Good grief!!!
This is a loooong lag between posts, even for me. But the truth is, now that I have a child in a bona fide school program, not a year-round day care, August is one long, dry, kiddo-infested month.
Not that I don't love my children. Of course I do. But spending 24-7 with them is definitely a challenge, especially when you've gotten comfortable with at least a couple of 3-4 hour breaks a week. Helen our fabulous doula did pitch in here and there, but Josie and I used her shifts to run over to the Bath Spa Hotel and swim (my friend R, mother of Josie's BFF E, moved her family to York and left us the last month of her swim club membership).
Plus, I've been starting to work on a few projects, so any precious moments caught during now-dwindling naptimes were spent huddled over my laptop. Plus we went on two vacations. Plus we moved house. But where to start?
Part of the thinking, I'm thinking, behind the dry August child care spell is that everyone packs up and goes en vacances. We joined the masses, renting a cute if somewhat stinky house on England's Southwestern coast in Salcombe, Devon (very Nantuckety), for the first week of August. It was quite an action-packed week, as Salcombe is convenient to myriad neighboring towns and sights -- with enough of a variety that everyone could chose his or her own unique day trip. Jeff went first, with the somewhat mystifying but charmingly quirky choice of Babbacombe Model Village.
Help! A giant girl is attacking the hospital!!
My choice was Pennywell farm, complete with mini train, falconry demonstrations, model cars (on which Josie proved to be a menace on the road) and animal-holding sessions every half-hour, including their famous miniature pigs.
Toonces, the Driving Cat
That's Some Pig
The weather was better than anticipated, but we only got in two good beach days, which actually – since I spent most of the time in our beach hut with Hugo –was fine with everyone. Josie once again had no fear of the water –or bitter, butt-numbing cold– and once wetsuited-up, loved splashing around in the bay, making up games, and making friends.
Surfin' U.K....
My little tent-mate
Post-beach crabbing
I think our favorite trip was to Plymouth, where the "Mayflower Steps"–from which that fateful ship, along with other expeditions to New Zealand, the Virgin Islands, etc. sailed–are being renovated (so the pics aren't too spectacular). It's also home to the Plymouth Gin Distillery – we sadly missed the tour but stocked up on Navy-strength gin and other treats anyway– and loads of cute shops and galleries, not to mention a world-class aquarium! Josie saw her first sharks swimming overhead, freaky jellyfish, etc. Great town!
Where our American story all began...
Josie decides that when she grows up she wants to be "an underwater
person what (sic) swims around and looks at things."
We returned, exhausted (true to form I had insisted we stop at a castle, once owned by the Seymours of Tudor fame, on the way home), cranky and hungry, but had to quickly prep for packers to arrive at 8 a.m. the next morning, because someone had decided we should move house three days after returning from holiday!
Berry Pomeroy Castle. I don't think the Seymours
got their security deposit back.
I won't go into too much depth re: why leave Pulteney Street? From the "friendship circle" to the Pulteney Arms Pub, from the Pooh Sticks Bridge to lovely Henrietta Park and its Secret Garden, there was so much to recommend Pulteney Street. I'll never regret spending our first year in Bath there. It was a movie-set location convenient to many sights and shops. However, it was a 1.5 mile uphill trek to Josie's school, incredibly dark and damp-moldy around the edges. Not a fab venue for a growing family.
A chronic real-estate-speculator (I often spend late nights surfing real estate sites, alternating between properties on Martha's Vineyard, Nyack, and now Bath) I had happened one evening upon a darling house on Northampton Street, conveniently located between the Royal High School for Girls' current location and its future location to the far west of the city centre. On a whim, Jeff suggested I go see it. So I got a sitter, trucked up the hill, and fell in love.
New Home, Sweet Home on "Northern Hampton" as Josie calls it
Moving sucks, no question, and my husband in particular does not enjoy the accompanying upheaval and disarray. But now we are happily settled in a real four-bedroom (each of which is brighter than the next) with a separate playroom for Josie and a sunny, ground-level garden perfect for barbecues, play dates, having a cup of coffee from the Nespresso machine or a glass of wine. It's a true Georgian, which means we are spread out over 4.5 floors - which I've actually come to appreciate given zero child care means Less than Zero gym time. It has original flagstone floors, a piano, lots of funky wallpaper and a huge family bathroom that we can all be in for bathtime. Jeff has a man space/office and both kids have tremendous views of Bath. Come visit!!
