tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72903956358506971052024-03-20T13:43:11.945-04:00From The Valley To The PalaisMy blog used to be called Nappy Valley. But now I've moved to the dizzy heights of Crystal Palace (via a spell as an expat on Long Island, New York). And my Littleboys are long out of nappies.nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.comBlogger487125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-32004796153400312492016-12-31T06:54:00.001-05:002016-12-31T06:54:11.390-05:00The Last Post (?)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMBHQu0IOxOXcJowL8ZjNrCDJmVcXMcfe805wrk2VX8pQx77oDhfG2wxXFVJx8Ywn_C7_7LlpARgjFRNv7La_5VO__8WoFO2Bd7xDvXVhCYO7kmwXWMAd4w20GPptL-nkgSaHdVVWFlak/s1600/IMG_5056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMBHQu0IOxOXcJowL8ZjNrCDJmVcXMcfe805wrk2VX8pQx77oDhfG2wxXFVJx8Ywn_C7_7LlpARgjFRNv7La_5VO__8WoFO2Bd7xDvXVhCYO7kmwXWMAd4w20GPptL-nkgSaHdVVWFlak/s320/IMG_5056.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The blog becomes a book</td></tr>
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It's almost nine years since I started this blog -- and yes, it seems to have come to a grinding halt recently.<br />
<br />
There's no particular reason, other than being very short on time both work-wise and family wise. And, with children growing up, having less desire to put them in the public domain.<br />
<br />
The Littleboys (can I still call them that? Well maybe just: they are 11 and 10) are thriving,
doing well both academically and in other matters. Littleboy 2 has decided to become an actor after a
star turn in a school play, while Littleboy 1 is becoming an accomplished musician. Both seem astonishingly well-behaved at school (I take no genetic credit for this: I think I was quite naughty at that age, so it must have been inherited from the Doctor) and, although loud, are pretty good at home too. So far, there is no sign of nightmare adolescent behaviour (and indeed, Littleboy 1 is pretty scathing about people he sees as "teenagerish"). I'm sure we have it all to come, though. <br /><br />
The Littleboys finally know I have a blog, by the way. The reason is that I decided to make the family a little Christmas present. Thanks to some advice from my friend M at <a href="https://dubaiunveiled.com/" target="_blank">Circles in the Sand</a>, I investigated turning some blog posts into a printed book.<br />
<br />
The result is Nappy Valley in New York, a coffee-table sized tome that contains all my blogging from May 2009, when we moved to America, to July 2013 when we returned. I blogged twice weekly during most of this time, so this is truly a record of our time abroad as a family, and my hope is that when the boys are older, they can treasure these memories of their childhood. The book, which I ordered via <a href="http://www.blog2print.com/" target="_blank">this website</a>, looks great (see above.) The only shame in a way is that the collated posts are published without all the wonderful comments I got from friends and readers over the years - but that would have made it far, far too long. <br />
<br />
So it's the end of 2016 (what a year, eh!) and I think this might be a fitting time to definitively say that blogging is finished, for now. I am not saying categorically that this will be the last post ever, ever, ever. But for now, I am taking a break. I will keep on reading the blog posts of those of my internet friends who are still blogging. And I'd love to keep in touch with others via email if you'll let me. It's been an incredible decade of my life, and just looking through the book reminds me how much fun I've had being part of the blogosphere. So it's au revoir, for now, but certainly not goodbye. nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-83057737888971586622016-09-14T10:39:00.002-04:002016-09-14T10:39:47.723-04:00Empire of the School Run<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1cvI9otZEk4jdbgYkreTpt63Jtv2Uc99viDe7gYcvYRA8GtBeUX3alBbaPsVOIED9-m2US64pQ4eHZHjxKvPi4n1iDOqflafqr6rP3yiMo_fUhEGjqpZ-C5ChomYIRapfYBhkvyqgcQ/s1600/IMG_4708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1cvI9otZEk4jdbgYkreTpt63Jtv2Uc99viDe7gYcvYRA8GtBeUX3alBbaPsVOIED9-m2US64pQ4eHZHjxKvPi4n1iDOqflafqr6rP3yiMo_fUhEGjqpZ-C5ChomYIRapfYBhkvyqgcQ/s320/IMG_4708.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two days before school started: a different world</td></tr>
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The summer holidays seemed to end all to abruptly this year. One minute we were surfing in the waves in Anglesey, the next we were back on the school run on September 1st. <br />
<br />
I think it must be a feature of the boys getting older, but this year I was reluctant for them to go back to school. In years gone by, I would have been champing at the bit by September, ready to breathe a huge sigh of relief at no longer having to entertain them/find things for them to do while I work/ provide an endless stream of drinks and meals all day with them at home. But now, they are really so easy, so entertaining and such good company, that their holidays are thoroughly enjoyable, whether or not we're away.<br />
<br />
It's just that glorious feeling of waking up and not having to make sure they've packed the right bags for school, checking on activities. Nor do I have to put them to bed "on time" despite their grumbles, so they can stay up watching the Olympics, or the Great British Bake Off*, like the rest of us. (*Yes, it's still a surprising favourite in this household of boys. In fact, Littleboy 2 ran into my study shouting "Mummy, Mummy" in horror yesterday. I thought something awful had happened. "Mel and Sue are leaving Bake Off!" he informed me with a stricken face, having seen the news on their iPad.)<br />
<br />
I felt really relaxed at the end of the holidays. So it was something of a baptism of fire to be back in the routine. Suddenly, my diary was peppered with school events -- parent information evenings, house football matches, music performances -- and both boys decided to sign up for multiple activites, all of which require even more sports kit/musical intruments on different days, that I fear I will never get to grips of who needs what on which day, never mind what time to pick them up. <br />
<br />
All in all, I felt as if (on top of a busy work schedule) I was running a small business empire last week: replying to school emails, putting events in diaries and having to sort out last minute babysitting to ensure everyone's attendance at crucial meetings. Not to mention making sure everyone was doing their homework/music practice/reading, after the lull of the chilled-out laid-back summer. My regime is, by necessity, a military one: the washing machine
now goes on the minute they get home from school, because someone is
bound to need that dirty top again tomorrow - no saving it for the next
morning, not any more! -- and the bags are laid out by the front door the night before, or someone, somewhere, will suffer. <br />
<br />
I know I'm not alone, and some have it far worse. At least my kids are same gender and same school. A friend with three children at three different schools showed me her email inbox last week, and it was just one school email after another. Another friend was grinding her teeth because her child had signed up for cross country running club at 6am every Monday -- the one club she had told him NOT to do.<br />
<br />
I see this week that pushy parents/ "tiger moms" have c<a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3784649/Tiger-mothers-unhappiest-parents-experts-say.html" target="_blank">ome in for some bashing again</a> - apparently, they (the parents) are among the least contented people, and goodness knows what that does for their children. Now I am not, nor would ever claim to be, a Tiger Mom, yet I feel that there's an element of this in all middle-class parenting these days. Because if you aren't on the ball and just a little bit pushy, it will be a big fat fail from the school, and you'll be letting your child down.<br />
<br />
Where will it all end, I ask? Oh, I wish I knew but I don't have time to answer that now - you see, I've got to pick one up from gymnastics club, and then hang around before one auditions for the school play. Then cook them dinner and run out to a parent information evening, hoping The Doctor will be home in time. Oh well, if all else feels I can leave them in front of The Great British Bake Off...nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-66268162627024298202016-07-20T10:12:00.001-04:002016-07-20T11:33:47.123-04:00Corfu Replay<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvKtpmFG5FyOJ7viXqwn9K4C2p2l5AUsO8zRNKXxJ7aBqPQjRF9JqnZyn92_sZhsOph8MPdWEuuv6IeCj5-IXJwuJRBZ0O22ytPwZwqeZ-FP-Vc68q19B6S-ugWfrGckstHgw6S6VjAHY/s1600/IMG_1968.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvKtpmFG5FyOJ7viXqwn9K4C2p2l5AUsO8zRNKXxJ7aBqPQjRF9JqnZyn92_sZhsOph8MPdWEuuv6IeCj5-IXJwuJRBZ0O22ytPwZwqeZ-FP-Vc68q19B6S-ugWfrGckstHgw6S6VjAHY/s320/IMG_1968.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset in Corfu</td></tr>
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Back in 1991, I visited Corfu as part of a month Inter-Railing with J, my friend from school. In those days the Inter-Rail ticket included the ferry crossing from Brindisi to Kerkyra, so it was quite a destination for backpackers.<br />
<br />
We all piled onto the ferry and sat out on deck on the overnight crossing. There were hundreds of us, not just Brits but many Scandinavians, Dutch, Germans, Irish - you name it. I remember trying in vain to lie down and sleep, as J (who was into heavy metal at the time) found some fellow Guns and Roses fans with a bottle of Jack Daniels and proceeded to have a wild party. In the morning when we docked in Corfu, I was frantically searching for her, and eventually discovered her feeling very sorry for herself in the ferry toilets.<br />
<br />
Having teamed up (I can't remember how) with some fellow Brits, we found ourselves a dormitory-style room on the roof of a very low budget hotel in Corfu town. It was pretty squalid - I seem to recall you had to troop down several floors to a bathroom - but it was a base from which to explore the island, and on the second day, we started hearing about a place called Pelekas. <br />
<br />
Pelekas was a bit like the mysterious island in Alex Garland's "The Beach," in that backpackers in Corfu Town talked about it in mythical terms - Pelekas was where the party was. We heard tales of campfires on the beach every night, beautiful surf and what's more, plenty of cheap places to stay. With two of our new friends, we rented some scooters and headed up there and it was indeed magical. There was a beautiful unspoilt beach, accessed by walking down a long winding road from the pretty hill village above, which seemed entirely populated by backpackers, and was buzzing with bars and restaurants in the evening. The next morning, we piled our bags into a taxi and headed for the hills.<br />
<br />
We immediately found a local woman offering us a cheap, clean and very pleasant room off the main square with a gorgeous view, and spent the next few days on the beach, often returning late at night after a session round the campfire with various backpackers playing guitars. It was blissful. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgryQqwFAVMNdIKE609r_fjhTaYJbuA0swhJq4ByRcOGymPPUWjBkjUH0rU2KjqVaCJHjliwcpYcrufwlG31XM_kY-iGDFkmhCEKigG-i3QIR3n7t_TxeahQQnzE12m-3S-u5S-FBUQ4uM/s1600/IMG_2026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgryQqwFAVMNdIKE609r_fjhTaYJbuA0swhJq4ByRcOGymPPUWjBkjUH0rU2KjqVaCJHjliwcpYcrufwlG31XM_kY-iGDFkmhCEKigG-i3QIR3n7t_TxeahQQnzE12m-3S-u5S-FBUQ4uM/s320/IMG_2026.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corfu's West Coast</td></tr>
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I'd always wanted to go back to Corfu, and last week I finally achieved it. This time was just a little different - a villa with a pool, rather than a ramshackle dormitory, a hire car rather than scooters, renting our own motor boat for the day rather than riding behind a speedboat in rubber rings. But there is still something very magical about the island; the turquoise water, the ring of cicadas, the lush olive groves and the winding hills.<br />
<br />
If you've been to other Greek islands, Corfu is a little different: it's greener than other Greek islands such as the Cyclades, and there's a definite Italian influence on the architecture and also the food. It's rich with olive, lemon and fig trees and there is teeming wildlife - as chronicled by Gerald Durrell in "My Family and Other Animals." The huge green cicadas at our villa were so loud the Doctor even complained that he couldn't concentrate on reading; here's a photo of one landing on my silk culottes, to which it seemed extremely attracted.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj28axlmjYNackWbDiDmgs9gkv-i78bF7-8om-MWHdYyEJmq7-QHv1eb2IaWFHOjxgc945O54ZOEfWutLu1mtlYvSf097AoDekkzo5crg1e3n9mM1Uf594CSpPWtMdk-mofwbv2l43pSeI/s1600/IMG_1962.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj28axlmjYNackWbDiDmgs9gkv-i78bF7-8om-MWHdYyEJmq7-QHv1eb2IaWFHOjxgc945O54ZOEfWutLu1mtlYvSf097AoDekkzo5crg1e3n9mM1Uf594CSpPWtMdk-mofwbv2l43pSeI/s320/IMG_1962.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This cicada liked my culottes</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
