to be academic, but to be sporty, arty, do community service, and - well, basically, there aren't enough hours in the day.

Race to Nowhere is an unusual film in that it has not been screened widely on general release, but instead has been taken up by parent groups and shown at schools across the USA. At our local school, it was followed by a Q&A session - and it seemed that it had really struck a chord with many parents.

My children are too young to be experiencing this yet, but it won't be long, and I'm sure that many of the same problems exist in the UK; particularly in competitive private schools. (The coalition's decision to raise tuition fees, can only, I am sure, only add to the pressure, as Universities, deprived of government funding, will compete more ruthlessly for the best students).

It raises all sorts of questions, not least - is academic success really the key to our kids' happiness? As the film points out, only about the top 5% of students are really academically brilliant - why put pressure on everyone else to try and be so? We might dream about our kids going to Harvard, or Yale or Oxford or Cambridge - but what about well-adjusted kids who will only ever get Bs and Cs? Or indeed, one who decides college is not for them and goes on to a vocational training course?

Personally, what I want is for my children to be happy, and to end up in a job that they enjoy. But will I find myself sucked into this hyper-competitive culture as they get older? Will my kids half-kill themselves with homework just so they can get a job in an investment bank and work long hours for big-buck bonuses? Or will they sink under the pressure of it all and drop out.....
This film made depressing viewing in some ways, but I hope it succeeds in its mission to make parents, schools and colleges sit up and take stock of what we are doing to our children. And I hope UK parents have a chance to see it at some point, too.

I've joined the tea party......

2011-02-06T11:24:00.011-05:00

It's an emotive subject, tea. Iota and Michelloui, at their respective blogs, have been discussing the English custom of immediately offering your guest a hot drink - something that just doesn't happen in America, where the electric kettle is almost unheard of. Go and read their wonderfully insightful posts here and here first (and the many fascinating comments). And then the lovely Michelloui asked if I would like to join in. Well, let's just say being invited to this particular tea party is definitely preferable to the Sarah Palin kind....

You see, even if our American friends have got over the fact that we like to offer them hot drinks, and begin to reciprocate, there is still a long way to go to understanding the British cult of tea. In an American household, you may be offered a herbal tea, or green tea - they will not, understandably, have plain black tea (although brands like PG Tips and Twinings are readily available here). You might be offered honey to sweeten it - or even milk, but that's probably because they know you are British, and let's face it, who wants to drink green tea with milk?

But, American friends, what you really need to understand is that our choice of tea - and the way we drink it- is riddled with centuries-old prejudices revolving around the dreaded British disease of class.

Here I must disclose that I grew up drinking Twinings Earl Grey tea. It was the brand my mother always bought; I didn't realise until much later that this was considered frightfully middle class, and by that time I was addicted. (When we arrived in the US, I brought three foodstuffs in my suitcase; Marmite, Weetabix and Twinings Earl Grey).

Given a choice, I will always go for Earl Grey (although never, ever 'Lady Grey', in my view a completely pointless, inferior made-up version). However, I am quite happy to drink less poncey teas - for example, Tetley or PG Tips. Note for Americans: this kind of tea, particularly if it is made very strong and comes with a good helping of sugar, is often known as builders' tea. (In the UK, builders drink tea. If you have builders in your home, you offer them tea and biscuits. And if you don't, they will probably ask for them). So, in some British households, you might be offered a choice of 'Earl Grey, or builders' tea' - others just assume you want one or the other.

As a child I remember reading Enid Blyton and there being discussions, among characters deemed to be 'snobbish', about 'China' vs 'Indian' tea. 'China' tea was thought to be more proper. But these distinctions seem to have fallen by the wayside, and it's all about brands now. Twinings is firmly middle class; PG Tips comes with a good dose of British humour (remember the ads with chimps?); Tetley is Yorkshire and no-nonsense. (Interestingly, in an effort to seem less snooty, Twinings launched a new tea a few years ago called Everyday Tea. They still got Stephen Fry to star in the ads, though.)

The order in which we add the milk is also ridden with class assumptions. I was always told it was more polite to make the tea first and then add the milk, although some people believe the opposite. My mother definitely thought it was the height of bad manners to put the milk and teabag in first, then add the hot water.

Then, of course, do you serve it in a proper teacup, with a saucer, or in a mug? This is definitely a generational thing. My grandparents would never have served tea in mugs. If we were having a posh tea party, with cake, my mother would have definitely have got the cups and saucers out, but if it was just us, we had mugs. Now, we drink out of mugs all the time. I do actually possess a set of Wedgewood cups and saucers - a wedding present- but they are rarely used. (But, Americans, rest assured that if you go and 'take tea' at the Ritz or Claridges, you will get nothing but the very best bone china. )

And then there's the question of teabags. Again, these used to be rather sneered upon by tea snobs - you made your loose leaf tea in a pot and then strained it. But, while you'd still get it at Claridges, I can't believe there are many families who would bother to make loose leaf tea now.

I do wonder what will happen in the next generation. I can't remember an age when I didn't drink tea, but you don't see children drinking it these days. My own boys refuse to try it. I suppose it's probably thought bad to give kids any kind of caffeine at all now, although I can't believe there's anything wrong with a weak cup of tea. So, will Britain lose its tea-drinking tradition? Will children move straight from apple juice to smoothies and then on to Starbucks? And with it, will all this knowledge, ceremony and tradition just disappear? I'd hate to think so.

Ice, ice baby

2011-02-02T16:22:00.003-05:00

OK; I take it all back. I thought the snow was bad. But that was before I knew about the ice.

We had an ice storm yesterday (part of the huge, mega-snowstorm that seems to be covering the entire US east of the Rockies). Blithely unaware of the risks of ice, I ran outside yesterday in a bit of a hurry to pick up Littleboy 2 from preschool - only to find my car windscreen sheathed in about an inch of pure ice. There was no way the wipers would work, and we were out of de-icer; so, after managing to hack away about a four inch square, I had one of the scariest drives of my life with virtually no visibility until finally it started to melt.

This morning we awoke to another of those 5.30am phone calls - saying school was delayed by two hours. I looked out of the window and couldn't see any new snow- but, later, in the cold light of day, the ice was revealed. Our whole drive was a skating rink. Ice-melting salt appeared to be useless, so The Doctor went outside to hack away at it with a metal shovel until, finally, he was able to get the car down the drive in order to go to work. It made shovelling snow look like child's play. I now understand why Sharon Stone had an ice-pick in Basic Instinct. And as for that Sigourney Weaver film the Ice Storm? I can see how the weather might actually drive you to attend a key party.....

We now have the most gigantic icicles dangling from our roof (see above), so nobody, on pain of death, is allowed to stand anywhere near the house when outside.

Come back, snow, all is forgiven. Although I'm sure you will be back. I just don't believe that Groundhog when he said spring would be early this year.....

Pile it high....

2011-01-28T10:42:00.006-05:00

Long Islanders are used to snow and cold weather. The streets are generally ploughed soon after a snowstorm, and after a day when school might be cancelled or delayed in order for everyone to get their shovels (or fancy snow-blowers) and dig out, life usually returns to normality very quickly.

But not this year. Firstly, there has been a lot more snow than usual this January - around 36 inches in New York, as opposed to an average of 7, I believe. The other problem is that the snow is falling so frequently - around every four days since the Boxing Day blizzard that kicked it all off - that there hasn't been enough time for it to melt in between. So snow is piling up, and up, and up....

The Doctor remarked to me yesterday as we were clearing our driveway yet again that 'we're now living in a sort of hole'. And it's true. The snow is banked up around several feet high around our cars, and up the sides of the drive (see above). Our normally wide street has been reduced to a narrow lane, which the schoolbus can barely negotiate; the pavement is a narrow track amid walls of snow and ice. People are having trouble backing out of their drives, because the banked up snow from their opposite neighbours is jutting out into the street.

Walking up the town's Main Street is hardly better. Outside shops and businesses, people have ploughed, but what do they do with the snow? They pile it up. You can just about make it up the pavement, but actually crossing the street is another business. Last night I walked into town (not daring to get the car out, in case the sides of our driveway avalanched into it) and within minutes had completely soaked my feet, despite snowboots, from the huge puddles of slush that had to be negotiated at each street corner.

We like winter sports, and in general we've enjoyed the snowy winters here - it's very beautiful, and the boys love sledding and playing in the snow- but my enthusiasm for the white stuff has started to wear just a little bit thin. School and work are being disrupted at least once a week. I'm working full time at the moment (from home); however, I seem to have to spend part of my working day running outside with a shovel to make sure I can actually pick up Littleboy 2 from preschool. The other day, I got stuck halfway up the drive on the way back from dropping him, because over an inch of snow had fallen between 9am and 10am. I am seriously starting to see the benefits of a 4x4.

Every day brings a new phone call consisting of a recorded message from the town's police department - the one I just listened to started off, "As we are all aware, this has been a very harsh winter...". It's either that or the school district, phoning at 5.30am to inform us that there's no school that day (thanks, you just made a long day with the boys even longer...).

A look at next week's forecast is hardly cheering. More snow is forecast on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. No end in sight. There is only one consolation to the winter onslaught - a fantastic ski season. We're going again this weekend, this time to the Catskills - and (providing we make it up the mountain) the slopes should be perfect......

Stylish blogging....about crackling. And pyjamas.