We'd barely unpacked when I rushed us off to a second holiday (which I'd booked after weather forecasters predicted a cold and wet August, to ensure some swimming time) at a family water park-resort in Wales. Wales is lovely! Gone are the slag heaps from How Green Was My Valley, instead you'll find lots of golf courses, farms, and holiday centers like Bluestone. We had a "self'-catering" cottage, but had a wealth of ready food options in the fake-village, including pub, bakery, Italian restaurant, and grocery store. The water park was clean, beautifully maintained, and tres cool –with a wave pool, "lazy river" and killer slides. Josie learned to swim underwater!
Bluestone is also an outdoor family adventureland -- lots of bike trails, hikes, archery, and a high ropes course, which Jeff and I decided to try during Josie's "Unaccompanied Pirate Camp." Jeff and I each successfully completed a leg of the course, however, it was a) the wrong time to discover I have near-paralysing vertigo, and b) followed, for me and Hugo, by 40 minutes of wandering, lost and screaming for help, through unmarked off-trail hikes– and 9-10 inches of Welsh mud– looking for the village and Josie's Pirate Camp. I was able to recover from the Blair-Witch experience just enough for one last surf down the Lazy River and a rollicking Pirate Party complete with a treasure hunt and fireworks.
I think the weekend is best summed up in this short clip:
And gosh, there's lots about July/August that I haven't even covered: a lovely visit from Aunt Hilary, Hugo learning to roll over and laugh, playing "Shabbat" over and over in the new garden, training to London in the midst of alleged rioting (not in South Kensington!) to see Melissa P and family, but much of that will be covered in the photos to your left and the rest will just have to be left to the imagination. I will leave you with a moment that really encapsulates our year-plus in Britain.
Scene: Harried housewife is ordered by persnickety landlord to return to empty flat to further clean and repaint sections. On a drizzly night, she calls a taxi to fetch her, Dyson vacuum, and bucket of cleaning materials.
Taxi approaches, stops. Driver leans out.
Driver (in rather high-pitched voice): Davidson?
Beth: Yes, that's me. Sorry, can you help me with this (gestures to vacuum)
Driver: Sure (exits vehicle, and with surprising strength, chucks vacuum into trunk) Ooh, that's a bit heavy!
Beth: Oh, thank you so much. Going to Great Pulteney Street, please.
Driver: Sure, no problem! (starts car, begins driving)
Beth squints in the darkness, noticing driver's rain-misted wig, dress, and press-on fingernails. It slowly dawns on her that the driver is a lovely, incredibly helpful cross-dresser.
Beth: Oh, ^%$*#. I forgot to bring gloves and window cleaner. Sorry, can you actually drop me at Waitrose? I can buy what I need and walk the rest of the way.
Driver: (titters gaily) Um, aren't you afraid you'll look a bit odd pushing a vacuum cleaner around Waitrose?
This is the Bath we love. Irony is not lost on cross-dressing taxi drivers.
Life is a zipline, mes amis!
Surfin' U.K....
My little tent-mate
Post-beach crabbing
Where our American story all began... 
Josie decides that when she grows up she wants to be "an underwater
person what (sic) swims around and looks at things."
We returned, exhausted (true to form I had insisted we stop at a castle, once owned by the Seymours of Tudor fame, on the way home), cranky and hungry, but had to quickly prep for packers to arrive at 8 a.m. the next morning, because someone had decided we should move house three days after returning from holiday!
Berry Pomeroy Castle. I don't think the Seymours
got their security deposit back.
I won't go into too much depth re: why leave Pulteney Street? From the "friendship circle" to the Pulteney Arms Pub, from the Pooh Sticks Bridge to lovely Henrietta Park and its Secret Garden, there was so much to recommend Pulteney Street. I'll never regret spending our first year in Bath there. It was a movie-set location convenient to many sights and shops. However, it was a 1.5 mile uphill trek to Josie's school, incredibly dark and damp-moldy around the edges. Not a fab venue for a growing family.