The northeast coast of the island, near where we stayed, is apparently sometimes called "Kensington on sea" because it's full of posh English. I reckon this comparison is outdated - unlike today's Kensington, it's not ritzy or full of European playboys. It's probably more like Dulwich-on-sea -- there were quite a few middle class Brits around, but they were enjoying themselves in quite a low key way, splashing in the sea and having nice lunches in tavernas rather than cavorting on yachts. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFn7wnf-LFsSb3PEWis_q5USiLS1Zv1PuP7wwZR1wSrbYglxS1sCqCa3G4y1hJybIbKnfze9JPx45OIIPErt30KuAReVe0Qjb_kWKmDL9F_wfVqvPURdmNeoM_X5vy82Z_o-lS8NLn-DM/s1600/IMG_1981.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFn7wnf-LFsSb3PEWis_q5USiLS1Zv1PuP7wwZR1wSrbYglxS1sCqCa3G4y1hJybIbKnfze9JPx45OIIPErt30KuAReVe0Qjb_kWKmDL9F_wfVqvPURdmNeoM_X5vy82Z_o-lS8NLn-DM/s320/IMG_1981.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Views from the water</td></tr>
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We ourselves were based in Loutses, a hillside village with the most incredible views out to the Albanian coast and beyond, with a fantastic sunset vista. We spent our days lazing by the pool, exploring beaches and coves, boating and eating far too much delicious taverna food, or alternatively BBQ-ing at the villa. <br />
<br />
Oh, and one day we paid a visit to the West of Corfu - to my old haunt of Pelekas. First, we swam at the beach - still beautiful, but much more developed, with a huge hotel complex down one end, plentiful beach bars and now two winding roads down there, with several car parks charging 4 euros a pop to park. The boys loved the surf there, and it's still a great beach -- but it was not quite the idyllic spot I remembered.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzMl9Ag56GGZgiH7vqScEwmebRD9AzQtj1DKa5Svw_9JwtBPVuwr2CHayrO6tHHPlgYLsCau7o2afhB6J1dKBcX7lvWvnxB1CBT0UshQ-dOxWZH53P74EQJoyIAUJ4n1oVoJPC2k79yOQ/s1600/IMG_2028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzMl9Ag56GGZgiH7vqScEwmebRD9AzQtj1DKa5Svw_9JwtBPVuwr2CHayrO6tHHPlgYLsCau7o2afhB6J1dKBcX7lvWvnxB1CBT0UshQ-dOxWZH53P74EQJoyIAUJ4n1oVoJPC2k79yOQ/s320/IMG_2028.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Pelekas village today</td></tr>
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Then, we drove up to the village for an ice-cream. Pelekas today is not too different physically, but much, much quieter. Where were the backpackers and bars? There were several rather shut-up looking travel agencies and very old "Rooms to let" signs on what looked like abandoned buildings. We wandered into the old part of the village, to try and locate the house where I stayed. The winding alleys and white-painted houses looked familiar, but I wasn't sure. Then, a woman came down from a balcony and spoke to us. She was a Finnish expat, living there for the summer. I told her I was last there 25 years ago, and she said her house used to be owned by a Greek woman who rented out her upstairs room to backpackers. I'm not sure, but it could well have been there.<br />
<br />
Was Pelekas still a haven for backpackers? I asked. No, no longer. "They don't come to Corfu now. With flights being cheaper they go to Goa and Thailand," she explained. "When we moved here, we heard about Pelekas's party heyday in the 80s, and we couldn't quite believe it. There were people renting space on balconies and sleeping on the beach."<br />
<br />
So that made me feel quite old, and nostalgic, but also grateful. I had experienced a bit of history, and now that was over, and a new crowd (retired expats) were moving in. Who knows - maybe one day I'll be retiring up to the hills of Corfu too? <br />
<br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-80681891927325087582016-06-29T11:34:00.000-04:002016-06-29T11:34:05.453-04:00What a week...."Mummy, " said Littleboy 2 this morning at breakfast. "Why are you and Daddy STILL talking about the Referendum?"<br />
<br />
He must be wondering what's happened. We've gone from a house where the TV was never on in the morning before school to one where it's seemingly on 24/7. The disciplined leaving for school on time thing has gone out of the window. Both parents seem to be in permanent rant mode. Even when we had guests round for Sunday lunch, they all just ranted too.<br />
<br />
I reassured him that we were not mad, and that it was quite likely all his friends' parents were having the same conversations. In fact I know they are: I've spent a lot of time down at the school this week for various parents' open days, and it is all anyone can talk about. It's like that everywhere in London (although I know outside the capital it isn't, necessarily.)<br />
<br />
I went to Shoreditch on Monday and young people seemed to be hugging each other everywhere. I went into my local bookshop earlier and an older man was having a rant about what a huge mistake Brexit is. Meanwhile, Facebook has gone from being a place where friends shared pictures of their kids and cat videos to being a place of rampant political activism - petitions, invitations to join marches, people saying how depressed they feel (I would not be at all surprised if Brexit did not result in a rise in mental health issues.) I have other friends who say they aren't talking to friends or relations who voted differently to them.<br />
<br />
Frankly, it's exhausting. Brexhausting, as one friend puts it -- she admits to letting childcare, cleaning and cooking go out of the window since last Friday. On top of that as a journalist I've also been writing about Brexit for work, focusing on the failures and success of the two communications campaigns, so all in all I feel like I'm living and breathing Referendum.<br />
<br />
We are living in a new reality, and no wonder our kids cannot grasp the enormity of it. I wonder if they will grow up more politically aware as a result? <br />
<br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-90337787608745685302016-06-15T09:09:00.003-04:002016-06-17T09:15:24.646-04:00Why bats don't back Brexit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj824UvorFAQ1_RJnTmnqO1GUN9FqiJg5v8HE6RKU8NPHLko_r1WTTUDFPbetAREHq8jnO9CbImCgfn20t6-nf78w8TIGjPGqMznXbYo1AYDgdBWKX0AD3VqBe-ciQyAs9ASKokuzFlmnc/s1600/bat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj824UvorFAQ1_RJnTmnqO1GUN9FqiJg5v8HE6RKU8NPHLko_r1WTTUDFPbetAREHq8jnO9CbImCgfn20t6-nf78w8TIGjPGqMznXbYo1AYDgdBWKX0AD3VqBe-ciQyAs9ASKokuzFlmnc/s320/bat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
There was a "bat walk" in our local park last Friday night at dusk, and I took Littleboy 2 along. As we stood there in the smudgy twilight, we saw lots of whirling creatures and listened to an fascinating talk from a volunteer from the London Wildlife Trust about bats.<br />
<br />
There were several things I didn't know about bats -- like, they feed off mosquitoes and midges (so they're actually happy when humans are around, because we attract them), and it's only certain species that sleep upside down. But one thing I particularly noted was that the bats in our park are protected by EU Legislation.<br />
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That kind of sums up the Brexit argument for me. So many of the EU laws that people complain about are just common sense -- from having safe child seats for kids, to protecting bats, to protecting jobs. Giving women the right to ask for flexible working hours. Protecting doctors from working too many hours, like they used to in the early 90s before the EU brought the working time directive in. Personally, I feel protected by the fact that we're doing the same as lots of other countries, many of which are more progessive and less conservative than our own. And who is going to come up with our laws and regulations in future if we leave? Boris Johnson? No, thanks.<br />
<br />
I'm not going into all the other arguments for and against on here, and of course readers are free to make up their own minds. But I'm crossing my fingers for next Thursday that people see sense and choose "Remain." Because quite frankly it would be "bats" to leave. nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-37420773469062289442016-05-11T10:01:00.000-04:002016-05-12T05:51:52.410-04:00Birds, Beasts and Southeast London<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdv9KIDIUyHrIeJGVTdn2qH0F5TPEk0_0Bm8RQI_gzXi7vw5bNpS0-IuD7ysWOBqoXmAc4vVMlfKCT0SvjYVv0FiV0hjS-dfDJHKHxCPQgz_dL05l5G-zu5ewTdekS8ZfAP0SM1JOW-CQ/s1600/IMG_4395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdv9KIDIUyHrIeJGVTdn2qH0F5TPEk0_0Bm8RQI_gzXi7vw5bNpS0-IuD7ysWOBqoXmAc4vVMlfKCT0SvjYVv0FiV0hjS-dfDJHKHxCPQgz_dL05l5G-zu5ewTdekS8ZfAP0SM1JOW-CQ/s320/IMG_4395.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caught in the act</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span id="goog_1870054780"></span><span id="goog_1870054781"></span>I've really been enjoying ITV's <i>The Durrells</i>, an adaptation of Gerald Durrell's books set on Corfu, including <i>My Family and Other Animals</i>, and B<i>irds, Beasts and Relatives</i>, which I read when much younger. It's very well done, with the excellent Keeley Hawes playing the put-upon Mrs. Durrell, and beautifully filmed on Corfu. (What's more, we're going there this summer -- and I'd already booked our holiday before I knew about the series, so I'm feeling rather smug.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, we have been experiencing our own birds and beasts here in Crystal Palace. Honestly, you wouldn't think a Southeast London suburban home, close enough to central London that you can see the Shard from up the road, would be a haven for wildlife. But since we moved here we have had the following animal experiences:<br />
<br />
1. Pigeons in our attic. They'd even made nests up there and laid eggs. When we eventually realised, we had to get our roof fixed, which involved lots of scaffolding (it's a tall house) and expensive builders. It also led us to change our water tank system, as the previous system was an open tank in the attic into which pigeon skeletons may well have fallen.<br />
<br />
2. Foxes eating the boys' football goal. The phrase "back of the net" doesn't apply to this goal (Littleboy 1's birthday present last year) any more. Because the back of the net has been chewed away. I wondered at first if some unfortunate animal had got tied up in the netting, and that's why it had been destroyed. Maybe a cat had got its claws caught. But this morning I caught one of our many resident foxes in the act - jaws in the net, looking balefully up at me in defiance as I shooed it away. I'm quite fond of foxes (although they also keep us awake with their shagging noises) but honestly, this is Not On. <br />
<br />
3. A ladybird infestation. Seriously, there are hundreds in our house. I don't quite know what to do about it - they're rather pretty, and not really pests, but we do wonder if they bite (a few of us have had mysterious insect bites). Any advice?<br />
<br />
4. Slugs in the hallway. How do they get in? How?<br />
<br />
5. Pigeon in the bathroom. Unable to get in the attic any more through their holes, the pigeons have now taken up residence on the bathroom window sill, which is now covered in bird poo and feathers. During the hot weather this weekend, the bathroom window was left open -- and a bird flew in and shat all over the shower.<br />
<br />
Any more for any more? I'm thinking of setting up a small zoo. <br />
<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-33633551851159971052016-04-12T07:35:00.003-04:002016-04-12T09:05:49.239-04:00Sur le Airbnb d'Avignon<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiXDpEDPh6mk5gaY1xvUObncrtb6BALlppbfeyJjlX5Qcowdm5Jc5yIs5F7kMQg6UU0VJ10DL5DKktYqO3mIQdjzVByy9NZNTt489mnOQ8eI6Wmdbs7BNXYSqeMTmU4QCBwTPmrz40Vnw/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_4299.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiXDpEDPh6mk5gaY1xvUObncrtb6BALlppbfeyJjlX5Qcowdm5Jc5yIs5F7kMQg6UU0VJ10DL5DKktYqO3mIQdjzVByy9NZNTt489mnOQ8eI6Wmdbs7BNXYSqeMTmU4QCBwTPmrz40Vnw/s320/thumbnail_IMG_4299.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Le Pont d'Avignon and the Rhone</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I am becoming a huge fan of Airbnb.<br />
<br />
Just a few years ago, if you'd wanted to stay in the centre of a medieval walled city such as Avignon, you'd have had to pay through the nose, either for a very poncey luxury hotel or a really quite basic business one. You'd only have a hotel room, so you'd have had to buy all your meals, and when you'd tired of walking around all day there would have been nowhere to sit and relax in your room.<br />
<br />