2011-01-24T08:40:00.007-05:00

It's always good to be given an award, and in this case I'm honoured to have been awarded by 'Cross the Pond - one of those people whose life seems to have done a direct swap with mine, a New Yorker living in London.

The award is for Stylish Blogging - I think (hope?) Stylish in this case must mean in the writing, seeing as I'm not exactly Liberty London Girl, who gets to write about fashion and five star hotels (although I do have serious blog envy there), and my wardrobe this month seem to consist of the same pair of thick cords and very thick jumpers, or alternatively ski-wear, donned for digging out the driveway.

Anyway the award as usual comes with rules, so I must thank the person who nominated me and then reveal seven things about myself. I'm sure I've already bored readers with the 'seven things' meme before so I'm going to make it more specific and reveal seven (new) things I never knew about living in the US.

1. The tipping culture. Yes, I knew Americans tipped generously, but I did not realise quite to what extent. The normal tip is 15-20% here, and at Christmas you tip the postman, the garbage men, the schoolbus driver and your newspaper delivery person. You tip the camp teachers at the end of summer camp, and the instructors at the ski school. It's also fairly normal to give school teachers money as a Christmas present - or at least, a voucher or gift card so they can see exactly what you've spent on them. I'm only just coming up to speed on all this, so I hope I haven't offended anyone by being a stingy Brit....

2. A couple of people commented on my last post that they hadn't realised Americans talk about the weather as well as we Brits. Well, they do. At least in New York. The radio station we listen to is always on about it, and let's face it, they have that whole Weather Channel so you can obsess about the weather 24/7 if you want to. The conversation at the bus stop in the morning nearly always revolves around how cold/hot it is, or whether snow is forecast....

3. ...BUT on days when it is minus 13 (like today) you don't totally hate the winter weather. The sky is so blue and the sun so bright you can almost look out of the window and pretend it's summer - if it weren't for the three feet of snow in the back garden.....

4. It is not possible to buy a joint of pork in the US and get crackling. Simply not going to happen. We've tried. We miss crackling.

5. Americans don't like doing things by halves......viz Piers Morgan's new chat show. He's on five nights a week. Interviewing one single person for a whole hour. That's a lot of very long interviews. More than Wogan - he managed three nights a week back in the eighties (and there were always several guests per show) And while George Clooney, Oprah and Ricky Gervais might have been worth watching for an hour, I can't help thinking that pretty soon Piers will have to be resorting to the runners up on American Idol or the guy who plays the occasional cop on Grey's Anatomy...

6. Speaking of TV, it is quite normal in the US for your favourite TV series to stop for a hiatus of three or four weeks, then show one new episode, then show repeats for a few weeks, then maybe, if they are feeling like it, show a few more new ones.....it's no wonder so few shows make it beyond their first season, as it's simply impossible to follow the storyline. Thank God for DVRs.

7. No school term is complete without a pyjama party. I don't know if this is just round here, but Americans simply love them - and so do the children. Why going to school in your pyjamas is quite so thrilling I am not sure, but Littleboy 1 was so excited that he actually went to bed early the night before in anticipation.

Now, I'm supposed to nominate 15 other bloggers for this award, but I've been shamefully lax on discovering new blogs recently, so what I'm going to suggest, rather lazily, is that if you want to take part, just go for it! Now there's an American sentiment. (And if you're new to me and I don't know your blog yet, leave me a comment and I promise I'll be over to take a look.)

Overheard on the train.....

2011-01-18T14:24:00.005-05:00

I was travelling on the Long Island Rail Road earlier today, and overheard the following, between two women who, from the sounds of their conversation worked in the media. One of them was about to go on a business trip to England.

Woman 1: You know, the weather there in February will probably be the same as it is in August.

Woman 2: What do you mean?

Woman 1: Well, cold. I mean, I was there 20 years ago in August and I needed a sweater!

Woman 2 (confidently): Oh no, it's not at all like that now. It's hot in August.

Woman 1: Wow. You mean, like it's changed?

Woman 2: Yes, it's definitely changed - the summers are hot now. It's the weather at this time of year that will be vile - really, like, blustery.

Woman 1: That's really interesting.

It was so tempting to join in and point out that no, Britain has not undergone a climatic change of epic proportions hitherto unreported in the rest of the world. And the whole point about the British weather is that it's unpredictable.

What is more, on an unusually nasty New York winter day (freezing rain mixing with snow and slush and making for what the weather forecasters call a 'mucky commute') I thought it was a bit rich to call our February drizzle vile........

It seems I'm a bit more loyal to Blighty than I thought.

Snow day

2011-01-14T12:40:00.003-05:00

We knew it was coming, the snow day, but it was still magical to wake up to about a foot of snow on Wednesday morning. School had been cancelled the day before, so there were no early morning frettings about what to do, and we even managed a bit of a lie-in.

The Littleboys were outside by 8.30am for their first session playing in the white stuff (despite my mutterings of "it's far too cold, and you've got ALL DAY to play in the snow"). Meanwhile The Doctor and I were shovelling the driveway and scraping off the cars. It seemed a shame to break up that perfect, icing-sugar sea of virgin snow, but we know from experience that if you don't get shovelling while it's soft and powdery, it turns into utterly impenetrable slabs of ice.

By about 10, the boys were tired, and came in for a breather while I treated myself to a bowl of steaming porridge with maple syrup - a suitable breakfast after an hour of shovelling, I decided.

But they were outside again by 11 when the kids next door came round to ask them to play, all of them sledging down the hill in next door's garden with whoops of joy. By lunchtime every item of their clothing was sopping - gloves smelling of wet dog lined the window sills drying off, dripping ski pants and coats were hanging from the overhead lights. The hallway was awash with melted snow, and abandoned ski socks were strewn around the room.

After lunch, with the driveway now clear, the Doctor went to work. But there was no rest for me; the boys demanded another sledging session, and with the neighbours not around, we had to do it in our front garden, which has a nice gradient - the only problem being that at the end you either shoot down a bank straight into the road, or crash into a tree. Therefore this required me standing there to 'catch' them as they hurtled down the hill. I tried several times to persuade at least Littleboy 2 to come in - he was getting whiny - but they insisted on staying outside, even after I retired to the house.

It wasn't until darkness was falling, casting a soft blue light onto the snowfall, that they stomped back in, exhausted, red-cheeked and dripping wet (again) and demanded pieces of toast. ("I need something to warm me up!" insisted Littleboy 1, who refuses to try any kind of hot drink). They then wanted to 'do crafts'. At this point, surrounded by wet ski gear and laundry, I resorted to making a plea that would no doubt appall any child rearing expert:

"Can't you just sit down for 5 minutes and watch TV?"

Before the storm, a fellow mother had said to me: "Don't you just love snow days? Nothing to do but stay in your pajamas all day....".

If anyone knows how this is achieved, could they please tell me?

Basketball mom

2011-01-11T12:14:00.002-05:00

It's finally happened. I am becoming the sort of American 'mom' who ferries her sons around to endless sports classes.

For someone who was pretty hopeless at sport at school, and who spent her childhood learning the 'cello and doing drama, it's a fairly surprising outcome. But, in addition to the boys' weekly swimming lessons and ice skating lessons, Littleboy 1 now attends indoor basketball training on a Saturday morning. It's what you do here, and why not? After all, he has a lot of energy, and on a winter weekend when it's really too cold for much else in the icy New York winter, at least he's getting some exercise....

The first week I took him along by myself, as The Doctor was busy buying the Christmas tree. As we headed for the school gym where the class takes place, I became aware of several things at once;

a) I was not a Dad
b) I was not carrying Littleboy 1's own basketball (he doesn't have one, and had never played before), and bouncing it in an enthusiastic manner.
c) Littleboy 1 did not have a basketball sweatshirt emblazoned with the name of some player for the New York Knicks. (Although at least I know who these are now. It's so confusing, what with the New Jersey Nets, the Mets (baseball) and the Jets (American football). )

We therefore stood out already. As Littleboy 1 disappeared into the melee of over-excited small boys and coach-Dads wielding whistles, I wondered if lots of the other kids had played much before. As it was a group of five-year-olds, I thought maybe a few might have tried it....

But soon, the gym was awash with tiny boys who had obviously been trained to play basketball since they were in the womb. Dribbling with ease, shooting into a full-size adult hoop, passing - all egged on by their fathers, who, if not coaching, stood on the sidelines bouncing their own basketballs and cheering enthusiastically. When it came to the game itself, Littleboy 1, although strong and physically able, hadn't a clue what was going on. (He still hasn't - after three weeks now, he still passes to members of the opposite team. He claims to love it, though).

I can safely say that I was the only parent who sat down in a corner of the gym with a copy of the New York Times, and proceeded, in between glancing encouragingly at my son, to read the Travel section. The few other mothers there stood throughout, either sipping from enormous Styrofoam coffee cups or tapping on their iPhones (such is the Long Island mother at play in their natural habitat).

The third week, I told The Doctor that this time he really should go along and watch his offspring attempting to dribble a ball. I described the scene to him, and he looked askance. "It's all right for you," he grumbled. "You can probably get away with reading the paper. But I'm a father, and I'll be expected to be bouncing basketballs and cheering."

