Flames, Fins, and Feathers

We packed a whole lotta action into about 4 hours last night.

Yeah, there were flames–from an exploding transformer across the street from us (note: it was not Optimus Prime).

And there were fins–Tuck’s spunky fish, Penny, passed away in one of those long, drawn out ways that goldfish are wont to do (especially with an audience).

But the feathers part of the night…that’s what I’m talking about.

After the exploding transformer but before the fish funeral, I went outside to find this tiny creature flopping around on our driveway:

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I’m no birder, but I did recognize that this was a hummingbird. The beak kinda gave it away.

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I am ruby-throated hummingbird; hear me…chirp?

It was indeed a hummingbird, but it was struggling hummingbird. So, of course, I ran inside to get my camera. (Don’t worry; the story ends well.)

She (he? we preferred to call her a her) was having a serious wing issue. The bird kept trying her hardest to fly away but only succeeded in getting a few inches off the ground before smashing herself, beak first, back on the driveway.

She did this several times before giving up. 

I sat next to her for a bit while she frantically looked around. The driveway dive-bombing had left her more than a little stunned. 

She let me touch her. She let me scoop her up and carry her inside (where the human inhabitants freaked out). So I set her down inside a Tupperware container, and we went back into the great outdoors.

See her right wing? It’s hard to tell in this photo, but it was bent and flipped up and obviously not right because it wasn’t listening to a thing her brain tried to tell it to do. 

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She let me reach under her wing and press it back into place.

I was amazed at how easily it snapped back to the right position.

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I scooped her back up and put her back on the driveway. She stretched her wings out but still couldn’t fly.

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She hopped over to the door and gave herself a pep talk.

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And then she tried to take off, but she didn’t get very far. She flew up a few feet but landed again rather quickly–at least this time she was in control and did not do a beak-plant on the concrete.

I scooped her up again, and we all started talking to her. 

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She was calm and still. At one point, she closed her eyes like she was napping. I realize she probably thought she was hiding; they don’t call simple folks “birdbrains” for nothing, you know, but it was mighty comforting to think that for that brief moment I was the Bird Whisperer.

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After several more minutes of our encouraging heart-to-heart, she finally took off!

And went straight to Jack, where she lit on his shirt.

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She stayed on the Creeper for a couple of minutes and then flew away! (Not fluent in MineCraft? Wow. You are as rare as a Bird Whisperer.) 

Her wing was fixed. She sounded like a miniature helicopter when she took off.

It was one of the coolest things we’ve ever experienced. How many people have ever helped a hummingbird? We don’t even have a hummingbird feeder in our yard. Yet.

All that might be changing pretty soon though.

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Jack says he’s going to hang this picture in his veterinarian office when he grows up.

This makes me smile.

We only have one word for our little ruby-throated friend:

[wait for it…]

Freebird!!!

Arachnophobia

I freaking hate spiders. Hate them. Hate them with the amount of vitriol usually reserved for Satan and stomach viruses. 

While I was never that preschooler who would willingly pick up a Grandaddy-Long-Legs and let it prowl all over my arm, I would let them be…as long as that being was far, far away from me. But all that changed when some random, hideous water-spider bit me at the swimming pool, and we had to use scissors to slice the sleeve off my shirt because my mutilated limb had swollen so much that my blood supply was about to be cut off. I could have died. Maybe.

From that moment on, I declared the entire species of arachnids my mortal enemy. Anything 8-legged freaks me out.

Picture if you will, then, my reaction to Theo pointing out the “GIANT mommy-spider” building her death trap across one of our keeping room’s windows. I told Theo I’d have to take a pass on seeing that one. And by the way, precious son, how do you know it’s a mommy-spider?

“Because I can see ALL of her babies!” Theo had his adorable little face pressed up to the window.

Dear God. 

He wasn’t joking. Our window had become the Northside Hospital for spiders. Mama-Spider was all sliding up and down, spitting out her gnarly web-stuff around her 10 billion babies who were still waterfalling out of the egg sac dangling from the window. No one should ever need to write the words “egg sac.” My skin is crawling just thinking about it. 

One night when Jack was a baby, and Russ was rocking him to sleep, I’d stepped out onto our back porch to let a dog out. In one smooth motion, I opened the door, flipped on the light switch, walked outside, and came face to face with the biggest spider I’d ever seen, Discovery Channel viewings included.

Cue Little Miss Muffet on steroids. I howled and flew back inside, flailing around like I was having a seizure. By the time Russ got to me, I was curled up in the fetal position on the couch and had goose bumps the size of golf balls.

“What. The. Hell?”

“Dude, biggest spider ever. You…must…KILLIT.” My shrieking slowly dropped several octaves as the switch was flipped, and I went into psycho-spider-killer mode.

Russ came back with a shoe.