But now, you can stay in a large, beautiful apartment, right in the centre of such as a city, with all mod cons and a comfortable bed, for less than a hundred pounds a night (with free parking nearby). You can pop out to the neighbourhood boulangerie in the morning to buy your baguettes, and keep a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge for when you fancy a 6pm aperitif. (What is more, your kids could be playing cards in a completely different room while you have this. ) If you are lucky, your apartment's owner will recommend you a nice local restaurant to boot. It's a win-win situation and the hotels must be seething.<br />
<br />
Anyway that's enough about Airbnb (this is not a sponsored post) and here's something about Avignon. We drove there from the Alps, but it's a destination that you could easily get to from the UK, as there's a direct Eurostar train nowadays in the summer. The city is famous for two things: the Palais des Papes or Popes' Palace, where nine popes resided in the Middle Ages, and the Pont d'Avignon, a bridge made famous by the children's song.<br />
<br />
Both are worth a visit: the medieval Bridge, although only a tiny segment remains, affords a very romantic view of the Rhone even though your visit may only take 10 minutes. But you can buy a combined ticket to see both this and the Popes' Palace, which is both an impressively huge building and a history lesson (I spent most of our visit trying to explain the Pope's role to the boys, and realising I really am hugely ignorant on the matter).<br />
<br />
Above the Palace and Bridge is the very pretty Rocher des Doms park, where you can look out over the river, the surrounding rolling countryside with vineyards (Chateauneuf du Pape is nearby) and Provencal roofs of the beautiful old city. After that, you can have a drink and watch the world go by in the courtyard square below the Popes' Palace. Or you could visit the tiny Musee Angladon, which houses a collection of Impressionist paintings by the likes of Picasso, Degas, Manet and Sisley.<br />
<br />
But what I enjoyed most about Avignon was walking around the old town, exploring its winding cobbled streets lined with cafes, restaurants and shops. I'm not a huge shopper but the shopping there was fabulous -- not just souvenirs like lavender, Provencal pottery and tablecloths but interesting fashion, unusual toiletries, trendy kitchen stores and more. Avignon is small, and immensely walkable -- but every time you venture out you'll find a new little corner to explore. <br />
<br />
We ate two extremely good meals: one at Kote Kour, a trendy little tucked-away bistro near our apartment. Although we felt as if we (apart from the Littleboys) were the oldest people there, it had delicious and unusual food, and an off-menu chicken and chips for the boys.<br />
<br />
At a slightly more pretentious restaurant, we struggled slightly when they didn't have their advertised kids' menu, but eventually the boys shared a steak and pronounced it delicious. And my asparagus, egg and hollandaise starter was one of the culinary highights of the whole trip.<br />
<br />
So I would definitely recommend Avignon en famille, if you have a couple of days to spare or fancy a weekend trip. Just forget the hotels and check out Airbnb first. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-21214148964103730022016-04-05T12:00:00.002-04:002016-04-05T12:00:51.087-04:00And....breathe<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtudoRzWAoeQtY26hh8ahV7Bm2c4XNQy413Z8mvb222W1tvl4WKfm5Uacza2K5bhxos1ZG7uyQh2q3KqjR51-BKpb_WIio5gLVWX5CDo9nMwI6qbnUMHvaKPV9pPBCrobssMZrlHUwD0/s1600/12439297_10154060571044254_2260831017818325003_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtudoRzWAoeQtY26hh8ahV7Bm2c4XNQy413Z8mvb222W1tvl4WKfm5Uacza2K5bhxos1ZG7uyQh2q3KqjR51-BKpb_WIio5gLVWX5CDo9nMwI6qbnUMHvaKPV9pPBCrobssMZrlHUwD0/s320/12439297_10154060571044254_2260831017818325003_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring a national park on skis</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have never been so glad as I was to escape to the Alps this Easter.<br />
<br />
Let me sum up the fortnight before we went.<br />
<br />
1. First, the Doctor and I came down with awful colds. Well, possibly worse than a cold -- I was unable to do much for about three whole days, except blow my nose, take paracetamol and sweat profusely. I haven't felt so rough in years, and there WAS swine flu doing the rounds of the local schools, so I think that may have been it....<br />
<br />
2. We had a terrible night during which we were both extremely hot and sweaty. During the course of said night, the Doctor managed to scratch an insect bite (I know - in March, in England?) and somehow infect it. Within two days, his entire leg was red and swollen around a horrible pussy mess. I drove him to A&E, who diagnosed an abscess and put him on intravenous antibiotics (luckily he didn't have to stay in).<br />
<br />
3. The leg did not clear up quickly - it got worse, and he ended up having to have it drained. He had to have an MRI to check it hadn't penetrated the bone (luckily, not) and missed an entire week of work -- something I've never known him do, even when he had Lyme disease a few years ago. One doctor told him ominously that there was no way he would be able to ski - this was about a week before we were due to leave. Two days later, although it wasn't much better, another doctor thought ski-ing would be fine. However, this guy, naturally, was himself a keen skier, so we had to take that with a pinch of salt. I was left facing the possibility that I would have to drive all the way to the Alps myself, and ski with the boys on my own for two weeks - or, that we would have to cancel.<br />
<br />
4. We decided to go anyway, and thought we would only ski for a week, then maybe to to Paris. Things were looking slightly more positive. Then, the day before we left, I was just getting the boys ready for school when, standing in our kitchen, I felt a drip on my head. There was water dripping through our ceiling from the floor above!<br />
<br />
5. The Doctor managed to isolate the leak, but that meant we had no water in our bathroom - and the plumber couldn't come before we left for France.<br />
<br />
6. Around the same time, we decided that one of our front car tyres was looking decidedly dodgy. On the morning we left, The Doctor took it to the garage to get it checked. Lucky he did, because apparently both front tyres had completely had it. Not ideal before a thousand-mile drive.<br />
<br />
At this point, I was actually thinking it would be a miracle if we ever made it to France and we might as well abandon the whole trip.<br />
<br />
However, we didn't. And, when we finally made it, it was a wonderful break, one of the best ski holidays we've had as a family. The snow was excellent, the weather beautiful. The Doctor found he WAS able to ski, despite the still oozing leg. The boys improved immeasurably, and were soon outpacing me. They could follow us everywhere, which meant we were able to make trips to other resorts en famille. One day we met friends, another we explored a national park on skis. We ate and drank far too well.<br />
<br />
After 10 days skiing (which was plenty for everyone), we spent a couple of nights in Avignon, Provence (I'll write about that one separately.) Then we came home via a night in Champagne. Everything went smoothly - even passing through Eurotunnel on a busy weekend.<br />
<br />
Who can say if the hellish fortnight preceeding the holiday made the fortnight away even better by way of relief. But, anyway, thank goodness for getting away. nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-42420723319508798742016-02-25T13:13:00.000-05:002016-02-25T13:13:50.018-05:00Thumbs down parentingYou know when your child falls over, and you're not totally sympathetic about it?<br />
<br />
Well that was me on Saturday. Littleboy 1 fell off his scooter in the park and hurt his thumb - and all I could do was yell at him.<br />
<br />
First, let me explain the background. I am not always such a blatantly cruel and unfeeling mother. But, it was the same thumb that, late last year, he ended up having three stitches in at our local hospital, the result of an art room accident at school.<br />
<br />
Bear with me. Now, this previous accident was (as far as I know) not his fault; it was just unfortunate. But it was very bad timing; a week before his latest piano exam, for which he'd been practising for for almost a year, and for which he was geared up, motivated and absolutely ready to take.<br />
<br />
With his thumb in bandages, there was no way he could take the exam that week -- I tried to rearrange the date with ABRSM (the Associated Board, which oversees these things) but they were singularly unhelpful. So after a rather stressful couple of days we decided that we'd just have to accept it and postpone it until the next examination period - ie. March.<br />
<br />
It was extremely difficult to keep up the momentum of dedicated practice, but over half term I'd persuaded him to work away at it until I felt he was definitely ready to take it again.<br />
<br />
On Friday, he and his brother had been messing around on their scooters and I'd even warned him not to injure himself, with his exam coming up (not to mention a school trip and a ski trip at Easter). But of course it went in one ear and out the other -- as these things always do, with boys.<br />
<br />
When he first fell over, he was wailing about his knee, so I wasn't overly worried -- I just thought it was him being dramatic, something to which he is rather prone. But then he mentioned his thumb and I am afraid I almost exploded. I simply could not believe that after all his hard work (and<b> my</b> hard work encouraging him) we were once again going to have to delay the exam. Or else - and this still might happen - he might take it and do badly - and not do himself justice. I know I should have given him a hug, but I am afraid I berated him for being so foolish and was singularly unsympathetic.<br />
<br />
His thumb then swelled up like a balloon, and by Sunday morning his father was taking him off once again to A&E (or the ER, for American readers). By this point, my anxiety (and fury) levels were beginning to rocket. I kept trying to tell myself that in the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter (and yes, I am well aware that a missed piano exam is a really middle class first-world problem). But it just seemed so egregious that I had even warned him about this happening - and it still happened.<br />
<br />
Thankfully the X-Ray revealed no breakage, but his thumb is still today black and blue and he's unable to play. The exam is in less than 2 weeks, so we're hoping it will be better by then, but he's lost valuable practice time. <br />
<br />
I still can't quite believe it's the same hand - and who would have predicted that falling from a scooter would have resulted in a hand injury at all?<br />
<br />
There have, since the weekend, been lots of hugs, and I'm lucky that he still seems to adore me and says I'm the best mother in the world - even though I'm not sure I deserve that accolade after the way I behaved.<br />
<br />
Oh the things we go through as parents. Littleboy 1, if you read this when you're grown up, please forgive me, but know that it is only because I love you so much. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-59582919257780553932016-02-09T10:07:00.001-05:002016-02-11T10:02:29.472-05:00The Battle Hymn of the Tennis Mother (or, why I shall never be Judy Murray)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir31ZT-wC0XrUZkLWTLU_iETSnew0WQNwu2BMl1kEsH8caV7sfnKxdGqvXYUf7dzus6A2IuyFCmo4JaFUZnj41_KITXSnIZ1R-ayBMd9PDgcdI5y24r8hGXLleOIivjWolyL4XhMY7DuY/s1600/TennisMom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir31ZT-wC0XrUZkLWTLU_iETSnew0WQNwu2BMl1kEsH8caV7sfnKxdGqvXYUf7dzus6A2IuyFCmo4JaFUZnj41_KITXSnIZ1R-ayBMd9PDgcdI5y24r8hGXLleOIivjWolyL4XhMY7DuY/s320/TennisMom.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new philosophy?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The boys have been taking tennis lessons now for about 18 months, and about a year ago their coach got quite excited about Littleboy 1's progress. She suggested he join a new development squad she was setting up, and start to play proper matches and tournaments when the time was right.<br />
<br />
<br />
Well, I'm not going to even pretend that he's an Andy Murray in the making, but he enjoys tennis and plays quite nicely, and did well in the squad. So, more recently we decided the time was right to enter him into an LTA mini tennis tournament. The coach felt he needed to play people better than him, rather than the same children (mainly younger) that he can comfortably beat at his weekly lesson.<br />
<br />