In the end we all went, but Littleboy 2 was soon bored, and I took him off to the shops, leaving The Doctor to it. (Not before he had commented that the whole thing - the slightly stinky gym, the cheering, the random chaos of small boys and basketballs - reminded him horribly of school. Like me, he did not excel at school sport - and still isn't all that interested in sport, except for ski-ing and tennis).

But when I got back, I found he hadn't touched the newspaper and seemed to have observed the game quite closely. And even he had to admit that there was something about the way that these American dads pumped their kids up that was really quite impressive. At the end of the game, all the kids joined hands and yelled out the team slogan - whereas we rather thought that, in England, everyone might have just slunk off home.

We'll make a basketball Dad of him yet. Just as soon as we put up that hoop in the backyard. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to take my sons to the skating rink (where five year olds in full ice-hockey gear shoot across the ice excitedly, boasting of how they're going to play for the Islanders one day). One day I might even pop into Starbucks and buy myself a grande latte on the way.......

American ski school - a revelation

2011-01-07T09:53:00.004-05:00

I really didn't know what to expect from ski school in the US. Two years ago when we went ski-ing in France, it took Littleboy 1 a good four days to actually join in with the class, rather than sitting in what we dubbed the 'crying hut' all morning.

As I described here, perhaps it wasn't surprising, given that the ski school met each morning at the bottom of a mini cable car. You waved goodbye to your child as he entered a crowded sort pigpen, clutching his little skis, surrounded by howling French children, and was taken off quickly by a ski instructor. It was emotionally draining, both for him and us, not to mention disorganised and chaotic - on the first day he came back with the wrong skis, and we never found the original ones (luckily the hire shop was very understanding....)

This time I was reassured by the fact that the two boys would be together - I thought this would be comforting for Littleboy 2 who had not skied before and is prone to tantrums when things aren't going his way. But I guess I was still a little apprehensive - would they be too cold? Would they lose their hats/gloves/goggles? (Littleboy 1 lost two pairs of mittens last term at school, so his track record is not good, and his brother has a tendency to take things off and throw them indiscriminately on the floor). Would they resent not ski-ing with us?

But American ski school was a revelation - or at least, the school at Smugglers' Notch, the resort where we holidayed. (It has in fact won many awards for its ski school - which is known as the Snow Sport University, a slightly pretentious name, but perhaps justified.)

We dropped the Littleboys each morning in a large, heated hall. On the first day it looked like chaos but in fact, it was highly organised, with each child being allocated a group led by two instructors. The children took off all their outer garments and immediately started playing with Lego or colouring. Meanwhile, their accessories and ski jackets were placed inside their helmets (labelled) in a crate, ready for when they started skiing. They managed not to lose a single item all week - not even a tiny ski glove went missing. (In fact, the only person who lost something was The Doctor, who sadly dropped a very nice hat I bought him last Christmas).

They were then taken to the ski slopes, where lessons began. Whereas in the French ski school, Littleboy 1 seemed to spend the best part of two weeks marching around in a circle on skis, in one week here both boys not only learnt to ski, but by the end of the week were ascending the mountain in a chairlift and skiing down a green run in formation behind their instructor. They even competed in a little 'race' one day, in which (hilariously) an instructor with a mike announced them as if they were Lindsey Vonn about to compete for Olympic gold.

They had frequent hot chocolate breaks, a hot lunch, and at 2.30pm finished ski-ing for the day. They then were entertained indoors (one day a magic show, sometimes a film) until the parents collected them at 4pm.

By the second day they were so excited to go to ski school that they barely even paid attention as we waved them goodbye in the mornings. They loved their instructor, were always enthusiastic about what they had been doing, and generally seemed to be having a fantastic time.

As well as going to sneak a look at them on a few occasions, we could also track their progress online due to a GPS device that was strapped to their leg all day and recorded every turn they made. At the end of the week they received a detailed report of what they could do, as well as a lovely 'diploma' from the Snow Sport University (yes, Americans just love to graduate!).

Now I don't want to knock the Ecole de Ski Francais too much - I'm sure we'll be going back to them, and they do a decent job - after all, The Doctor learned with them as a child and he is a brilliant skier. But we both agreed that there is much that they could learn from this system - efficient, very child-centred and also reassuring for the parents, so that everyone can enjoy their week.

As for the boys, Littleboy 1 was consistently praised by his instructor for being the strongest in his group - although his tendency to head straight downhill rather than turning, when he gets the chance, has not diminished. He has also already (horrors) asked if he can learn to snowboard (the answer was no, not until you can ski properly.)

But I was particularly impressed by Littleboy 2 - only just four - who progressed very well and did not complain about the cold once (unlike his parents, wussily huddled in the bar with our Irish Coffees). During the week he also appeared to have acquired a girlfriend - we arrived one afternoon to find him arm in arm with a little blonde chick who seemed to be all over him. It won't be long till he's chatting up chalet girls, I'm sure.........

You know you're in Vermont when...

2011-01-05T11:48:00.002-05:00

Happy New Year everyone!

Apologies for the break in transmission - I've been away in the wilds of New England. Well, not quite the wilds, actually in a very nice civilised ski resort - of which possibly more later, but first of all here is my little homage to Vermont. A state where I would be very, very temped to go and live.

You know you're in Vermont when.........

1. You pull in at a Welcome Center off the interstate (these usually appear just after the border of a new state) and in addition to the usual selection of maps and tourist information you are handed a free cup of Green Mountain Coffee.

2. You seen road signs that say 'Moose Crossing' and 'Bear Crossing'. While you do not actually see these animals, you have great fun getting the children to look out for them - and let's face it, you need all the distractions you can get after an epic seven hour car journey...

3. The roads are lined with log cabins, maple syrup farms and beautiful brick manor houses. Not a Home Depot or Starbucks in sight.

4. You notice the Christmas decorations are far more low-key than in New York. Just a tasteful wreath or two. No inflatable Santas. Interesting.

5. The scenery is staggeringly beautiful, particularly after a snowfall when the trees are caked in powder and the icicles are bigger than any you've ever seen.

6. Lift attendants in the ski resort say 'have a great day' and 'enjoy it up there' as they steady the chairlift for you to get on. (Similar people in France usually just grunt dismissively and let the chair thwack the back of your legs).

7. Your children learn to ski doing a 'pizza wedge' rather than a snowplow.

8. You might not be able to get a vin chaud (mulled wine) at a mountain restaurant, as in France. But then you discover the Black Bear Tavern in the Base Lodge. Which has much more interesting warming drinks. My favourite was hot chocolate with Amaretto and Grand Marnier, with whipped cream on top. Mmm.

9. You wear more layers than you have ever worn skiing - balaclava under a Peruvian alpaca hat, woolly jumpers over fleeces, hand warmers in your gloves and toe warmers in your boots. You also opt for a helmet as someone has told you it's warmer as well as safer. But it's still bloody cold.

10. As a result of 8) and 9) you spend even more time in the Black Bear Tavern. Which possibly improves your ski-ing......who can say?

The best of 2010 - books, films and TV

2010-12-20T11:57:00.002-05:00

I spent a precious half hour yesterday morning curled up in bed reading the New York Times' end of year cultural round-up. I don't know about you, but I love reading these retrospective features and the way they put the year into context. (I know how hard they are to put together, too - when I worked on a magazine and we had to sum up our 'top 10s' from the year come December, no-one could remember a thing and we had to rack our Christmas party-addled brains to recall what had actually gone on in the industry. There was always something major that got left out and, naturally, people complained about it in January.)

So, anyway, this year I thought I'd put together my own personal roundup. I can't give you any kind of meaningful comment on art, dance or sculpture - I'm just not THAT cultured, I'm afraid - but I can give you films, books and TV. Without any further ado, my top cultural picks from 2010 are:

Books
1). The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood. The greatest living writer in my opinion, and still at the top of her game.
2.) The Help by Kathryn Stockett. A gripping read, and a real eye-opener about life in the Deep South in the not too distant past.
3). The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by David Mitchell. I love this writer. Black Swan Green is fabulous but this story set in 19th century Japan, though long and complicated, is also rather brilliant.

Film
1) An Education. Entertaining and thought-provoking coming of age story. I loved it.
2) The Social Network. Very clever and laugh-out-loud funny - whatever the veracity of its potrayals.
3. Toy Story 3. Still brilliant - and now the boys know who Woody and Buzz are too.

TV
1) Mad Men. Season 4 was superb - particularly the scenes between Don Draper and Peggy. Still far more nuanced and intelligent than anything else on TV.
2.) The Ugly Betty finale. I always enjoyed this series, and was sad when it was cancelled. But I think they got the ending right (UK viewers, I don't know if this has aired, so I won't spoil it).
3.) Sherlock. I only caught this recently, but thought it was great - make some more, please. So much better than the dreadful Guy Ritchie Sherlock Holmes film, which I also saw this year.

So what were your favourites? Was 2010 a vintage cultural year for you?

Manhattan at Christmas

2010-12-17T16:50:00.004-05:00

I went into Manhattan this morning to meet someone about possible freelance work. I had an hour or so to kill before our meeting, so I took the opportunity to wander the chilly streets of the City, taking in the Christmas lights and decorations. Sadly I didn' t have my camera, but here is a verbal snapshot of what I saw....

A giant Smurf above the front door of Macy's. And lots of fluffy Smurf toys piled up inside. (Smurfs must be having a comeback - I remember my sister having a similar fluffy Smurf in about 1985. These were selling for a lot more than I am sure hers cost).