A chronic real-estate-speculator (I often spend late nights surfing real estate sites, alternating between properties on Martha's Vineyard, Nyack, and now Bath) I had happened one evening upon a darling house on Northampton Street, conveniently located between the Royal High School for Girls' current location and its future location to the far west of the city centre. On a whim, Jeff suggested I go see it. So I got a sitter, trucked up the hill, and fell in love.
New Home, Sweet Home on "Northern Hampton" as Josie calls it
Moving sucks, no question, and my husband in particular does not enjoy the accompanying upheaval and disarray. But now we are happily settled in a real four-bedroom (each of which is brighter than the next) with a separate playroom for Josie and a sunny, ground-level garden perfect for barbecues, play dates, having a cup of coffee from the Nespresso machine or a glass of wine. It's a true Georgian, which means we are spread out over 4.5 floors - which I've actually come to appreciate given zero child care means Less than Zero gym time. It has original flagstone floors, a piano, lots of funky wallpaper and a huge family bathroom that we can all be in for bathtime. Jeff has a man space/office and both kids have tremendous views of Bath. Come visit!!
We'd barely unpacked when I rushed us off to a second holiday (which I'd booked after weather forecasters predicted a cold and wet August, to ensure some swimming time) at a family water park-resort in Wales. Wales is lovely! Gone are the slag heaps from How Green Was My Valley, instead you'll find lots of golf courses, farms, and holiday centers like Bluestone. We had a "self'-catering" cottage, but had a wealth of ready food options in the fake-village, including pub, bakery, Italian restaurant, and grocery store. The water park was clean, beautifully maintained, and tres cool –with a wave pool, "lazy river" and killer slides. Josie learned to swim underwater!
Bluestone is also an outdoor family adventureland -- lots of bike trails, hikes, archery, and a high ropes course, which Jeff and I decided to try during Josie's "Unaccompanied Pirate Camp." Jeff and I each successfully completed a leg of the course, however, it was a) the wrong time to discover I have near-paralysing vertigo, and b) followed, for me and Hugo, by 40 minutes of wandering, lost and screaming for help, through unmarked off-trail hikes– and 9-10 inches of Welsh mud– looking for the village and Josie's Pirate Camp. I was able to recover from the Blair-Witch experience just enough for one last surf down the Lazy River and a rollicking Pirate Party complete with a treasure hunt and fireworks.
I think the weekend is best summed up in this short clip:
And gosh, there's lots about July/August that I haven't even covered: a lovely visit from Aunt Hilary, Hugo learning to roll over and laugh, playing "Shabbat" over and over in the new garden, training to London in the midst of alleged rioting (not in South Kensington!) to see Melissa P and family, but much of that will be covered in the photos to your left and the rest will just have to be left to the imagination. I will leave you with a moment that really encapsulates our year-plus in Britain.
Scene: Harried housewife is ordered by persnickety landlord to return to empty flat to further clean and repaint sections. On a drizzly night, she calls a taxi to fetch her, Dyson vacuum, and bucket of cleaning materials.
Taxi approaches, stops. Driver leans out.
Driver (in rather high-pitched voice): Davidson?
Beth: Yes, that's me. Sorry, can you help me with this (gestures to vacuum)
Driver: Sure (exits vehicle, and with surprising strength, chucks vacuum into trunk) Ooh, that's a bit heavy!
Beth: Oh, thank you so much. Going to Great Pulteney Street, please.
Driver: Sure, no problem! (starts car, begins driving)
Beth squints in the darkness, noticing driver's rain-misted wig, dress, and press-on fingernails. It slowly dawns on her that the driver is a lovely, incredibly helpful cross-dresser.
Beth: Oh, ^%$*#. I forgot to bring gloves and window cleaner. Sorry, can you actually drop me at Waitrose? I can buy what I need and walk the rest of the way.
Driver: (titters gaily) Um, aren't you afraid you'll look a bit odd pushing a vacuum cleaner around Waitrose?
This is the Bath we love. Irony is not lost on cross-dressing taxi drivers.
Life is a zipline, mes amis!
1 comment:
OMG. I am your mother, but i think you may be funnier than I. I laughed and laughed. Then I cried because I missed all the fun.
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