So a few weeks ago we duly trekked off to the other side of London to this tournament, but the moment we arrived I realised that (as usual) I had done my classic thing of Not Taking It Quite Seriously Enough (<span style="font-size: xx-small;">TM</span>). For a start, there were kids there with Proper Tennis Bags containing three different rackets, dressed in the kind of white jackets you might see Djokovic arriving on court in. Littleboy1, in his American soccer t-shirt, ratty fleece and racquet in a plastic holder, already looked out of place, and as I watched him knock up with some boys I realised immediately there was no way he would be able to beat anyone there.<br />
<br />
To be fair, it was his first tournament and his LTA ranking was lower than that of anyone else there (your rankings improve as you play and win more matches). But I could tell that these boys were far more experienced, and had the kind of shots he just wasn't used to returning, having never played anyone that good (he's played me, but I am rubbish). Poor Littleboy 1 looked pretty frightened as he faced his first opponent -- a tiny child who served ace after unreturnable ace, and made short work of Littleboy1 's own serve-- and things didn't get much better after that.<br />
<br />
Although by the end of the match he'd managed to notch a few games, he didn't beat anyone and it must have been pretty disappointing for him. But he was fairly stoic, and I did notice that he upped his game considerably towards the end so it must have been good experience. (Some of the other kids there took it all tremendously seriously, sobbing when they didn't win; he didn't do that).<br />
<br />
But I am just not sure I could become a proper tennis mother, trotting off to tournaments like this every weekend. I've got a lot of admiration for the likes of Judy Murray who must be so determined that their children succeed -- and she must feel pretty amazing when two of her sons are in a Grand Slam Final. However, I am well aware that most tennis mothers will never experience that feeling: only the gruelling competition, and the heartache of losing time and time again tempered only by a fleeting few victories. <br />
<br />
And what if your child decides, at the age of 18, that they never want to pick up a tennis racquet again? And you've spent years of your life devoting Saturdays to standing around on the sidelines of tennis clubs in the drizzle (yes, tennis is a year-round sport, even in England).<br />
<br />
We're not going to give up on it quite yet; he's going to try a slightly easier tournament next time, with people more his own level. We've also found a friend to play with who is slightly better but doesn't demolish him, and I think that will be good practice too.<br />
<br />
But somehow I can't imagine that I'll be sitting up in the players' box at Wimbledon in ten years time, having my outfits scrutinized and appearing on Strictly Come Dancing. And that's absolutely fine with me. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-90324550710531286492016-01-19T10:18:00.000-05:002016-01-20T04:34:14.379-05:00A Musical Education<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCsOac2s2jmKfHLS1WExK-vHQtaT-thxZeZJeGRmGuuN4soA28Jv6BOVaCbvyHjDEW7E4qLs4E6Qp5mjdN1MBQ92wF3OHWneM6_DKYbkF8xDo6A1IhCQqB40R1a-FPalbYVA_jAWV3QWA/s1600/Abba.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCsOac2s2jmKfHLS1WExK-vHQtaT-thxZeZJeGRmGuuN4soA28Jv6BOVaCbvyHjDEW7E4qLs4E6Qp5mjdN1MBQ92wF3OHWneM6_DKYbkF8xDo6A1IhCQqB40R1a-FPalbYVA_jAWV3QWA/s320/Abba.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abba - definitely not old school</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Littleboy 2 was recently teased at school by a boy for not having
ever heard of Michael Jackson. When he said he liked Abba, the same boy
told him: "Abba is old school."<br />
<br />
While I honestly think 9 is a bit young to be dissing each other's musical tastes (!) the above, and a few other recent incidents, have made me wonder about how and whether we, as parents, influence our children's musical tastes. The death of David Bowie last week made
me realise the children didn't have a clue who he was -- so I remedied
that by playing them a few tracks at the weekend. (They liked "Space Oddity" and went crazy dancing to "Rebel Rebel"). Also this week, <a href="http://expatmum.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Expat Mum</a> posted on Facebook about her 12-year-old singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" - I've tried to get the boys into that one and so far, failed. <br />
<br />
There is a great feature-ette on BBC Radio 4's 'Saturday Live' called
<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p01zl1t5" target="_blank">"Inheritance Tracks" </a>where a celebrity talks about the music they
inherited and the music they will pass on. And if you read interviews
with musicians they will quite often cite the music their parents played in the house as being inspirational. But what age does this start? (And did those people actually hate their parents' music at the time, and only now recognize it as cool?) <br />
<br />
My boys are both pretty musical, although to date their musical education has been more about learning the piano and violin and listening to a few, mostly classical, concerts at school. Very occasionally they comment on a song that's playing on the radio in the car, and as they get older this is happening more regularly. This weekend they both announced that "Stay with me" by Sam Smith is "actually quite good" and they're also quite vociferous about stuff they don't like -- so far, anything involving rap. They also love Abba (see above) since we played it in the car quite a bit last summer on holiday in Italy. But they've never been into watching MTV, like one of their cousins, and we're not the kind of hip parents who take our kids to Glastonbury or Bestival, so they probably know relatively little about modern music (other than the stuff I listen to in the car). <br />
<br />
I sense they're at an age now where I could start to give them a bit of a musical education - not that I'm any kind of expert, but I know what I like and have, I think, fairly broad, although mainstream, tastes. But in a few years, won't this just be the equivalent of "Dad Dancing?' Is there any point in trying to get your children to appreciate the music you like? Or is liking different stuff to your parents just a perfectly normal form of teenage rebellion.....and maybe I should just let them work it out for themselves.<br />
<br />
Oh, I asked Littleboy 2 what the mean boy did like (apart from Michael Jackson). His brother Littleboy 1 snorted before he could answer and said: "Probably One Direction."<br />
<br />
At least he shares my opinion on that one....<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-78717269257936515422016-01-06T12:26:00.000-05:002016-01-06T12:26:01.194-05:00Christmas 2015 - Santa's last stand?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6n9_hxMzVs8LnqRTyPdi4Q2i_rJBllrK9GD0y35qUHp_bScqw5VmC2kftIyW0jKSaesqFhuvTO-yhAFWMgayV0Zv2l2xwb3uLdUJGBfzm1tiIefL4kr-MWsSnaH9CN7SEMdNVHKfO9jI/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6n9_hxMzVs8LnqRTyPdi4Q2i_rJBllrK9GD0y35qUHp_bScqw5VmC2kftIyW0jKSaesqFhuvTO-yhAFWMgayV0Zv2l2xwb3uLdUJGBfzm1tiIefL4kr-MWsSnaH9CN7SEMdNVHKfO9jI/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Littleboy 2's Christmas letter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I can't help wondering if this will be the last year of belief in
Santa. Littleboy 2 is already deeply suspicious. He keeps asking
questions about how he manages to deliver all the presents, and
wondering why no-one ever, actually, gets put on the naughty list,
despite their bad behaviour. There were also comments about why the
reindeer ate less carrot than last year (answer: I was so stuffed with
mince pies on Christmas Eve I couldn't even fit in half a carrot) and
today, he enquired why we don't write thank-you letters to Santa. He did
write a very sweet letter to Santa warning him not to get squashed in
our very small fireplace -- but I think maybe he was just humouring me.<br />
<br />
Littleboy 1, although older, won't hear a word said against the possible non-existence of Santa. This despite several children at school having told him "it's your parents" (have these kids not heard of spoilers?). He even commented that, if it weren't true, it would be terrible, because then you would have to endure being a grown-up and know there was no Santa. (That's a good point, actually....). <br />
<br />
While
in some ways it would be easier, (I wouldn't have to find different
wrapping paper and gift tags for Santa's presents, and have to spend ages doing special curly writing for the tags -- yes, though small children don't notice these things, big children do) it will be terribly sad when they do stop
believing. As an adult, Christmas becomes less about excitement and more
about getting everything done -- but the sight of the children's pure
delight as they opened their stockings meant December 25th was still one of 2015's
best days for me. <br />
Looking back at the ghosts of Christmas blogs past, I see that I've blogged before about <a href="http://nappyvalleygirl.blogspot.co.uk/2008/12/calpol-christmas.html" target="_blank">The Calpol Christmas</a> (2008) and <a href="http://nappyvalleygirl.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/the-lego-christmas.html" target="_blank">The Lego Christmas</a> (2013). Well this year, books were the dominant feature of the boys' Christmas: partly because I'd decided no more Lego for the moment. (I'm not being mean; they have a whole playroom full of the stuff, and now that their themed models have mosty fallen apart, they are quite happy to make new creations out of the old Lego).<br />
<br />
I bought them books; Father Christmas bought them books; relatives bought them books, partly directed by me. They even bought each other books: Littleboy 2 gave Littleboy 1 "Magnus Chase," the new book by "Percy Jackson" author Rick Riordan, which he was terribly pleased by, while Littleboy 2 received several David Walliams books, and from me, "Five Children on the Western Front" by Kate Saunders, which I'm really looking forward to reading too. Sticking with the literary theme, we gave Littleboy 1 a Tintin-themed duvet cover; Littleboy 2 has a Roald Dahl duvet from last year. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile Littleboy 2 also had something of a Tiger-themed Christmas, fuelling a long-held obsesssion. He'd written to Santa requesting "something to do with tigers," so I adopted him a tiger through WWF. It came in a box with a tiny tiger cub toy, a "child" for his original, much-loved WWF tiger toy, and we'll apparently get monthly updates on the tiger, who lives in Nepal; I hope, though, we don't have to visit, as she's a tigress with two cubs, and I'm sure they're not as cute and cuddly in the flesh.<br />
<br />
Happy new year! <br />
<br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-4613559765682189812015-12-15T07:59:00.000-05:002015-12-15T07:59:04.049-05:00Going back "home": on revisiting the expat experience<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtThBCu_1pU7Ciy-zXQ40pcQQB0qZ0a5kSx8fCY-P-RX2K71XJQCHVF_qNjJRojTFfPU8-p5ScxkSwS10K6xpKQthMkXfj67_P6N1XSTRURdFJQ6sR6yKm3sQ4YXcJYnT-2MwvdRgq3_c/s1600/IMG_3952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtThBCu_1pU7Ciy-zXQ40pcQQB0qZ0a5kSx8fCY-P-RX2K71XJQCHVF_qNjJRojTFfPU8-p5ScxkSwS10K6xpKQthMkXfj67_P6N1XSTRURdFJQ6sR6yKm3sQ4YXcJYnT-2MwvdRgq3_c/s320/IMG_3952.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back in New York State for the fall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As the part of the US trip mentioned in previous posts, we spent some time staying with friends in our former Long Island hometown.<br />
<br />
We wanted to go back and reconnect with people before they forgot us, we forgot them and the boys forgot that they were ever little kids with American accents, at an American school and with American friends.<br />
<br />
The experience was lovely, but it was also strange.<br />
<br />
As we drove into town, everything seemed both familiar and unfamiliar - the streets I had driven down endless times, the shops, the road names. The first morning, The Doctor and I lay awake with jet lag, neither of us able to remember the name of a road we used to drive down daily -- eventually I had to go and look it up. Within about 24 hours though, it all came flooding back, and I was able to remember everything and everyone.<br />
<br />
With a packed schedule of seeing friends, there wasn't really time to slow down and process how I felt about the whole experience. It did make me feel quite impressed with myself that I'd managed to make that many close friends in such a short time -- maybe it was the time of life (small children starting school) or maybe it was the fact that I knew I had only limited time there so had to make the most of it?<br />
<br />
(One funny thing; I was waiting for a friend in a coffee shop when I saw a woman I had been quite friendly with at the start of our four years there. I went up to her excitedly telling her how I had come back to visit -- but she didn't even realise I had left!)<br />
<br />
The boys' behaviour was pretty interesting. <br />
<br />