A giant Christmas tree made of poinsettias in the lobby of a bank building. I was rather taken with this.

Very lost-looking tourists outside the Waldorf-Astoria. (There was a great story about the W-A in the NY Times last week. A couple had their room given away because some Saudi princes were in town. They were furious - they were given instead rooms at the Hilton, but were quoted as saying that it "just wasn't the same - people were carrying pizza boxes in the elevator!" )

A delicious array of fragrances at Saks Fifth Avenue,including lots of Jo Malone, with which I liberally sprayed myself. (I went upstairs to look at the clothes, but was quickly put off by the price tags, and shocked by the rails full of fur coats. Decided I am more of J Crew and Zara type of girl.)

A Christmas market just off Fifth Avenue that seemed to sell nothing but furry hats.

Several groups of Salvation Army people singing carols on street corners.

Two people carrying gigantic bunches of balloons - they looked as if they were about to float and take off. They must have been for an office party, I reckon.

Quite a few people with British accents on the streets, several complaining about the cold. (Wear a hat, woman!)

A schoolbus full of kids brought to see the massive tree at Rockefeller Center, delight lighting up their faces.

It was certainly very Christmassy. I was trying to think about how it compares to London, though, and realised that I didn't see any one focal streetwith huge arching Christmas lights, (like Regent Street for instance. Although now I can't help thinking of poor old Regent Street being full of rioters shouting 'off with their heads' at the royals). On the other hand, New Yorkers do not stint when it comes to trees festooned with lights, huge wreaths and baubles adorning storefronts and wonderfully Christmassy smells - roasting chestnuts on street corners, stalls selling hot chocolate.

And of course, when it comes to home Christmas decorations, Americans far out-class the Brits. Not only on the outside (stay tuned for photos - I hope to get some next week) but on the inside too - according to this story, several rich Manhattanites now hire interior decorators to dress their tree. My interior decorators, on the other hand, were the Littleboys, armed with a bunch of paperclips. And the outdoor decorator was The Doctor, armed with a stepladder and two strings of Christmas lights to be strung around a little fir tree (as opposed to the several thousand strings, together with reindeer and sled combos employed by some of our neighbours). We will, however, be spreading some Christmas cheer with a mince pie and mulled wine party this weekend. I'll be interested to see how those very British delicacies go down......

A very special story

2010-12-13T09:58:00.007-05:00

First things first: this is not a sponsored post. I've been asked by PRs to review many products this Christmas, and I've turned them all down. They are usually things either totally inappropriate for the Littleboys - eg. tights(!) - or things that would be impractical to ship to the US, where the PR in question clearly has not realised that I reside.

I would rather, instead, write about a Christmas gift that I truly admire and have bought on several occasions. And one with which I have something of a personal connection.

Let me tell you a story first. Almost eleven years ago, I started a new job on a magazine. I sat down at my new desk, and smiled at the girl opposite, and it was the beginning of a firm friendship. While at first we bonded over the usual things - office gossip, tipsy work nights out - our friendship outlasted the workplace, and long after she moved to another magazine we would still meet up for lunch, coffee and a heart-to-heart over a glass of wine.

It was during one of these heart-to-hearts, in late 2003, that I announced to her my secret news. I was leaving the company, going travelling and then setting up as a freelancer with a view to starting a family. And then my friend announced her own secret news. She was also leaving; and planned to start her own business.

I was pretty surprised by this, and thought it was an incredibly brave move. But she then explained her absolute gem of a business idea - the creation of personalised books for children, using not only the child's name, age and other details but their photograph throughout the book as the hero or heroine of the story. The idea, she said, had come from books that her grandparents had lovingly created for her as a child, cutting and pasting the photos - now, with digital printing, it could become a reality on a much larger scale.

And so Itsyourstory was born. Six years later (my friend somehow having also found the time to have three children and move the entire family to Somerset) the business is going strong, with a range of 18 books to choose from as well as other products such as calendars, party invitations and letters. There are stories suitable for all ages and all occasions - birthdays, Christmas, even a super-hero story. In every story, the child is the star, and all kinds of information about their life - from their best friends' names to their favourite food and TV show - can be included in the tale. You simply go online to upload your child's photo and all the details, and the books are mailed out to you.

The Littleboys will each be getting an Itsyourstory book this Christmas, and I am confident that they will absolutely love them; you see, I've already seen the combination of delight and amazement before on nieces and nephews' faces as they open the books and realise that they are the main character. So, if you're short of a present either for your children, a relative or friend's child, pop over to the site and take a look (you can also follow them on Twitter). My friend has even set up a 20% discount for readers of this blog, valid until January 31st (although if you want it for Christmas, last orders must be made by this Friday, December 17). All you need to do is type the voucher code NAPPYV20* during the first stage of the order process on the website. I can guarantee you'll love the books. And you'll be supporting a very special friend of mine at the same time.

*excludes P&P.

The Gallery: White. (And the birthday boy)

2010-12-08T14:03:00.004-05:00

Unlike the rest of you back in the UK, we haven't had any snow yet in New York this year. Well, there were a few flurries on Monday, but it didn't settle - much to my relief, as the Doctor was away at a conference and I didn't much fancy digging out the driveway by myself. (I'm pleased to see, though, that there have been 12 inches in Vermont. Roll on ski-ing).

So, when it came to selecting a picture for this week's Gallery, I had to choose some photographs from February, when we had our biggest snowfall of last winter. It was a real powder snowfall, and when the sun came out after the blizzard, everything sparkled. And I thought I'd choose a picture of Littleboy 2, too, in honour of his fourth birthday today. He would have loved snow on his birthday. Ah, well.

It's a little bit funny.....

2010-12-04T20:27:00.002-05:00

I made a discovery yesterday.

Americans don't use the word 'bit'. At least, not when they're talking about something other than the thing that goes in the horse's mouth.

I had a friend round, and her son was helping the Littleboys construct a marble run. Littleboy 1 was acting as the foreman, and was rather bossily ordering the other two about. He kept asking them to get him a 'red bit', a 'yellow bit' and so forth. At one point I had to intervene, and (being shamefully less good than my five year old son at actually following the instructions) I then asked him if "that bit goes there?"

"Oh," said my friend. "I've finally worked it out. Bit means piece."

She had thought we were referring to some technical marble-construction terms, and explained that, to her, bit was, well, getting the bit between your teeth. And thinking about it, Americans don't tend to say "It's a bit strange." They would say something was 'a little strange'. (US readers, If I'm wrong here, do let me know...)

It's strange how these little bits (ha!) of information can still surprise you. I remember being astonished last year to discover that Americans don't say they are 'cross' about something. It's mad, or angry. I found this out because someone was saying how cute it was that her son picked up British expressions from Thomas the Tank Engine. So, saying that I am a little bit cross about the fact that Littleboy 1's basketball lesson was cancelled today without our knowledge, would presumably be either quaint or completely meaningless to them. (I am more than a little bit cross about that, by the way. But I'll get over it).

Still, I feel as if I am being constantly educated. Today, for instance, I have been informed sternly by sons that 'dreidel' - a Jewish Hanukkah toy that they have been learning about at school - is not pronounced to rhyme with sidle, but cradle. At least I have the boys to put me right......

Expat Christmas; then and now

2010-11-30T11:29:00.004-05:00

It's the last day of November, and the Christmas cards are bought, but not yet written. The first trip to the post office to buy UK stamps has been made. You still have to be a little more organised about Christmas when you live abroad. But this time of year makes me think about my childhood, as the daughter of expatriate parents in Hong Kong, and how being an expat has changed such a lot in 30 odd years.

In the 1970s and 80s, all Christmas cards and gifts were sent by sea mail from Hong Kong (I suppose air mail would have been outrageously expensive). We would avidly, then, wait for the 'last posting date' for the UK to be advertised on TV - usually this was some time around late October. My mother's Christmas cards, all carrying meticulously composed handwritten messages about our family (she didn't believe in round robins), were therefore ready for posting before Halloween. I clearly remember one year, aged about six, when I was helping her carry them to the post office. We lived in a block of flats, and as we stepped into the lift on the way to the car, I managed to drop half the cards down the lift shaft.....as you can imagine, my mother was not impressed.

Christmas cards were sacrosanct in those days; they were the only way we ever heard from some friends, and we relished their arrival, because we could read all about how people back in the UK were doing. Now, in these days of keeping in touch via Facebook, email and the like, they've become less necessary - but I'd be sad to see them go the way of the aerogramme letter (how many expats still send those?). I still write them, and it's lovely to receive them, especially from friends and relatives at home. (This year I've even ordered some personalised ones with photos of the boys on them - after having realised last year that I was the only parent around here who hadn't produced such a thing).

With no online shopping, it wasn't possible to do as I did last year and arrange all the gifts to be sent straight from Amazon to UK addresses - or organise online gift vouchers. (This year we've decided to package the nieces and nephews' presents up and send them, as it seems a little more personal - I just hope they arrive intact). Nevertheless, we always received proper wrapped presents from our UK aunts, uncles and relatives, and my mother would send them special gifts from Hong Kong - little silk purses, embroidered cushion covers, Chinese slippers and the like. So much thought went into it- no doubt partly because it had to be thought about so early on.