“Aw, hell-l-l-l, no. You’re going to need something better than that. Like a flame throwing apparatus.”

“A flame throwing apparatus? Like Raid?” Russ was seriously rethinking this for-better-or-for-worse thing.

“Like Raid and a lighter. Need to torch that mother.”

Let the record state that this conversation took place before Russ actually laid eyes on the octopus sized banana spider on our deck. 

“Oh, come on. It’s just a spider,” Russ said as he held a Nike in one hand and pushed open the door.

“Go ahead, Superman,” I called out, realizing those might be the last words I ever spoke to him.

Never seen a banana spider before? Allow me to remedy that:

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Thank you, GroovyNoms, for adding fodder to my nightmares.

“Aaaghhhhh!” he yelped and ran back inside, doing his own wiggly dance in the process.

“Like I said: flame throwing apparatus.” I crossed my arms over my chest, confident in my diagnosis, then ducked back under the blanket.

In the end, Russ stood at the door and doused the octo-spider with a double shot of Raid hornet killer and Hot Shot flying insect killer. Of course, since the octo-spider was neither a hornet nor a flying insect, all that he really accomplished was seriously hacking off the spider. You could see it glaring its 10,000 beady eyes at us as it leisurely hauled its fat, drenched self back up its web and into the dark. I’m betting a flame thrower would have taken care of the problem more efficiently.

I didn’t go on our back deck again for weeks.

Since we still technically have a month or so of summer left, I didn’t want this current 8-legged squatter (and her mess of babies) to think she could adversely possess our entire backyard. And although I’m a big fan of taking a mallet to an ant, because the wench was in the window, my trusty flame throwing device might risk burning down our house–which would not be cool. So Raid it was.

Then I started thinking about how so many people are all warm and fuzzy and say spiders eat all the baddies out there. Spiders are our friends. Don’t mess with them, and they won’t mess with you. They are one of God’s creatures, too.

To that point, I submit Exhibit A: hussy-spider-mama going all rabid-vampire on an innocent little moth. The moth is one of God’s creatures, too, you know.

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I especially like the water gun which appears to be aiming right at the target.

I certainly hope she enjoyed her last meal.

Dog Paddling

This is the story of a little dog who learned to be brave.

On April 30th, Kirby was hit by a car. She broke her pelvis in 5 places. Luckily, she was still quite young, and our amazing vets expected her to make a solid recovery. 

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Amazingly, she walked hobbled out of the hospital 3 days later. She was sore and slow-moving, but she’d survived. 

Two months later, she was able to run again. And it made her happy.

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But she wouldn’t swim. It’s in her blood to be a water-dog, but Kirby would only splash around at the edge of the ocean. We could tell she loved the water–she’d bark and whine and jump around, but she was just too scared to get in. She would run around the sides of the pool, whimpering and begging to be splashed. We put her in the pool, and found out she could swim, but it freaked her out. 

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Even though she has webbed paws and is built to retrieve ducks from cold, deep ponds, she still wasn’t convinced that the water was for her. She had a bad case of the chickens. 

I’d even say it was an epic case of the chickens.

So she and I had a heart-to-heart.

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And Russ got in the pool with her…a little paw-holding, if you will.

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Then she gathered up her courage and went for it.

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(Well, to be honest, the gathering part still took awhile.)

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It was scary and required lots of courage (and focus) on her part, but she did it. She conquered her fear.

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Now she rules the pool. 

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She could do this all day long. She swims over to the steps, drops the ball, turns around, and waits for someone to throw it again.

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And then she’s off…leaping from the steps like a moderately-graceful gazelle.

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Every once in awhile, she’ll stop to catch her breath.

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But then she can’t stand it, and before you can turn around (or walk in the house), she’s right back on the steps, waiting for the ball to be thrown.

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She is a water-dog now. 

She did something she didn’t think she could do.

She is so incredibly proud of herself (and we are, too).

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And now she is very, very happy.

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a huge shout-out to the sweetest poet in the land–our friend Jennifer W., a hero to so many 4-legged folks, a mighty fine artist, and one nifty friend. 

Kirbo gives you a paws-up and a tail-wag for the fabulous pink tennis balls

She’s batting her eyelashes at you, too.

P.S. Monster Metaphor Alert: Jack and Tucker are at their first sleep-away camp this week. There’s a little more to this entry than just a brave pup going head-to-head against a fear and winning…

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(catch and release, of course 🙂 )

6

Our sweet Theo is 6 today.

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This little fellow–who for the longest time thought his name was “Baby”, who mastered riding a 2-wheeled bike before he was 4, who still has the thickest mop of hair ever–has reached the world of needing 2 hands to show his age.