Littleboy 1 had verbal diarrhoea from the moment our friend picked us up at JFK - telling her about his school, new friends, his brother's new friends, life, the universe and everything. I'm not sure whether this was over-excitement at having FINALLY arrived in New York (we'd had a 24 hour delay due to a faulty plane- thanks Virgin Atlantic) or a need to fill her in on our new lives. Anyway, having exhausted his supply of new information, he never mentioned any of it again the whole time we were staying with them; instead he just slotted back into his old games with his friends, and even started sounding vaguely American again.<br />
<br />
He was also incredibly excited to revisit his old haunts, including his favourite burger restaurant, Smashburger, which we had to visit twice. (I'm afraid all the upmarket burger joints we've been to in London -- Gourmet Burger Kitchen, Byron et al -- don't cut the mustard with him, compared to this mid-range chain, a sort of hybrid between fast-food and a sit down restaurant that does rather fabulous sweet potato fries.) As we went around town, he was constantly exclaiming how he remembered this, and that, and how much he loved it. <br />
<br />
Littleboy 2, the quieter of the two and my little philosopher, said virtually nothing to his friends at first. He kept his thoughts very much to himself until I asked him outright, having taken them to play in the park where we always went when they were small, how he felt about being back there. He replied "a bit sad and a bit lonely." I knew exactly what he meant -- it was as if we were revisiting the past, but we couldn't really recreate it -- the friends we used to play with at the park were no longer there, and all the local children were in school, so there was no-one else around. I'm not sure he knows the word "nostalgic" but I think that was probably the feeling he was also trying to articulate.<br />
<br />
Going back to their old school was weird; we went to watch their Halloween parade, with all the kids and teachers there in costume. It felt odd, I'm sure, for them to be on the outside looking at something they once took part in. We called out to a couple of teachers, and one immediately recognised the boys (and me), which was nice. But it definitely felt like we weren't part of it any more.<br />
<br />
A lot of people asked us whether we wished we'd stayed. But the trip confirmed to me that, no, I didn't. I absolutely loved living there, and we were lucky to have had a beautiful town to live in and some lovely friends. I loved seeing the fall colors, and the decorations, and spending Halloween there with everyone getting into the party spirit and the whole town trick or treating. But I didn't feel an urgent need to move back -- I feel much more settled in London than I ever did there, perhaps because I know that this is our home and it's not just temporary. I'm also glad that the boys are being educated in the British school system, which I think on balance I prefer.<br />
<br />
So I'll be happy to re-visit every few years. And we might have to do that, just so Littleboy 1 can eat "the best burger in the world."<br />
<br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-15842901839009411112015-11-20T09:11:00.001-05:002015-11-20T09:11:21.050-05:00Grand Canyon En Famille<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMaN03r8rhGp3oenVDhGLzs6KZEGy5LUatiMgaibFoLEi4e_D4AGftAeJH7VEsI5a11sNN9xxTD2iXlVdUdmYWFgOAJW_Qe2TkvTrdJsGOPNYhwgUSrqbBw-cRi1nGTBrr79EDq7DujJw/s1600/IMG_1779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMaN03r8rhGp3oenVDhGLzs6KZEGy5LUatiMgaibFoLEi4e_D4AGftAeJH7VEsI5a11sNN9xxTD2iXlVdUdmYWFgOAJW_Qe2TkvTrdJsGOPNYhwgUSrqbBw-cRi1nGTBrr79EDq7DujJw/s320/IMG_1779.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early morning at the South Rim</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've always wanted to go to the Grand Canyon. However, as our trip approached, I was more than a little apprehensive. Someone had warned us that, once you arrive and look at the view, there "wasn't that much to do" there -- particularly with kids. I had also been told that the South Rim, where we were going, was far too touristy and it was much better to go to the less visited North Rim. Would it all be a huge disappointment?<br />
<br />
But I am happy to report that it was all I expected, and more.<br />
<br />
The South Rim is indeed the more touristy part of the Canyon -- the North Rim is much higher, and at this time of year can be closed due to snow. But maybe because we were slightly off-season, I didn't find Grand Canyon Village at the South Rim too overwhelmingly ruined by other people. It reminded me rather of a ski resort, and was particularly quiet in the early morning and at night, when the day trippers had gone.<br />
<br />
We stayed at Thunderbird Lodge - basically a motel, but perfectly OK -- right on the Canyon edge. For food you can eat at Bright Angel Lodge which is right next door and slightly more posh, but with a rustic edge; if you want to go very posh you can stay at El Tovar, which has a very fancy-looking restaurant. We ate our evening meals at the Arizona Room, a steakhouse with particularly delicious food -- it would have had a view over the Canyon, but it was too dark in October to see it even for an early supper; darkness fell at around 6pm.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5asfkAUYetptcqh9Y_Zst5nLmUPr_EcAfot_UFnzfhuvNABjUs7aS2v7j1h6zfT5R3EShsf9nA6tsv4KBR_Mp6rvWyj4DTmDy3yGxQY4kyi-EIH5vfEhuT65xo_6NmDN28nrenTU3iM/s1600/IMG_1786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5asfkAUYetptcqh9Y_Zst5nLmUPr_EcAfot_UFnzfhuvNABjUs7aS2v7j1h6zfT5R3EShsf9nA6tsv4KBR_Mp6rvWyj4DTmDy3yGxQY4kyi-EIH5vfEhuT65xo_6NmDN28nrenTU3iM/s320/IMG_1786.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Descending into the Canyon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The view is just incredible. I could spend simply hours looking at it. The colours in the canyon keep changing throughout the day, and depending on the light and the weather. You can see why it's called "grand" -- I've been to canyons before, but the vastness and majesty of this one is incomparable. It makes you feel very small and very aware of the power of nature, as if you were standing on the moon or something.<br />
<br />
So what do you do there? We went hiking into the canyon. We took the boys down the Bright Angel Trail to the three mile resthouse, then back up again. Down is pretty easy, up is obviously steep and much harder, but the path was well-made, the track easy to follow,<br />
<br />
There are hundreds of signs warning you to take lots of water, food, etc and not to overdo it -- I think this must apply particularly in the summer, when temperatures can reach over 140 degrees, but in October it was a very pleasant temperature for walking, cool and crisp in the morning rising to t-shirt weather in the afternoon. We took a picnic, plus plenty of chocolate and snacks for the way up. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjvqRYkUFPN2KLE1AFwf5oZn0lTMXzbVN7ns2EmXkPu8p0a0g2mLf1Z4PzbSiDNAhJHrm_FSUIXkPwi4oO9jrO8Aonyurd86P2s7CMbXSmAS5Y1ImMXEihD3S1WRdTYbyJo39U6ndxpcQ/s1600/IMG_1811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjvqRYkUFPN2KLE1AFwf5oZn0lTMXzbVN7ns2EmXkPu8p0a0g2mLf1Z4PzbSiDNAhJHrm_FSUIXkPwi4oO9jrO8Aonyurd86P2s7CMbXSmAS5Y1ImMXEihD3S1WRdTYbyJo39U6ndxpcQ/s320/IMG_1811.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset and moonrise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our six mile walk was over by mid-afternoon, so there was time to do something else. We drove the 20 miles to the Desert View Watchtower, where you get a completely different view of the Canyon, this time including the Colorado River (which isn't visible at Grand Canyon Village). On the way back, we were lucky enough to see the full moon rising just at the time the sun set, which afforded the most glorious palette of colours. As we leapt out of the car to take photos, we weren't alone -- there were, as The Doctor put it, people almost "orgasmic" at the sight.<br />
<br />
The next morning we were leaving, but got up early and walked for a few miles along the Rim Trail before breakfast. This walk would be much more suitable for people with small children, or who aren't into proper hiking; it's paved, mostly flat and you can take a bus back to the village from various points along the way, so you don't have to worry about turning around. And you still get the incredible views.<br />
<br />
So - would I recommend taking children to the Grand Canyon? Yes, definitely. What I would say is -- if you want to walk, go at half term in October, and avoid the heat and the crowds. American schools aren't on holiday in October, either. <br />
<br />
In fact we liked it so much, we are planning to go back when our boys are older. The plan next time is to hike all the way from rim to rim, a two day hike, and stay at the romantically-named Phantom Ranch lodge in the base of the canyon. For this, you have to book at least a year in advance. But I don't mind that-- it's even more of an excuse to fantasise over future holidays.<br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-29240232536342520302015-11-16T11:28:00.004-05:002015-11-16T11:29:56.699-05:00How do you talk to your children about Paris?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUqdiZS_WZGyGykpmnfsNvp4zcwSrZoxvrzsGNv3k-8eWLpXQE_gvUXHRLeGYilKhUj-8BY54-S-YgAVsJcgMyvie2jXs0p2O_qFUtd-q9Qom99MEQgL_wzydJcHIEdtbjceu29Ci9ts/s1600/Peace-for-paris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUqdiZS_WZGyGykpmnfsNvp4zcwSrZoxvrzsGNv3k-8eWLpXQE_gvUXHRLeGYilKhUj-8BY54-S-YgAVsJcgMyvie2jXs0p2O_qFUtd-q9Qom99MEQgL_wzydJcHIEdtbjceu29Ci9ts/s320/Peace-for-paris.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
My older son was lying in bed with us on Saturday morning when we turned on the radio. We knew nothing about the events in Paris, having been driving down the M4 the night before and not watching any evening news. So when we heard the headlines we were naturally jolted awake, and he, who doesn't always listen to the news, was hearing it all avidly too.<br />
<br />
He's 10 now, and he's been asking questions recently about Isis, as some of his friends are apparently talking about it at school following the Egyptian air disaster. Some of what he comes home with has been a little misinformed (eg Isis bombed the Twin Towers) but he understands the gist of it. And yet, he doesn't.<br />
<br />
How do you explain to a primary school kid what motivates terrorists? And even more, how do you reassure them that they, and their loved ones, are not going to be affected? To tell them that "it couldn't happen here" feels disingenuous. We all know that it has happened in London, and surely will again.<br />
<br />
I have told him now about the 2005 attacks, which happened just after he was born. He also knows about 9/11, having been recently to the Peace Garden in New York. But he still can't get his head round why people actually did these things. He's a gentle child, who dislikes seeing or hearing about any kind of violence (he doesn't even want to see the new James Bond film), so he does find it very upsetting. <br />
<br />
A friend posted <a href="http://momfactually.com/tips-for-talking-to-your-kids-about-terrorism/" target="_blank">this article </a>on Facebook, in which a psychologist explains that you need to reassure the child that they are safe. But I sometimes feel as if the more we talk about these things, the more it makes them feel unsafe. I'm trying to walk the line here between not hiding things from him, not making him feel that I'm world-weary on the subject and at the same time reassuring him.<br />
<br />
I find it even harder to talk to his younger brother, 8, about it all. The questions come thicker than the answers with him, and it's harder with him to know what he's thinking afterwards. And I do want to make sure he's not secretly worrying. <br />
<br />
How does anyone else cope? <br />
<br />
<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-60320405743136082382015-11-08T11:02:00.001-05:002015-11-08T11:02:42.603-05:00Vegas, baby -- with kids?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFwQimEkx45z5qf2Xj1TE-DNfS3jZ1ION6asHBOOe7zHvISi0ZmsQTVc_Sa3Rnk5QASYKad3gNTBMdxKgSVBi86lMul7IS35jOrQ7DHhaq2_dlvVBv-5ipQvm34XAxBdIqiFchC9z2960/s1600/IMG_3775.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFwQimEkx45z5qf2Xj1TE-DNfS3jZ1ION6asHBOOe7zHvISi0ZmsQTVc_Sa3Rnk5QASYKad3gNTBMdxKgSVBi86lMul7IS35jOrQ7DHhaq2_dlvVBv-5ipQvm34XAxBdIqiFchC9z2960/s320/IMG_3775.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not New York</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"Las Vegas is like Disneyland for Grown-ups."<br />
<br />
I must
have heard these words a thousand times from people in America before
we went to visit Las Vegas as part of our holiday this half term. But what if you are the kind of grown-up who hates Disneyland,
doesn't like gambling, prefers real scenery and the outdoors, and has two real kids in tow?<br />
<br />
I hadn't
planned on ever visiting Las Vegas, in fact, but it was the obvious
jumping off point when visiting the Grand Canyon (of which more later).