Christmas Day itself was perhaps the only day of the year when we telephoned the relatives in England. Today, we can make Skype calls whenever we feel like it, but back then, international calling was both expensive and complicated (involving going through the international operator before you could make the call). But hearing those voices of grandparents on the phone, so far away, was something very special. (I always found the distance between ourselves and our loved ones quite confusing when it came to Father Christmas, though. How could he bring the presents from the UK to Hong Kong in one night - unless he travelled on the Cathay Pacific nonstop flight?)

In the evening, we would sit down and watch the Queen's Speech from London - live, via satellite, which made it somehow seem quite exciting. In this outpost of the British Empire, such traditions were still going strong. We also attended carol concerts, nativity plays and Christmas parties galore - although real Christmas trees weren't available, so we had to make do with a fake one. My mother always cooked a turkey with all the trimmings, and we had homemade Christmas pudding - I have no idea where she bought the ingredients. It's a bit different here in America - if anything, they embrace Christmas more than we do - but you still notice the differences (for example, no-one's heard of mince pies).

Technology means the world has certainly grown smaller - as an expat now, I feel pretty connected to what's going on in the UK. I even know, from Facebook and Twitter, if it happens to have snowed in the last hour. But sometimes I think that it means we take the distance for granted. We're still not there - and, as Michelloui's post today reminded me - if there was a crisis at home, we'd still have exactly the same issues to deal with. Being an expat then was certainly harder; but we really appreciated the contact that we did have with those back in the UK. And my memories of those Hong Kong Christmasses, and the effort my mum put into them, will remain with me forever.

Cold turkey with the mommies

2010-11-26T14:00:00.002-05:00

It's cold turkey day - or Black Friday, as it's known here. Everyone is stuffed to the gills with Thanksgiving Dinner and the airwaves are filled with ads informing us that various stores are opening at midnight for 'doorbuster' deals. Last night we watched A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving on TV with the boys; the second half, in which Charlie Brown and Snoopy join the pilgrims on the voyage of the Mayflower and at the first Thanksgiving feast, was incongruously interspersed with ads for half-price 32 inch plasma TV screens that would surely have made the pilgrim fathers blush.

Instead of going hunting for doorbuster deals, the boys and I hotfooted it down to the town library for the 'holiday show' - a concert by a country and western style kids' band. I knew from experience to get there a little early in order to secure a decent seat, so we managed to get in and sit down at the front of the little auditorium.

And then the altercations started. My God. You can see why people get trampled to death at Wal-Mart in the sales on Black Friday. (That tragically really did happen, here on Long Island, a couple of years ago). Behind us, a couple of women who must have been mother and daughter, judging by their identical brassy hairdos and penchant for gold-flecked black sweaters, had pitched up, without any children, to reserve some seats. But the pair (let's call them Mommy and Granny A) had arrived at the second row at exactly the same time as another woman (let's call her Mommy B) who had a voice as sweet as apple pie but the steely determination of Bree from Desperate Housewives.

"Sorry, but we're going to need these two whole rows for our family," says Granny A.

"But I just got here too," replies Mommy B sweetly.

"Well, we are here, and we need the two rows. You'll have to go somewhere else," says Mommy A.

Mommy B was having none of it. "Well, I got here at the same time as you, and I am sitting here. C'mon, kids," she says, plonking herself down with her three kids. Cue much muttering from Mommy and Granny A. "Can you believe her ATTITUDE?" was one of the whisperings I heard.

A few minutes later, the auditorium was filling up. Mommy A's family still hadn't pitched up. They had saved a lot of seats. Then Mommy C arrives. There is another altercation - this time I don't hear the whole thing but it ends up with Mommy C saying loudly, "well, I took the trouble and got here early, so I am going to sit here!"

Mommy and Granny A are outraged. Then finally their brood does show up...and one of the kids immediately starts screeching, causing everyone else to turn around and stare balefully. They do, however, seem to enjoy the show, forgetting their feuds in order to take hundreds of photos of their kids on their iPhones. I kind of admire their chutzpah- they don't care what anyone thinks of them, as long as the kids look cute in the photos.

I guess tensions could well be running high on the day after Thanksgiving (after all, if this article is anything to be believed, one in 10 women actually dread the Thanksgiving dinner because of all the family rows that ensue). Everyone's probably feeling knackered and over-fed. Cold turkey. (I wonder if that's where the expression came from?).

Whatever, if this is what happens at a children's concert, all I can say is I wouldn't want to cross any of these women in a stand-off over the last discount plasma TV....

The Gallery; Black and White

2010-11-24T11:01:00.006-05:00

OK, so I'm cheating. I didn't actually take this picture. (Well, how could I? I'm in it). But it's one of my favourite black and white photographs - me with Littleboy 2, aged four months. It hangs on my bedroom wall, alongside a very similar one of myself with Littleboy 1 in a very similar pose at a similar age. Both were taken by a professional photography studio in London. The boys love these photographs; they are always pointing up at them and asking, in a kind of wonderment, was that me, Mummy? As for me, I only have to glance at those photographs to remember how tiny and helpless the boys once were - even when they are running around the house barking like dogs or chucking plastic dinosaurs at each other. And that's what Motherhood is all about, isn't it. They will always be our babies, no matter what.

Now, go to Tara's Gallery to see more creations in black and white.....

The Gallery; Before and After

2010-11-17T11:46:00.003-05:00

It's a while since I took part in Tara's fabulous Gallery, so I'm going to put that right this week. The subject is Before and After, and what better way to illustrate this than the onset of winter? The first pictures were taken just a couple of weeks ago; even yesterday, the trees were still golden outside our house with leaves fluttering down prettily in the breeze. But what a difference a night of rain and gales makes. Today our driveway is ankle deep in leafy debris, and the house (shady in summer) is newly infused with bright winter light. Now I truly get why it is called the Fall.

The 'holidays' are here

2010-11-16T11:50:00.005-05:00

It took me a while to work out that when Americans talk about 'the holidays' they don't just mean Christmas and Hannukah, lumped together in a politically correct way.

No, 'the holidays' very much means Thanksgiving too, so with that coming up next week, it seems that we are now very much in 'holiday' season. (For instance, the Book Club I belong to is devoting one session in early December to some 'lighter' reads - 'holiday' reading. I was wondering why this was happening pre-Christmas, when it occurred to me that people actually have more time off at Thanksgiving than Christmas itself - and probably spend more time preparing the Thanksgiving turkey than the Christmas day lunch).

Bill Bryson says in Notes from a Big Country that Thanksgiving is his favourite US holiday, because there's no present-buying, just lots of food and drink, and I partly agree - but at the same time, the relative lack of build-up means it seems to creep up rather unexpectedly on me. As an expat, there you are, suddenly, in a perfectly ordinary November week, with several 'holiday' days on your hands and not very much to do. Apart from Thanksgiving day itself, when we are cooking a turkey for the European friends who entertained us last year, we have no plans, and yet the boys have three days off school for Thanksgiving recess (and a conveniently scheduled 'early closing' the previous day, apparently to practise emergency drills).

I have mentioned before how the Friday between Thanksgiving (always a Thursday) and the weekend is known as Black Friday, and how, although it is not officially a public holiday, most Americans take a day off (ostensibly to do their Christmas shopping, but quite probably because they are too full of turkey to move). However, The Doctor will be stoically at work on the Friday, leaving me to entertain the two boys on a chilly November day when many people are out of town or in 'holiday' mode. Luckily our local library puts on a special 'holiday show' for kids, so I have already made damn sure we have tickets.

The proximity of Thanksgiving to Christmas also means that the whole 'holiday' consumption theme has already kicked off, big-time. If Christmas shopping traditionally gets going on Black Friday, the media here agrees that this year it seems to have started two weeks earlier. Every day the school sends home countless forms to fill in and order gifts through the PTA. I spent this morning at the bus stop discussing gifts for teachers (a BIG deal here) with my neighbour, something that I would normally think about at the last minute once I have sorted out present-buying for all the family.

Meanwhile TV ads are all about entertaining for the 'holidays' - and other holiday-related themes. (One of my favourites is two guys in suits solemnly telling us about an alternative to Alcoholics Anonymous that will guarantee you will be 'sober by the holidays'. Seeing as Thanksgiving is next week, this seems a tad optimistic).

So, desite feeling as if autumn is barely over (the Fall colours are still gorgeous and people still have their Halloween decorations out), it looks as though I'm going to have to jolly myself into 'holiday' mood very soon. As for being 'thankful' - the over-riding theme of Thanksgiving - well, I'm thankful that there are still five and half weeks before Christmas.....

A blogging journey

2010-11-09T11:20:00.004-05:00

On Friday evening I waved goodbye to the Doctor and the Littleboys at La Guardia airport and boarded a plane by myself.

Three hours later, I touched down in another American city and hurried out of the airport in the dark and cold. I then took a taxi to a hotel, where I was booked into a room with two people I'd never met before.

I entered the bar next to the hotel with a little trepidation, wondering if I would be able to identify the people I needed to meet - and whether they would turn out to be as I hoped.

And then I breathed a sigh of relief. Because sitting there, quite clearly recognisable despite the fact I had no idea what most of them looked like, were Expat Mum, Iota, Calif Lorna and Nicola. A little group of British expat women whose blogs I have read, commented on and come to love over the last couple of years. We had travelled to this hotel in Chicago from the East Coast, the West Coast, the Midwest and from the city itself. And despite the fact that we had never met in the flesh, I sat down immediately and began to talk.

I don't think we stopped talking all weekend, in fact. Not that evening, or the next morning as Expat Mum kindly gave us a detailed guided tour of city from the comfort of her car, or the next afternoon at the Art Institute of Chicago, when Geekymummy joined us from San Francisco, or Saturday night when we went out for cocktails and delicious Vietnamese food. We were still yattering away when we met for brunch on Sunday morning and then strolled in perfect autumn sunshine looking at Chicago's magnificent display of urban sculpture. Even when the lovely Nicola kindly dropped us at the airport to fly back to our respective corners of the USA, the conversation was still going strong - in fact, Geekymummy and I even managed to chat our way through the tedium of the 30 minute security queue at O'Hare Airport (quite a feat, really).

And we didn't just talk about blogging. Far from it. We talked about families, about America, about our lives and our plans and our thoughts. Just as we do online, in fact. And the amazing thing was that these women were just as funny, warm and intelligent as they are online, each with their own distinctive character and voice that makes their blogs such fun to read.

I never went into blogging to meet people - in fact I think it was probably the last thing on my mind when I started writing this blog in January 2008. I already had friends, and I suppose I was really aiming the blog at them, but I didn't even expect strangers to comment, let alone become loyal readers and amazing sources of information and advice.

But this was a fantastic weekend. So thank you, Chicago ladies, for your company and your conversation. And if anyone wants to join us next year, I'll definitely be up for another US blogger gathering.

Autumnal thoughts

2010-11-02T08:47:00.005-04:00

1. Halloween's finally over. (I can't believe my last four posts have been about Halloween. Just goes to show how it dominates the whole of October here). The pumpkin bags are full of candy, and placed on top of a cupboard in the kitchen, to be produced solemnly once a day for a treat. Littleboy 1 has already worked out that if he pushes a chair over there and reaches up, he can almost topple the pumpkin off. It's only a matter of time.....

2. The autumn colours have been particularly spectacular this year on Long Island. I thought I was just misremembering last year, but then a few local people have confirmed it; this year the island's North Shore seems to have been tinged with the kind of deep ochres, scarlets and golds that are more common further up in New England. I am constantly wishing I had my camera with me as I drive down streets laden with golden leaves, which are now crunchily lining the sides of the streets in their thousands.

3. It's Election Day today. Those of you following the US midterm elections in the UK might know that the Democrats are being seriously threatened and that this will be a real test of Obama's popularity. There are also local elections taking place, eg. for the New York State Senate. If I was in the UK, I know that all my friends would be talking avidly about such an election. Here? None of the local friends I know has even mentioned it, let alone revealed what they think about the candidates. It's bizarre. Do Americans not like to discuss politics in social situations? Or is it just voter apathy...

4. Election Day seems to mean the boys get yet another day off school. In fact, I have worked out that Littleboy 1 gets seven whole days off in November - that's for Election, two parent-teacher conference days, Veterans Day and three days off at Thanksgiving. If it was a private school, I would be tempted to ask for a refund.

5. It's finally become chilly outside. That's the thing about this country - a balmy 21 celsius last week, and this week it's near to zero. I am still in denial, I think - I sent Littleboy 1 off to school in a cardigan and fleece yesterday, when he really should have been in a winter coat and gloves (not that he really seemed to notice). Time to get the ski clothes down from the attic.

6. Talking of which, we have decided to take both boys ski-ing at Christmas in Vermont. Which everyone tells me is freezing, freezing, freezing cold. So I am going to be on the LL Bean website ordering child-sized balaclavas very soon. I hope they serve good mulled wine in Vermont.

Halloween parade; survival of the fittest

2010-10-29T12:58:00.004-04:00

So this morning the infamous Halloween parade took place.

Littleboy 1 went off to school in his black bat costume, very overexcited (having climbed into bed before 7am asking 'do I wear my costume today?). I dropped Littleboy 2 at preschool as early as I possibly could (8.50am) aware that the parade would start at 9am and parking near the school would probably be difficult. But I had NO idea...

I realised from the amount of traffic along the route that every single bloody parent in town was driving to the school (due to the zoning in the area, hardly anyone lives near enough to walk). At the school, naturally the carpark was already full, and it was mayhem on the surrounding streets. Enormous cars were everywhere, their occupants zealously scanning the normally quiet residential area for parking spaces - never easy when you have to avoid parking near fire hydrants, on the wrong side of the street for street cleaning and other idiosyncratic restrictions which New York seems to love.

Eventually I managed to park about half a mile away and, at two minutes to nine, set off at a sprint along the road. I was not the only parent doing this by any means - luckily my weekly kickboxing class stood me in good stead as I am reasonably fit, and managed to overtake about half a dozen overweight Dads on the way. Meanwhile mothers were running in heels, business suits and with buggies - as we arrived at the school, one fellow runner said to me between gasps for breath; "I gotta be at my other daughter's school in XX (another town a few miles away) at 9.30. So I'm just gonna take one picture and GO."

Anyway, I made it just in time and switched on the video camera to catch Littleboy 1's class exiting the school and parading around the playground. Readers of the previous post will be glad to hear that most people did 'respect the integrity of the cordon' - except for one younger sibling, who was so excited that he ran out to see his brother and had to be herded back pronto.

For some reason my firstborn looked rather downcast during the parade itself, only managing a half smile when he saw me. I asked him if anything was wrong and he replied that he was 'really sweaty' - odd, considering it was a pretty chilly morning. I can only think that he had raced around so much in his costume before it even started that he was completely done in - no doubt all will be revealed later.

The Doctor, busy at work, scores nulle points for not being at the parade - every single Dad appeared to be there. It hadn't even occured to us that the Doctor should come (don't we ever learn?) but I reckon next year he might have to be granted a special dispensation for essential Halloween activities.

Still, it's not over yet. Tomorrow there's another parade, at our local parenting centre, followed by trick or treating on the day itself. It's just nonstop fun here in pumpkin land, and I'm going to be exhausted by Monday.....

Another Halloween newsflash. And now for your parade instructions....

2010-10-25T18:18:00.005-04:00

So, you want to know how seriously Halloween is taken here? If the decorations weren't enough, here's proof.

The other day I received a letter from Littleboy 1's school. Not only is the possibly the longest missive I've ever had from the Head Teacher, it is also the most comprehensive in terms of its detail and instructions. No, it wasn't about the coming parent-teacher meetings, or the curriculum, or the screening of kindergarteners for educational difficulties. It was about the annual Halloween parade.

I had some vague idea that they might be allowed to go to school in costume on the Friday before Halloween; let's just say that is an understatement. The school Halloween parade, it informs me, will be kicking off at 9am sharp, with students exiting the side doors. It then goes on to outline the prescribed parade route and inform parents of the best areas for viewing and photography. Parents are also asked to 'respect the integrity' of the cordon which will separate us from our little darlings in their costumes, before they re-enter the school again in time for lessons.

It sounds more like a military passing out parade than a chance for the children to show off their costumes - or, as the Doctor remarked when I showed him the letter, something out of Maoist China. What, we wondered, would happen if any child failed to show up in costume? Would they have to stay behind in the classroom? Or be forced to parade around ignominously in their ordinary clothing.....

Littleboy 2's preschool, in contrast, asks the children NOT to come to school in costume, for 'safety' reasons, but suggests bringing in a Halloween treat, one that is preferably 'not candy'. I suddenly remember that last year, they came home bearing little gift bags containing Halloween themed pencils, erasers and items such as plastic spiders, which various children's mothers had lovingly put together for every child in the class. No doubt even if I hotfooted it down to Target now, all this stuff would already be sold out, so I'm just going to pretend I have no idea that this is what's expected....

Meanwhile, in other Halloween news, the people down the road from us have once again erected their enormous inflatable witch, this year accompanied by a giant blow-up pumpkin. I had wondered if they weren't going to do it this year after all, and felt quite disappointed - had they had enough of Halloween? But no, this weekend it all magically appeared overnight. (I'd love to take a picture, but am terrified that they might read the blog and identify me.)

Final newflash - the other day I had to rush out and buy a replacement pumpkin for a distraught Littleboy 2, after we arrived home one day to find a squirrel sitting boldly on our porch, scooping out the middle and eating it. It was so ridiculous that I had to stifle my giggles while commiserating with the boys and simultaneously sweeping up chewed bits of pumpkin. The war on squirrels has now officially been declared...

Homes and gardens - Halloween special

2010-10-18T20:40:00.006-04:00

So I promised you Halloween decoration pictures, and now I shall deliver. But first an apology; it's a little hard to get good close up pictures of Halloween decorations on houses without looking like some kind of paparazzo, furtively pulling up in a car, winding down the window and getting a snap in before hurriedly pulling off. Not being the owner of a long lens camera, my efforts are taken from rather a distance (and disappointingly I had to leave out the one of the house with a huge spider above the door, because it just didn't show up...). I'll be back though - I definitely want to get some of the Christmas displays this year....

First picture - this was one of the more attractive Halloween displays I saw on my travels today. Note the array of pumpkins, gourds and squash, the beautifully thought-out fake spider webs, and the high quality gravestone (by the tree). It's no surprise that this house is in a particularly posh area, and I would not be surprised if some kind of exterior designer might have been involved....