We flew from New York, where we'd been visiting our old town on Long Island
and our friends, and decided to take in the sights of Las Vegas rather than
just hiring a car and getting the hell out of town.<br />
<br />
Once
we'd planned this, I decided to embrace it, booking tickets to a couple
of shows on the recommendation of a friend (Elton John's Million Dollar
Piano and Cirque du Soleil's Beatles extravaganza "Love"). I also
booked one of the few non-gaming hotels (the Mandarin Oriental) with a
pool for relaxing during the day before we saw the shows in the evening. Other than that, I wasn't quite sure what we would be doing during the day with the boys. But there was plenty to explore.<br />
<br />
The most amazing thing about seeing Las Vegas with kids is the themed hotel/casinos: in one morning, you can visit Venice, Paris and Luxor, not to mention New York, New York. As Littleboy 1 said in awe as we drove from the airport along the lit-up "Strip" where all the hotels and casinos are laid out in their neon glory, "This place is totally messed-up."<br />
<br />
The Venetian is perhaps the nuttiest: with actual canals flowing through the shops in the hotel's basement, complete singing gondoliers, and an indoor replica of St Mark's Square with a fake sky that makes it feel like you are permanently at dusk (quite weird at 9am in the morning).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Venetian</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Of course, I'd rather be in the real Venice, but the fact they have done it at all is just rather surreal and amazing. Luxor has a gigantic pyramid as a lobby, and a huge sphinx outside; New York, New York has replicas of the Empire State and Chrysler buildings, Brooklyn Bridge and the Statue of Liberty, and Paris has a half-size Eiffel Tower. It is, (as Littleboy 2 put it), the "Capital of fakeness". <br />
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Another hotel / casino, The Mirage, boasts a volcano that "erupts" every evening on the hour, with fake lava and flames. This hotel is also home to the <a href="http://www.mirage.com/attractions/secret-garden.aspx" target="_blank">Secret Garden</a>, a zoo that houses white tigers and dolphins (probably the highlight for Littleboy 2, a tiger fanatic). Next door, the Bellagio has an incredible, dazzling display of fountains, if you hadn't yet been entertained enough. <br />
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There is plenty to do, any kind of food you could possibly imagine eating and the shows themselves were spectacular -- my only caveat to taking kids being the jet lag (Las Vegas is eight hours behind the UK, three behind New York and the boys were simply too tired in the evening to really enjoy them properly). The weather in October is warm and fine, but not too hot, and our hotel pool was a delightful place to laze during the midday hours (mornings and evenings were chilly).<br />
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Would I go back to Las Vegas? Well, it was great fun. If you're in that part of the world, your kids will be amazed by the spectacle of it all, and they'll probably enjoy it. But let's just say that as we drove out of the city towards the Hoover Dam and Arizona, I knew the perfect music to play from my iPod. I'll leave you with that.<br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-18002758284674126532015-10-08T07:45:00.000-04:002015-10-08T08:36:20.876-04:00Old fashioned bloggingBack in the stone age of blogging (pre 2010 that is), there was a thing called "tagging" and also little badges that bloggers gave to one another to stick on their pages. I've still got a few on mine -- look down the bottom of the page and you'll find awards, some from bloggers now faded into the mists of the internet (Nunhead Mum of One, what happened to you?)<br />
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You see, this was in the days before official blogging awards, and blogging league tables and blogging conferences and PR freebies and Twitter ratings. It was just a low-key way to show your friendliness and love to a few people whose words you'd read online.<br />
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Anyway, I mention all this because Expat Mum -- one of the first bloggers who ever commented on my own blog -- has "tagged" me in <a href="http://expatmum.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/old-fashioned-blogging.html" target="_blank">this post </a>about Old Fashioned Blogging, because I've been blogging since 2008 and therefore count as a golden oldie in this new-fangled world of weblogs. <br />
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Just like the old days, I have to display the badge (which looks a bit like something out of Harry Potter), link to the nominating blogger (done) and name seven other bloggers on whom I bestow the award. I also have to list seven things about myself that not many people know. I've DEFINITELY done this one before but I can't find the post -- so here goes another effort. I'm going to make them all writerly/blogging related this time. <br />
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1. I've inspired at least three good friends to go into blogging (at least, I think it was me - correct me if I'm wrong!). Step forward <a href="http://dubaiunveiled.com/" target="_blank">Circles in the Sand</a>, <a href="http://bradstockboys.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Don't Panic</a> and <a href="http://fourdownmumtogo.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Four Down Mum to Go</a>.<br />
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2. When I was 15, I won a short story competition in Just 17 magazine. I won a huge boxload of Penguin Books -- and had my name read out in assembly at school, which was rather embarrassing.<br />
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3. I read English at University and of all the books I had to read, the
only one I didn't finish was James Joyce's Ulysses. I just couldn't
stand it. <br />
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4. As a student I did work experience at Cosmopolitan magazine. I was
overseen by then features editor Kath Viner - who recently became the
first ever female editor of The Guardian. <br />
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5. I absolutely love reading novels and can polish off a book in a couple of evenings if I'm enjoying it. I've currently devouring "After You" by JoJo Moyes and plan to read Margaret Atwood's "The Heart Goes Last" next, after recently seeing her live at the Write on Kew festival.<br />
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6. For work, I have ended up specialising in writing about ads. This is actually more interesting than it sounds. And you meet some very bright, creative people in the industry. <br />
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7. I would love to be a novelist, but have not been able to galvanise
myself to write anything beyond a first chapter. I have huge admiration
for my friend <a href="http://dubaiunveiled.com/" target="_blank">Circles</a>, who has just finished her first novel. And maybe she will now inspire me to go for it.<br />
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Now to the nominations. I'm sure everyone else has already tagged these people, but here are a few.<br />
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1 Melissa at <a href="http://www.talkaboutyork.com/" target="_blank">Talk About York </a>(who used to be Home Office Mum).<br />
2. <a href="http://motherhoodthefinalfrontier.com/" target="_blank">Motherhood the Final Frontier</a> (who gave me such good advice when I moved to the US)<br />
3. My mate NB at <a href="http://bradstockboys.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Don't Panic </a><br />
4. Tanya at <a href="http://bump2basics.com/" target="_blank">Bump2 Basics </a>(I first started reading her blog when she was pregnant. Now her oldest is at school).<br />
5. Michelloui at <a href="http://www.theamericanresident.com/" target="_blank">The American Resident</a>. Who needs to start blogging again!<br />
6. Ditto AConfusedTakeThatFan, whose blog I can't find but who commented here last week. <br />
7. Finally PantsWithNames aka Brit in Bosnia. Emily, if you're still out there, I also miss you terribly. <br />
<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-34948686952752247532015-09-18T06:51:00.002-04:002015-09-18T06:51:34.653-04:00Helicopter Mother, or just a drone? I did a naughty thing yesterday.<br />
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I was sorting laundry and suddenly realised that Littleboy 2 had merrily gone off to school clutching his swimming towel and goggles, for swim lesson, but minus the actual trunks.<br />
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At first I told myself that it would be fine, he'd borrow a pair from Lost Property (his brother has done that before) and I shouldn't interrupt my day. But I kept imagining his little face falling when he opened his bag and found the trunks weren't in there. My heart contracted, and I knew what I had to do.<br />
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So I jumped in the car, hair still wet from the shower, and zoomed down to the school to hand over the trunks, reaching the door just as his lesson was about to start.<br />
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Now this was naughty why? Well firstly, the school sent out an edict last year that parents were not to keep coming to school to hand over forgotten PE kit. It's a big school and it must happen fairly often, so I can understand it's a pain if they have to keep sending a teacher /helper to deliver missing items of clothing. (Perhaps in the future we should have drones to do it, like Amazon? Now that's an idea.)<br />
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But that's not the real reason it was bad. It was bad because, as I discuss with The Doctor all the time, I am not supposed to be the policeman of the bags. The boys are supposed to be checking their own stuff now in the morning and if something doesn't make it to school, on their own head be it. This patently doesn't happen: frankly, just getting Littleboy 2 out of bed and dressed in time for the school run is an achievement, let alone getting him to check his bag. <br />
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There have been plenty of articles in the media recently about <a href="http://uk.businessinsider.com/the-rise-of-the-helicopter-parent-2015-7?r=US&IR=T" target="_blank">helicopter parenting</a> and how we are raising a generation of children who don't know how to do anything for themselves. By constantly being there for our children, making sure they're OK and helping them do their best, we're actually doing them a disservice, goes the argument. We should take a step back, let them look after themselves, like our parents' generation who just let us get on with it.<br />
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I generally agree with all of this. At my kids' age I was going to and from school by myself (on the Peak Tram in Hong Kong! I didn't know how lucky I was) and a year later travelling to boarding school on a plane. I don't ever remember much parental input in homework. I don't particularly WANT to be that mother insanely running to school with a pair of swimming trunks, and I want my children to grow up self-reliant. <br />
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But I think part of the problem now is the pressure that mothers, in particular, feel from all angles of the media to be perfect. If our kids fail at something, we get the blame. And if we aren't super-vigilant, we are terrible people -- this can range from the parents that are investigated by Social Services for letting their kids become obese, to the "free range" parents in the US who get arrested for letting their kids walk home from the park alone, to the vilification of the McCann parents for leaving their children unattended in a holiday resort.<br />
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"Parenting," a word that didn't really exist in the 70s, is something every commentator has a view on. So of course we feel we have to be on the case 24/7, and making sure our kids don't forget their homework, lunch or swimming things, is a part of all that.<br />
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Incidentally, men don't seem to share our guilt, possibly because negligent fathering isn't a "thing" in the press.<br />
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What do you think? How do you square the whole helicopter debate? And should I have chilled out over the trunks?<br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-39597843379068812512015-09-03T08:02:00.001-04:002015-09-03T08:02:19.077-04:00Last of the summer suncreamThe suncreams, all three of them, sit folornly by the door, unused since our holiday. Last week's tennis camp was necessarily indoors, so there was no use for the big tube of kids' factor 50, small tube to take with them, or indeed my special my non-greasy face cream.<br />
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Now the new term has started, and (bar a September heatwave) it won't be until next summer that we have to think about creams, hats and water bottles. Instead, we spent the last few days ensuring school shoes fit, arranging uniform on chairs and having last minute panics over mislaid pencil cases.<br />
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Reconvening at school, the children have seemingly all grown a couple of inches; some just look like they've been stretched out like elastic, others are more bulky. Most are sun-browned (clearly none of us put on quite enough of that cream, or perhaps, like me, we've decided to mind our Vitamin D), and most of the parents at the school gate sport a post-holiday glow that makes them look more relaxed than usual. We swap anecdotes of last minute shoe-shopping, holidays mishaps and new concerns about our children. We're regretful that summer is over, but also relish the school-gate conversation after a two month break. <br />
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At home, I pack away the swimming costumes, the shorts and the sarongs, and start thinking about plays to book, articles to write, social engagements to arrange. The house seems empty - even though I've often been on my own over the summer, while the boys are out at activities, today it seems to echo more than usual.<br />