House number two had made the most of their shrub-lined stairway with another good display of fake spider-webbery. In fact, most of the houses on this (again rather grand) street had some degree of spider-web action going on, so I wondered if it was becoming something of a competitive sport. If you look closely, you might spot a ghost in the hedge too.

And finally for today. Littleboy 2's 'pumpkin snowman'. He was so pleased when he spotted this one on a drive around town that I had to go back and find it again. I think it's fairly self-explanatory....

Trip or treat? Halloween health and safety.....

2010-10-14T13:54:00.006-04:00

Halloween preparations are in full swing here. As of last weekend, everyone's decorations are up; perfectly normal suburban houses have now been transformed into haunted mansions, complete with fake gravestones on the front lawns, ghosts dangling from porches and fake spider webs all over the shrubbery. Our drives around the neighbourhood are punctuated by 'spot the pumpkin' games and in addition we've seen large inflatable black cats and even what Littleboy 2 called a 'pumpkin snowman' on local front lawns. (You'll have to use your imagination here....I do intend to take some pictures this year, but am just working out a way to do it discreetly.)

If more proof were required that Halloween decorations are an integral part of life in the US, this morning The Doctor forwarded me part of the local weather forecast that he had seen online, warning about possibly winds this weekend. It reads 'Residents should take precautions at this time to protect property...such as Halloween decorations....that are susceptible to strong gusty winds'. In other words, expect smashing pumpkins and flying inflatable witches this weekend....

And, as if this weren't enough, I have just received a press release, warning me about the dangers of Halloween and offering injury prevention tips, from the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons, no less. Apparently, Halloween is 'among the top three holidays producing the most ER visits'. Injuries from Halloween are most likely to be finger/hand related ones (from all that pumpkin carving); and of course, jack o'lanterns are potential fire hazards.

Then there are those pesky Halloween costumes. The press release tells me that 'costumes should be flame retardant and fit properly' and that 'costumes that are too long could cause children to trip or fall'. (No shit, Sherlock).

Children should also apparently be wearing 'sturdy, comfortable, slip resistant shoes' when they go trick or treating.' (Presumably because this involves walking around, something that children almost never do in suburbia...).

Other trick or treating advice includes taking a flashlight, being aware of neighbourhood dogs, and that 'it's a good idea to carry a cellphone when trick or treating, in case of emergencies'.

Who knew that Halloween could be so dangerous? I'm spooked already......

Happy Columbus Day! A guide to American bank holidays

2010-10-11T10:09:00.007-04:00

It's Columbus Day today, one of those nebulous quasi-holidays they have over here where the schools and banks are closed, there is no rubbish collection or post but other things seem to carry on as normal - eg. my husband is still expected to go to work, the boys' swimming lessons continue, etc., etc. On our trip to the playground this morning, I spotted legions of women whose other halves were clearly at work, desperately trying to entertain their kids for yet another day after the weekend.

The USA has quite a few Monday bank holidays. Some of them, like Memorial Day and Labor Day (marking the beginning and end of summer), are widely observed, but many of them seem semi-official - for instance Martin Luther King Day, in mid-January, and Presidents' Day in mid-February. Not every employer lets their staff take them off, and even if you do have the day off, not everything is open. For example, we were at the Bronx Zoo this weekend, and I noticed that it is only ever closed on Christmas Day, Thanksgiving and Martin Luther King day. OK, I can see that possibly this makes sense; it's the coldest time of year and all the animals will probably be huddled indoors somewhere drinking hot chocolate. But then again, what ARE you supposed to do on a bank holiday Monday in January? You can ski, but (having been researching ski resorts recently) I've also noticed that this is THE most expensive weekend of the year at some resorts. Or you can indulge in some shopping - every time there is a holiday, you are bombarded with advertising by stores like Macy's, which I can guarantee will today be having a Columbus Day mattress sale or similar.

Then there is the Friday between Thanksgiving (always a Thursday) and the weekend. It's not a public holiday, but everyone takes it off as holiday - everyone American, that is - and it is supposed to be one of the biggest shopping days of the year. Not being American, last year The Doctor determinedly went into work. I took the Littleboys to a 'holiday show' at the library, which was full of Dads.

Because of New York's large Jewish population, the schools here also observe various Jewish holidays, so they are closed, for instance, for Rosh Hashanah, in September (although not for Hanukah). However, again these are not public holidays. Most other business carries on as normal. These type of holidays are always acccompanied by a baffling announcement on the radio station that we listen to, telling us that in Manhattan, 'alternate side parking is suspended, but you still have to feed the meters'. It took us months to work out what this meant (basically it means that there is no street cleaning, therefore you don't have to worry about your car being towed if it is parked on the wrong side of the street, but parking is not free. Got that?).

In fact, you have to follow the school calendar quite carefully to work out exactly when school IS taking place. And hope they haven't misprinted the dates - last year I only worked out at the last minute that the boys only had a week's Easter break, as opposed to the three weeks indicated by the calendar I had been sent (and by that time we'd already booked a 10 day holiday...).

Still, it's not as eccentric as in Hong Kong, where I recall my primary school being closed for such holidays as the Queen's Birthday, our Headmistress's birthday and even when there was a major golf tournament (the headmistress being a keen golfer...!). Meanwhile a friend who lives in Dubai tells me that the start of the school year there was dependent on when the moon appeared in the sky after Ramadan; she didn't even know it was officially happening until a couple of days before......

Anyway, aside from all that, hope you are all having a great Columbus day! Now, we're off to swimming lessons.....

You know you're the mother of boys when....

2010-10-04T10:04:00.006-04:00

I was reading Potty Mummy's latest post and it reminded again me how much pleasure I get out of reading blogs by mothers who also have little boys. Not that I don't enjoy the others - I do, of course, (and I know that girls can be just as lively, frustrating and downright naughty). And, much as I love my boys deeply, there are some things that just particularly strike a chord with me; some things that mothers of sons can particularly appreciate.

Anyway, that's what inspired these random jottings on a Monday morning, and whether you have one boy or three, perhaps you'll recognise your own home life in some of them.

You know you're the mother of boys when...

1. You are constantly having your breasts grabbed and fondled - not just at home or lying in bed, but often in public at highly inappropriate moments, such as talking to teachers, the postman or a librarian.

2. The idea of any craft activity taking place in the home (painting in particular) fills you with horror, not maternal delight...

3. On any given day, you are quite likely to find
a) dinosaurs on your dining table at supper time
b) toy cars in your children's beds
c)dirty planks of wood in the back of your car

4. You don't have to worry (much) about tantrums over what clothes to wear in the morning. They don't care. More of a problem is getting them to sit still for two seconds in order to get dressed...

5. The idea of someone pooing in their pants is hilarious, not disgusting, to your children.

6. Every walk has to involve the collection, and ideally transportation home, of many kinds of stick....

7. The idea of staying inside the house all day because of the weather is just completely out of the question.

8. You realised long ago that kiddie activities that involved sitting still, such as Storytime at the Library, are not for you....

9. You only visit the supermarket with your children when you have absolutely no other option.

10. You get through a packet of plasters a week, and are regularly found mopping up blood or debating with your husband whether stitches are necessary. And you have more than once had to resort to antibiotics when cuts have become infected by dirty little fingers....

11. You cannot understand it when people say their children don't need a bath every day. Your own children's dirty bathwater is black every time....

12. You regularly watch your children wrestle each other like baby lion cubs, and have become immune to the accompanying screeching and yelling. Only when there is actual injury will you intervene....

13. At some point, you know you will have to become an expert, not just on subjects such as outerspace, makes of truck, dinosaurs and robots, of which you have scant knowledge, but probably also on stuff like Power Rangers, which you have no desire ever to know about.

14. Your son cannot remember the name of a single girl at school, or even appear to recognise them when they come up and say hello to him in the playground. (Note; they are not that much better with boys...).

15. Little girls come round to play at the house and complain that your children are too noisy. You agree with them.....

16. If they are hurt or upset, your little boys will always run to you for a cuddle. Because little boys worship their mothers - and note that that makes it all worthwhile........

Any other reasons to add?

Made in Manhattan; what's your favourite New York movie moment?

2010-09-30T09:39:00.006-04:00

Since I've been living near New York, I've taken an extra special delight in watching, and often re-watching, films and TV shows that feature the city and its environs. It's amazing how many times it crops up; and not just with the obvious Manhattan candidates, like King Kong, Sex and the City, West Side Story, countless Woody Allen films, Working Girl, Ghostbusters, Taxi Driver, The Devil Wears Prada....well, obviously, the list is endless.

With our new-found knowledge of the city, we can now recognise the less obvious and less glamorous parts of the city on screen. Our blogger heroine in Julie & Julia lived in Long Island City, Queens, suspiciously close to what looks like the Long Island Railroad. Sitting at home watching Tony Soprano driving his car in the introduction to The Sopranos, we can gleefully point out and recognise the New Jersey turnpike and Lincoln Tunnel. Watching Madagascar, we suddenly get all the New York references (eg. "this is the Jersey side of this island") more than ever before, as well as pointing out Central Park Zoo and Grand Central Station to the boys. And we could also scoff at the recent series of 24 which feaured Jack Bauer in New York, knowing that there is no way he could have taken two minutes of screen time to get between two points which we know could easily take up to an hour....

Wall Street; Money Never Sleeps, which I saw last night, was no exception. As you might expect, it features the City in all its glory; amazing panoramas of the New York skyline over the Hudson and the East River; a sumptuous fundraiser ball at the Met; a scarily fast New York cab ride with a maniac driver (and yes, they really do drive like that); glossy loft-style apartments. But this time there was an added bonus: Long Island!

Jake, the young investment banker played by Shia La Boeuf, comes from, in the words of his friend, 'some Long Island town no-one's ever heard of, let alone can spell' . (There are quite a few of those; Ronkonoma, anyone, or Hauppage?) His mother, brilliantly played by Susan Sarandon, is a realtor out on the Island and when they go out to visit her, she shows them around a house, telling them Long Island is always popular, due to the 'good schools, and plenty of doctors' (well, thank goodness for that!). But perhaps the best bit was the scene featuring Jake and his fiancee driving down the Long Island Expressway, with cars bumper to bumper and apparently dangerously close behind them. That, my friends, is no Hollywood fantasy....

The film is a great follow-up to the original Wall Street, and features Michael Douglas at his reptilian best as Gordon Gecko. It's sumptuously filmed by Oliver Stone, and even if the storyline is a little bit unbelievable, I'd highly recommend it. In the meantime, if you have a favourite New York movie, let me know in the comments box....

I'm becoming indoctrinated.....

2010-09-26T11:31:00.005-04:00

You know you've been in the States for over a year when:

1) You are not surprised when people start asking you in mid September what your kids are going to wear for Halloween. (What's more, you even have it sorted, having craftily picked up a couple of $5 costumes from a secondhand sale).

2) When local mothers start on their favourite conversation of which doctor or dentist in town is the best, you can happily join in (rather than wondering why the hell they don't just go to their nearest one?)

3). You finally know what the following food items are (even if you had to look them up on Wikipedia)

a) S'mores
b) Sliders
c) An 'open-faced meatball hero'
d) Fixin's

The last two were on Littleboy 2's school lunch menu. UK readers, any guesses without rushing to Wiki?

4. You don't have to spend embarrassing moments in shops trying to work out what's going on with your small change (clue: five cents is bigger than ten cents).

5. You don't refuse a lift home from someone, even if you just live around the corner and are quite happy to walk. They will just think you are weird.

6. You have already started thinking about what you'll be doing at Thanksgiving....

An Education

2010-09-20T14:00:00.004-04:00

So far, so good. Littleboy 1 loves school.

He's still the first up the schoolbus steps in the morning; still reports that school was 'great' when he climbs back down the steps at 3pm. I have had just one call from the school nurse's office so far (he fell off the monkeybars, luckily uninjured), which, considering the number of daily incidents in our household requiring first aid, is doing quite well. I am still waiting for the day when all is not quite so great, but thus far, the excitement has yet to wear off.

It helps that his teacher seems delightful. On the first day, after a lot of persuasion I got him to describe the day at school and was slightly surprised when he came to "And then, my teacher got out her violin and played it". It was only a few days later that I met a woman I know in the supermarket and mentioned the name of his teacher. "Oh, she's lovely," she said. "She plays the guitar and sings to them."

He's already come home with some new phrases. "It's your choice," he likes to tell me constantly. "Are you going to let me play the computer now, or later?" (Notice how the choice works entirely in his favour...). An awful lot of things are 'awesome' - a word he used a little bit before (such as the infamous time he told us that Rite-Aid was an 'awesome' shop), but he's definitely using it more now. And he's learned a new song, which he loves - the one about the peanut sitting on a railway track, and being turned into peanut butter (pronounced 'budda' in a very American accent).

I haven't yet discovered whether he knows how to Pledge Allegiance to the US flag (something that I can see is on the New York State Kindergarten curriculum). We asked him about this last night, and he mentioned that they had 'done a song about the red, white and blue' - however, he couldn't remember it and wondered if we could sing it. Unsurprisingly, we couldn't.

Littleboy 2, meanwhile, has started back at preschool, which is just as well, considering he spent the days when his brother was at school and he at home in a completely foul temper. Every morning as his brother left with me for the bus, he would eat his breakfast stony-faced looking more and more furious - one day running out into the street in his pyjamas, luckily chased by The Doctor, to follow us. It's hard for him, seeing his brother go off in the all-exciting bus, and I dread to think what will happen next year when the little girl next door (whom they both adore) starts Kindergarten too.

Still, his return to preschool seems to have prompted some searching questions of an educational nature. "Mummy, what's inside the sun?" he asked the other day, curled up in bed early in the morning. "Err......" I said, before mumbling something off the top of my head about lava. I realised I have absolutely no idea, physics not having been my top subject at school and the question having never occurred to airy-fairy Arts-graduate me. (The Doctor later told me it is hydrogen and helium). I've also had questions about why cars can go uphill, to which I honestly have no sensible answer.

I can see this is the start of a long Education for me......

Social mores; your multiple choice quiz

2010-09-15T11:16:00.004-04:00

Every time we go to a social occasion here, we seem to get it slightly wrong. I really should have learned by now that less is definitely not more now - the golden rule being, when in America, think big - but somehow I always err on the side of not wanting to go over the top, which is probably a very British attitude. See how you would do.....

1. You are invited to a Labor Day BBQ. The hosts say in an email that they are providing food. Do you bring:

a) A few beers to add to the coolbox
b) A large basket of preferably homemade pastries and cakes
c) A massive plate of homemade sushi

2) You are going on a 2 hour evening boat cruise with a group of friends; the cost includes food but you are asked to bring some booze. Do you bring:

a) A bottle of wine to add to what you assume will be the general stash
b) A small coolbox filled with beers and wine
c) An enormous coolbox filled with different drinks, which has to be dragged on board.

3) You are invited to a breakfast for all new kindergarten parents, on the morning that school starts. Do you wear:

a) Shorts and a t-shirt, accessorised by your grumpy smaller child hanging onto your arm and spilling your coffee
b) A pretty sundress and heels
c) Designer togs, accessorised by your husband who has taken the morning off specially.

Answers:
All a)s Get with the program. You are obviously from out of town. You have no idea of what to do on these occasions - in fact, you could be British....
All b)s - You are doing pretty well, but still could do better....
All c)s - Congratulations! You know exactly how to behave on every social occasion and always make a special effort to impress.

Note to self; must try harder.....

A trip to the US Open; SW19 vs Flushing

2010-09-12T11:49:00.006-04:00

Buying tickets for the US Open felt like something we had to do while here, given that we live just a 20 minute direct train ride from Flushing Meadows. I was also intrigued to see how an American tennis championship compared to a British one. I've been to Wimbledon a few times, mainly through work, and also Queens (which was always fun, as it's much smaller and you feel as if you are really close to the action).

So last week we set off to watch Nadal in the mens' quarter finals - the Littleboys were happily esconsed with our neighbours, where they were having their first ever sleepover. (The tennis here tends to go on until about midnight, and my neighbour had told us 'if you come back before 11, you've wasted your ticket'. )

The weather was distinctly windy, and probably the coolest day we've had here since the end of May; I therefore took a fleece. However, as we ascended to the top of Arthur Ashe stadium - we were right up in the gods, or whatever the equivalent sports-stadium term might be - I realised that a simple fleece would be no protection against the howling gale that was blowing up there. A few people had come with hats and blankets - however, most people were blatantly underdressed, and the stalls selling US Open sweatshirts must have made a fortune that night.

The atmopshere at the US Open - at least in the cheap seats - could not be more different from Wimbledon - where, if I remember rightly, no-one is allowed to come and go during the games itself (you can only leave or arrive at the change of ends). Instead, everyone is milling around, coming in with huge plates of fast food, hot dogs and beers during almost every game. After the first set, about half the people around us seemed to disappear, never to return. Either they thought the match was boring (and, to be fair, it wasn't a classic) or they were simply too cold - the outside area, with food and drink stalls, was packed. We had the impression that for many people it was a night out rather than a chance to watch tennis; the women behind us chatted about eBay for most of the first set. At Wimbledon, this was sometimes my experience when going on a corporate freebie - indeed, many people sat in the hopsitality tents boozing and never even went to watch the tennis - but when going as a normal fan, in the 90s, I remember everyone was concentrated on watching the match.

In between the games, loud music played and it felt more like an ad break than anything else - in fact, it reminded me of the MTV Europe Awards, which I once went to in Barcelona. There were promotional stunts - a couple of people were 'upgraded' to courtside seats courtesy of Continental Airlines -and ads did indeed play on the big screen at the top of the stadium. The whole thing was much bigger, brasher and certainly less formal than Wimbledon.

So which one wins? While I enjoyed our evening (especially once I had warmed up with a cup of coffee), I reckon Wimbledon offers more atmosphere, perhaps down to its formality and traditions, which, while stuffy in some ways, do engender a sense of occasion. (For instance, while I know that forcing the players to wear white might be old-fashioned, in a way I would rather that than Nadal's day-glo trainers, which were frankly distracting.) The US Open felt more like a huge, open-air gig, with the players as entertainment far below us if you could be bothered to watch. I'd love to go again, but maybe we'll spend more on our seats next time and try to get closer to the action. Unless, that is, anyone feels like giving me a VIP ticket......