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For everyone starting the new school year today -- may it be a good one. nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-42243782277207496492015-08-27T06:50:00.002-04:002015-08-27T16:46:55.075-04:00Kid-friendly Lucca<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful Lucca</td></tr>
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Since I got back from holiday on Sunday it seems to have been raining non-stop.<br />
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After two weeks of getting up every morning to swim 30 lengths in an outdoor pool before breakfast, only pausing to sniff the lavender-scented air and look at the indescribably beautiful view of the Tuscan hills, this has come as something of a shock.<br />
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I love Italy. It's probably my favourite country -- I went there on my honeymoon, and have been back to Tuscany no less than four times since, as well as visiting other parts of Italy such as Sicily and Venice.<br />
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This time we had an extended family holiday in a beautiful villa, sandwiched between city stopovers in Pisa and Lucca at the beginning and end.<br />
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I thought I'd blog about Lucca because I was actually surprised about how child-friendly it is. Having dragged the boys around Pisa, admiring the beautiful architecture but being slightly dismayed at all the coach party groups with selfie sticks and lack of un-touristy restaurants, I was wondering how they would take to Lucca.<br />
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But they loved it. The highlight for us was renting bikes and cycling all the way around the historic city walls, which form a pedestrian and cyclist-only public park. It's a 4km ride which took us roughly 45 minutes, with a couple of rest stops. It's also shady and cool, particularly if you do it at 9am in the morning as we did, trying to avoid the heat of the day. The scenery is incomparable: you can look up at the Monte Pisano mountains, or down into the city of Lucca, at the Duomo San Martino in all its marble splendour, or busy street markets and charming piazzas, while cycling along at your leisure. The only hazard is avoiding other cyclists and pedestrians (something Littleboy 2, a rather wobbly cyclist, narrowly achieved).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cycling round the walls</td></tr>
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Wandering around Lucca is charming -- many of its narrow, winding medieval streets are pedestrianised (although watch out for the odd scooter). The shops are upscale and mainly independent, with very few chains. By night, it's incredibly atmospheric and you will suddenly stumble upon little hidden squares crammed with people, eating, talking or just enjoying the balmy night air. The Littleboys were in their element, marching around singing Abba songs on our final night, to the amusement of passers-by. <br />
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Then there are the towers to climb. The Littleboys had actually refused to go up the Leaning Tower of Pisa, announcing that it was too scary. (We didn't try and force them; frankly, the prices are scary too, at 18 euros each including for kids).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Torre Guinigi</td></tr>
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But in Lucca, you can climb (cheaply) up two towers that aren't leaning: the Torre Guinigi, which is famous for having trees planted on top, and the Torre delle Ore, or clock tower. The latter was more precarious, with a wooden staircase that looked like it might not pass a British health and safety inspection, but had the bonus of being beautifully empty. Both afford an incredible view of the terracotta-coloured rooftops of Lucca, and the climb gives you a much-needed chance to burn off all that pasta. <br />
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The Lucca botanical garden (Orto Botanico) is a sweet place and offers an opportunity to relax and sit in the shade. The lilypond there has rather a gruesome legend attached; it's said to have been the scene of a horrific drowning. As the story, goes a beautiful Luccan noblewoman made a bargain with the devil to stay looking young, and when she reneged on the deal was finally chased by Satan around the city and into the water. You're supposed to be able to hear her screams on Halloween. In reality, she died of the plague and was buried in a church nearby. (We had our own excitement, when Littleboy 2 decided to touch a plant clearly labelled as "toxic" with a skull and crossbones; cue lots of frantic hand washing.) <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Botanical Gardens, Lucca</td></tr>
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Lucca is also stuffed full of places to eat: from cheap pizzerias to homely osterias, lively trattorias and upmarket ristorantes. The first night we had delicious pizza at <a href="http://www.trattoriadanonnaclara.it/" target="_blank">Trattoria da Nonna Clara</a> in a lively piazza. It was one of the cheapest meals of all our holiday, but all pronounced it excellent. For lunch the next day, we stumbled upon <a href="http://www.ristoranteolivo.it/" target="_blank">All'Olivo</a>, a stylish-looking restaurant on a tiny piazza. Although it had a slightly bizarre canopy with jets that sprayed out water (it was supposed, we think, to cool you down but had the effect of being in a rather humid sauna), the food was again brilliant. The boys tucked into prosciutto and melon, bruschetta and salami; The Dotor and I had succulent grilled calamari salads.<br />
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For our final night we ate at <a href="http://www.osteriabaralla.it/en/" target="_blank">Osteria Baralla</a>, a traditional Tuscan restaurant near the oval Piazza Anifteatro. The meal was typically heavy Tuscan fare -- my beef stew was delicious, but far too filling, and the boys tucked into meaty ravioli after stuffing themselves with unsalted bread and olive oil. I would probably recommend this place more in winter. Like most Italian cities, Lucca is also full of amazing gelaterias. We bought fabulous chocolate ice-cream and lemon sorbet outside the city walls, on our walk back to our Airbnb apartment. (It was our first time booking through Airbnb, and everything went very smoothly -- our host, Petra, was very welcoming and helpful). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhShQg_K7ep8YcDf4gct5Dr7UBeafU6kJyDUFXWqOq21EybvBIp3uVm9TEuEcCHbrM55JwcRfYWEgA90OuC1lcbAbZt0RqSTaln-4DimOM3fwqJACTaLlWwzMKCaw5qWiwp0Lq3zphJGw/s1600/IMG_1736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhShQg_K7ep8YcDf4gct5Dr7UBeafU6kJyDUFXWqOq21EybvBIp3uVm9TEuEcCHbrM55JwcRfYWEgA90OuC1lcbAbZt0RqSTaln-4DimOM3fwqJACTaLlWwzMKCaw5qWiwp0Lq3zphJGw/s320/IMG_1736.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Villa Reale's Green Theatre</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The next morning, before our flight back from Pisa, we explored the gardens of the Villa Reale outside Lucca. The Villa was once owned by Napoleon's sister Elisa Bonaparte and the grounds are incredibly ornate. The garden was virtually empty, which made it particularly atmospheric, and the house itself, closed up, had a very dilapidated air (we asked about the current owners, and were told it is a "family from Switzerland" but they never come). It seems something of a random tourist attraction -- the custodian turned up late to open up, and there was nowhere really to park -- but the gardens are fascinating and well worth a wander; there's an over-the-top interpretation of Pan's Grotto, a "green theatre" entirely made of box hedges, a lemon garden and plentiful classical statues and fountains.<br />
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All in all, I would thoroughly recommend Lucca as a short city break with kids. From the U.K., you could get there cheaply and easily by flying to nearby Pisa with EasyJet, and then taking a train or renting a car. And if you're going on a holiday elsewhere in Italy, why not break your journey there?<br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-89795988858655667512015-07-13T06:49:00.000-04:002015-07-13T06:49:13.011-04:00Vintage Wimbledon with the Littleboys I don't know if this year truly was a vintage Wimbledon, but it felt like it to me. <br />
<br />
Even though Andy Murray, who we were loyally backing, didn't make the final, the Federer/Djokovic showdown was brilliant, and I particularly loved the sight of Stefan Edberg, my pinup of the year circa 1988, sitting in the box as Federer's coach with his old rival Boris Becker coaching Djokovic. (Edberg has also aged better, which is rather satisfying).<br />
<br />
The women's game was perhaps less interesting, although I think we may have a new star in Garbine Muguruza. Serena Williams is incredible, but I feel as if she's been too dominant in recent years. <br />
<br />
I watched more of the tournament than I have for a while, mainly because
the boys are now also tennis fans and, thanks to their lessons, understand what's going on. We had many hilarious conversations during the matches and the highlights program, which even Littleboy 2 steadfastly sat up to 9pm to watch two nights running. (Who else was appalled by the new look BBC Wimbledon 2Day? I was so glad when they changed the format back to normal, but the new, dreadfully naff name seems to remain. Macenroe is brilliant, though). <br />
<br />
The boys were particularly interested in the seedings, and also in the fact that the women play the best of three sets and then men five. So we had many unanswerable questions such as: "If Serena Williams played Djokovic, who would win?" "If Serena AND Venus played him, would they beat him?" as well as random ones such as"Would Andy Murray ever play mixed doubles with his Mum?"<br />
<br />
Littleboy 2 finally got quite existential, posing the question: "If Andy Murray played Andy Murray, who would win?" Answers on a postcard please.<br />
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But my favourite comment of his was when I was explaining that the players carry spare racquets in their bags in case one breaks. "The other day Murray got out another racket halfway through a game because his string broke," I said.<br />
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Littleboy 2 expressed consternation. "But - he wouldn't have time to label it!"<br />
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Clearly all those naggings about lost property have gone in. <br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-65539255383828043692015-06-29T12:50:00.000-04:002015-06-29T12:50:15.235-04:00End of the school year by numbersAnother year over, and what have you done? That's a Christmas song of course, but I always think of it at this time of year, because for parents of school age kids, the "year" begins in September and ends in July.<br />
<br />
It seems to have flown by. So I thought I'd just list a few things, data-wise, to remind myself that actually, quite a lot has happened since September 2014.<br />
<br />
1. Casualties of Lost Property: 4 (two different kinds of sock, 1 track suit bottoms, 1 pair of pyjamas taken in for a swimming test).<br />
<br />
<i>Not bad really and sometimes you just have to "let it go" as the song goes. I remember once really losing it over a lost towel at summer camp, and having to remind myself that there are bigger things in life. Mind you, I find banging on about how the lost items will come out of pocket money is quite helpful these days. It would have been 5, but a lost shoe was miraculously recovered today.</i><br />
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<i>2. </i>Music exams taken, 3. <i> </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>All passed, two with merits. All that practising, nagging and banging on about scales wasn't totally wasted then. And Littleboy 1 seems to have taught himself to play "Dumb Ways to Die" on the violin. Result! </i><br />
<br />
3. Detentions, 0. <i></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We are doing well here and I hope it continues this way. One of my sons even got invited to a "Good boys' tea," which in my day would have sounded like a recipe for being teased, but these days appears to be a badge of honour, even among boys.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
4. Sports Days/swimming galas I missed: 1 (out of 8)<br />
<br />
<i>One of the advantages of working from home means I can be flexible about these things. Mind you, judging from the numbers of Dads there, most of whom I am sure don't work from home, sports days are a 3 line whip these days. </i><br />
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5. Prizes won: 1<br />
<br />
<i>Proud parent disclaimer *Littleboy 2 has had a fantastic year at school, and came away with a prize for academic achievement. I couldn't be happier for him.* But actually just as important to me is the fact that he's made some really lovely friends in this first year at the school.</i><br />
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6. Things forgotten in the mornings: Not too many!<br />
<br />
<i>Much better on this score than last year, thanks to my trusty chalk board in the kitchen that reminds us what we have to take every day. I only once had to race back in the car to deliver something this year. Although Littleboy 1 went to school with a sopping wet PE kit last week that I had failed to put in the dryer overnight.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
7. Inter-school Sports matches kids played in: 1<i></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Not a great score this year -- Littleboy 2 has no interest in competitive team sports, and Littleboy 1, while athletic and fit, doesn't seem to make it into any school teams either (although he's doing very well at tennis lessons, done out of school, and has been selected for a local squad). Still, it means that weekends have been free of ferrying boys to sports matches, which more than makes up for anyone's disappointment. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
8. Number of times I have been to the school for events since half term<i>: </i>too many to count. <i></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>See no 4. Again possible because I work at home. What on earth you do if you work in an office I have no clue.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
9. Number of times we walked to school: 5<i></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>This is pretty disgraceful. We did mean to do it more. The walk is about half an hour. The problem is partly all the stuff they have to carry - musical instruments, cricket bats, heavy PE bags, homework, projects. Maybe next year we'll try to rationalise it somehow. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
10. Funny conversations with boys on the way home: countless<br />
<br />
<i>This is my favorite quote from Littleboy 2. We were driving home when we saw a boy who looked to me about 15 walking down the road. "Oh that's Mr. X." he said. "He's one of the teachers." When quizzed more closely it turned out he was one of the Gap year boys they have helping at the school. Then he added: "Yeah, we used to have another Gap teacher but he went skiing and never came back. I think he retired."</i><br />
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<i> </i><br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-86656436678559876312015-06-23T10:23:00.001-04:002015-06-23T11:40:55.877-04:00Expat friendships, two years on<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixnIXSkARI4GrjTWXsG5pebk927WbwF2F_M6W47ys2-2-aZBQSP6aSFUtZ-reiu95EzU28mU8KCnysZsfNC0FU2OxVXx7b_j2bBi51w4yWh7fy_QaDRbnMDtQDpd9CWKwGvf-mU2QHRG8/s1600/IMG_1488.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixnIXSkARI4GrjTWXsG5pebk927WbwF2F_M6W47ys2-2-aZBQSP6aSFUtZ-reiu95EzU28mU8KCnysZsfNC0FU2OxVXx7b_j2bBi51w4yWh7fy_QaDRbnMDtQDpd9CWKwGvf-mU2QHRG8/s320/IMG_1488.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Littleboy 2 shortly before we left New York</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's almost two years since we <a href="http://www.nappyvalleygirl.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/moving-on.html" target="_blank">left the U.S.</a><br />
<br />
It doesn't seem like that kind of time at all, of course - it seems like yesterday that I was packing up our house and and saying goodbye to my American friend, bidding farewell to the boys' school and doing everything we enjoyed in Long Island for the "last" time.<br />
<br />
I was thinking the other day about expat friendships and whether or not they last a lifetime. My
parents met many of their lifelong friends as expats in Hong Kong, some
of whom I still keep in touch with today. But things are different now - social media has replaced the long letter and Christmas cards, long a method of keeping in touch, now seem to have fallen out of fashion with more and more people. <br />
<br />
So what are my thoughts now that I can put my expat friendships in perspective?<br />
<br />
Firstly, that it's interesting who you stay in touch with. Facebook of course makes it very easy to stay in touch with a lot of people but in a fairly superficial way. I have a bit of email contact with those people to whom I was closer but in the main, I do rely on social media.<br />
<br />
One experience has been having a dear friend in America go through a terrible time, with her eight year old daughter diagnosed with leukaemia last autumn. Thankfully she is now in remission but it has been the most horribly tough year for her and for her whole family. This friend was lovely to me when I was having my own health issues, and I really felt it that I couldn't be there for her in person. I have been emailing her and sending cards, but it does make you realise that whatever the power of social media, being physically there is a whole different matter. <br />
<br />
Then there are the people who are not on social media. In the case of my very good German friend, we've made a real effort to email, Skype and have even managed to see each other twice in the past year. I have a feeling this friendship will now be for life.<br />
<br />
But others haven't been so easy. There was one neighbour whom I got to know very well in the U.S. - we were always chatting at the school bus stop or in each other's houses. She's not on Facebook and I would love to know what's happening with her and her family. But since being back, whenever I've tried to email her (apart from the very first time, when she replied warmly) I've been met with a wall of silence. I'm fairly certain nothing awful has happened to her, having asked other people, so I'm wondering if she just can't deal with long distance friendships, or (paranoia setting in) whether she never really liked me that much. <br />
<br />
Others neighbours have made a real effort to look us up on trips to London - in fact we're due to see one family next week. And, later this year, we'll be heading back to Long Island as part of a U.S. holiday, so we'll get to see everybody again. I'm still debating whether to knock on Mrs. Email Silence's door, but I'm hoping others will be pleased to see us.<br />
<br />
More interesting will be seeing whether the boys still gel with their old best friends, now that they've lost their American accents and think and act more like little English boys. I'm guessing yes, because kids seem to re-bond easily, and as long as they're all on the latest version of Minecraft they'll have something in common. But who knows? <br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-89728828757591256242015-06-05T12:34:00.001-04:002015-06-05T12:43:12.941-04:00Floral delightsI can't believe it's June already and the end of the school year is once again looming. The boys have three and a half more weeks, and then we are into the holidays -- that long cycle of me frantically trying to work while entertaining the boys and ferrying them around to different camps.<br />
<br />
I've been neglecting the blog a little of late, so thought I'd write a quick update on what I've been up to.<br />
<br />
I went to the Chelsea Flower Show for the first time ever. This was a fabulous experience -- a riot of colour, scent and sensation. What struck me most wasn't the show gardens, which is what everyone writes about and shows on TV. Those are indeed very impressive, but what I hadn't expected was the amazing floral displays from the growers inside the gigantic marquee. Huge walls of hyacinths, hydrangeas, roses, foxgloves -- you name it, it's there.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEqhF8NEvhuZ9lfj_GpQsGzw53GfK1zuccc1lhefD4ZXDZXchLVGObHwVfb-1ewh56K0bBzY2Se2T7kvOsfnpHVviuU523dt64VBFpGn5TKiZy7ApGlpRGP2fFBoEudagyDsKFAuBE4GE/s1600/IMG_3343.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEqhF8NEvhuZ9lfj_GpQsGzw53GfK1zuccc1lhefD4ZXDZXchLVGObHwVfb-1ewh56K0bBzY2Se2T7kvOsfnpHVviuU523dt64VBFpGn5TKiZy7ApGlpRGP2fFBoEudagyDsKFAuBE4GE/s320/IMG_3343.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selfie in floral garb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHJfpw2oj7fxhJcG5XIuZ1LnBR4LF5ebDm6nT56hUtr069VVrUXraAVJA0O2HoQDTnub7ZEg7rrVVSBb7_YggGXiqjyYglKmLUFGHzww6sZgSsnYGL8Gli6VO_cuTEs2qFA0tOO2LrI8/s1600/IMG_3345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHJfpw2oj7fxhJcG5XIuZ1LnBR4LF5ebDm6nT56hUtr069VVrUXraAVJA0O2HoQDTnub7ZEg7rrVVSBb7_YggGXiqjyYglKmLUFGHzww6sZgSsnYGL8Gli6VO_cuTEs2qFA0tOO2LrI8/s320/IMG_3345.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hydrangea heaven</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3-MoK6GAb_uQAiqkLAxVz1zgjOsxYYlDU6U4Go0mnYwQ_lTziv8fXDzKGKP8OCVBWnUHuEkaeNa6hUa8EELAtZPv5WBWPJIVRZTZnZfWjc6ek91n_gFBWB7opQ2-ARJwS0PAYEK8GexI/s1600/IMG_3347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3-MoK6GAb_uQAiqkLAxVz1zgjOsxYYlDU6U4Go0mnYwQ_lTziv8fXDzKGKP8OCVBWnUHuEkaeNa6hUa8EELAtZPv5WBWPJIVRZTZnZfWjc6ek91n_gFBWB7opQ2-ARJwS0PAYEK8GexI/s320/IMG_3347.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Purple paradise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Nt7jN5cgI4NbBS6jFULc01nt3PlInwMAaznqe7LEueFJCq6BiA90JgUJpA4WHWSnlA3lKCw24Mplvbv7e8mAFYgp0VpLkzOKHqzpwsaLbMex_8f86egpTtwWK-7YHRJ1qkyVcz66JsA/s1600/IMG_3361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Nt7jN5cgI4NbBS6jFULc01nt3PlInwMAaznqe7LEueFJCq6BiA90JgUJpA4WHWSnlA3lKCw24Mplvbv7e8mAFYgp0VpLkzOKHqzpwsaLbMex_8f86egpTtwWK-7YHRJ1qkyVcz66JsA/s320/IMG_3361.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rose bower</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvc4JvHX5vprPsp3iTblBrrB930-wVrqtupRr_4q1cyik29EtziBSQ3azb4os3voQ2PpRnlWj3v1caeVDuVLafhiGo4wNGGSED7AJDlr51p2qe_J1zsJcIM4q4xeUiNRROa8xCbIFcyso/s1600/IMG_3363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvc4JvHX5vprPsp3iTblBrrB930-wVrqtupRr_4q1cyik29EtziBSQ3azb4os3voQ2PpRnlWj3v1caeVDuVLafhiGo4wNGGSED7AJDlr51p2qe_J1zsJcIM4q4xeUiNRROa8xCbIFcyso/s320/IMG_3363.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tea-time!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
The visit inspired me in a fit of impulsiveness to become a Royal Horticultural Society member, and start frantically buying seeds to plant in my back garden. Whether this newfound passion for gardening lasts remains to be seen, but it did reinforce my love of flowers, and a realisation that I need to teach my children the names of plants, flowers and shrubs on every walk we go on - because how else do you learn? <br />
<br />
Then we went to the Lake District for half term. This was again a floral treat, as the rhodedendron, azalea and blubells were all in bloom up there. It's the first time I've ever visited in May, and it's a great time of year to be there -- everything shining with that bright, light green of early leaf, and newborn lambs everywhere.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0La12pguthh_wxpd-p8I50HK6MALooutz95KkGkKQ585RyoTc6dWYoscuFbfg6U2Kx4XwzoG4PBMzi4gioJpRsEPblGyaGcbM1oRzOdgo-pkbJfYyMm0UJP76tHs8E8wySG81Wh-7Cg4/s1600/IMG_3391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0La12pguthh_wxpd-p8I50HK6MALooutz95KkGkKQ585RyoTc6dWYoscuFbfg6U2Kx4XwzoG4PBMzi4gioJpRsEPblGyaGcbM1oRzOdgo-pkbJfYyMm0UJP76tHs8E8wySG81Wh-7Cg4/s320/IMG_3391.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lakeland colours</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkFjHV-rX21m_QpLLCv5gFwGlV0vp9q6wDJJvgGbiCL4YQK46ui4J9mAJsXsQYvUvza8rRjAtqc7A0rJzGux4BbHg5h2Bn66lHa9GBVsCUW1kODf11t3BtNmNMTBUO9sjYj6B5yDtH-SA/s1600/IMG_3403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkFjHV-rX21m_QpLLCv5gFwGlV0vp9q6wDJJvgGbiCL4YQK46ui4J9mAJsXsQYvUvza8rRjAtqc7A0rJzGux4BbHg5h2Bn66lHa9GBVsCUW1kODf11t3BtNmNMTBUO9sjYj6B5yDtH-SA/s320/IMG_3403.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rhodedendrons in full bloom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQIY10iftyGvvGJPA7VzyqYiSG7I3XuUvCDpgkwJdY7L6vdwrsezQC2llKfGkbRemwepgOvPWHyumgZqvRNxTjtQpLXARbv9o8_p_M-10Em6pwT32pQiuYcRbGC2xvmftVJ1er86fXWI/s1600/IMG_3410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQIY10iftyGvvGJPA7VzyqYiSG7I3XuUvCDpgkwJdY7L6vdwrsezQC2llKfGkbRemwepgOvPWHyumgZqvRNxTjtQpLXARbv9o8_p_M-10Em6pwT32pQiuYcRbGC2xvmftVJ1er86fXWI/s320/IMG_3410.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A gorgeous view of Derwentwater</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Now we're back and heading into the madness that is end of term, with swimming galas, school balls, concerts and parental drinks gatherings dominating the calendar for the next few weeks .<br />
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Wish me luck and see you on the other side.<br />
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<br />nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290395635850697105.post-27158937899766430602015-05-15T16:43:00.002-04:002015-05-15T16:43:57.846-04:00Do Brondes have more fun?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhERtNfsNNLxoMMpo92fOU0bbNHI4M6xQ3gFG_qMxFZovckG3s-1Se8t7C2PDOFcaApUwd9BZExxpLY8kwZpouLUB-btkx63cRPX2KRdThGV0LHplXLVWryYcTFvg5SmHVbSGZ-gnUbHkI/s1600/IMG_2872.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhERtNfsNNLxoMMpo92fOU0bbNHI4M6xQ3gFG_qMxFZovckG3s-1Se8t7C2PDOFcaApUwd9BZExxpLY8kwZpouLUB-btkx63cRPX2KRdThGV0LHplXLVWryYcTFvg5SmHVbSGZ-gnUbHkI/s320/IMG_2872.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's all the rage to have streaks of mouse and blonde</td></tr>
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I've been amused to read, recently, all sorts of articles about how it's <a href="http://www.standard.co.uk/beauty/hair/blonde-or-brunette-gisele-bndchen-cara-delevingne-and-nicola-sturgeon-all-embrace-the-bronde-trend-10235479.html" target="_blank">fashionable to be Bronde</a>.<br />
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Apparently, it's all the range to have your hair not quite blonde and not quite brunette - Cara Delevingne, Jennifer Lopez and - er - Nicola Sturgeon have all "embraced the trend."<br />
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I'm so happy about this because I've been unintentionally bronde since I was about 14. Having been honey blonde as a child, my hair suddenly darkened in my teens to what, in the old days, was called "mouse" (it happens to a lot of us -- just like duckling down darkens from yellow to brown). <br />
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After some disasters with Sun-In, lemon juice and (most heinously) a home dye kit, my mother marched me to the hair salon for highlights in my mid teens and I have never looked back. However, as my hazel eyes and olive-ish complexion don't suit white-blonde, ash-blonde or "Scandi-blonde", I've always gone for a sort of honey look, mid way between blonde and brown. Depending on how often I get to the hairdresser, or how rich I'm feeling, it's sometimes darker and sometimes fairer. In the summer it tends to go a bit streaky and sun-bleached, in the winter it's duller.<br />
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But now, apparently, I can cease to worry about this middling shade, and my protruding roots, because celebrities are actually colouring their hair bronde. Apparently, it's great because it hides the grey. (As I've recently found a few of these, that's another "yay" for me). You also don't have to touch up the roots so often, so it's also austerity-chic.<br />
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In these sobering post-election days of five more years of cuts, what more could I possibly want? All I need to hear now is that ratty jeans and sneakers are right on trend - wait, hang on a minute? They are? nappy valley girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10788949037047084412noreply@blogger.com2