In honor of his big day, I’ve pulled together some of the most adorable photos of him…

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he was born with a ton of hair and has kept it ever since

photo credit: AGR Photography

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photo credit: AGR Photography

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photo credit: AGR Photography

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his first trip to Amelia Island, 2 months old

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At age 2, Theo had a serious monkey addiction. Here he models his monkey Halloween costume–in late August

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more monkeys…this was supposed to be a Halloween treat bag, but Theo repurposed it into a man-purse which he took with him everywhere we went. 

And I do mean everywhere.

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on his very first birthday

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one of the greatest t-shirts ever…

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One night Theo wanted to try on one of my headbands. 

Looking at him with it on felt like looking in a mirror.

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another one of the greatest t-shirts ever…from Ubuntu in Napa

The past 2,190 days have been nothing short of phenomenal. 

Happy 6th birthday, Theodorable. Thank you for being you–talkative, giggly, sweet, kind-hearted, happy, domino-obsessed, Little-Dog loving, dot-dot carrying, spaghetti eating, wave riding, brilliant, wonderful you.

Blazing through…

Oh no! Summer’s halfway over, and it’s been two months since I’ve posted anything.

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photo credit: Michelle L. Morris 

A quick photo recap for those who might care (looking at you, family…):

We started out strong.

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Theo flying through the air at Ford’s Plantation, Memorial Day.

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Despite turning 1, this wild puppy-beast is still wearing us down. Destroyed items now include dominoes, shoes, Legos (how on earth does one destroy a Lego?), stuffed animals, sofa pillows, socks (ingested and then regurgitated), the corner of the cabinet in the laundry room, and too many shirts to count. (Nonetheless, I still think she hung the moon.)

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We front-loaded all of our beach time this summer; now, we are missing the sand and the waves in a big way.

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Kirbo still cannot get enough of the beach. 

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Tuck rocked it out during a week of surf camp–one of the coolest things he’s ever done (and if you know Tucker, you know this is really saying something; the dude oozes coolness.). 

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I’d love to be taking this picture right now.

Tucker’s Half-Birthday/The 4th of July is one of our favorite holidays. We had some friends come join us to celebrate. It was one long, hot, fun day. Kirby rode in her first parade:

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After a day spent riding the huge waves (thank you, Hurricane Arthur), playing bocce, swimming, and tossing the football, the boys horsed around on the beach while we waited for the fireworks.

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The parents had a good time waiting, too. 

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Officially 8 and 1/2. Where is the time going?

We had some incredible photos taken of the boys over Memorial Day.

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photo credit: Michelle L. Morris

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photo credit:  Michelle L. Morris

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photo credit: Michelle L. Morris

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photo credit: Michelle L. Morris

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photo credit: Michelle L. Morris

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photo credit: Michelle L. Morris

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photo credit: Michelle L. Morris

And our post-beach summer has been filled with the usual suspects: swimming, movies, fireflies…

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Hard to believe there are only 22 days left until school starts. It’s even harder to believe that today is the first day I’ve checked the calendar for that total. Summertime with 3 boys is getting easier; that’s for sure.

(Thank goodness.)

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Boy and Boykin. One of my favorite shots I’ve taken this summer.

Here’s to making the most of these next 22 days…

a decade…

An article was floating around the internet last week about how it hurts to grow up.

I totally get that.

Birthdays hurt. I know they shouldn’t, but to me, they do. I’m not a fan of growing old. I’m scared of growing old–a fear I know is irrational and weird and sentimental all rolled into one big, messy emotion–but I have never been able to shake it.

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Ten years ago today, Jack entered our lives. 

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Jack sleeping on Popster the morning after he came home from the hospital.

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Jack meeting Mama B.

Mama B. meeting Jack.

I can still hear her voice sweetly saying to him, “well, hello there!”.

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Jack’s Baptism Day

He wore the same gown I wore at my baptism.

The day I found out we were expecting Jack, Russ brought home a tiny teddy bear. He became Measuring Bear–the static item we took a photo of Jack with on the 19th of each month. Measuring Bear sits on a shelf in Jack’s room now, wedged between game balls and stacks of books.

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Jack and Measuring Bear

January, 2005

Before Dog, there was Car Bunny.

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Hilton Head, June 2005.

Jack’s dinner this night consisted of a bowl of salsa which he ate all by himself with spoon.

Then Jack’s allegiance fell to Dog. And he’s not looked back since.

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I bet he and I have read a million pages together. (I can still recite Moo, Baa, La La La by heart.) 

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We rocked his little world when we brought home a new brother. 

Twice.

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But this trio is now inseparable.

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We’ve been through the pirate phase, the train phase, and the Franklin phase. We’ve been through Gymboree, swimming lessons, and NYO. We started with fingerpaint; now he’s a master at Minecraft. He once communicated via sign language and now talking to him is like talking to an adult (most of the time). It’s breathtaking how much he has grown and changed since the day I first held him.

But he started off wonderful and still is wonderful. More than wonderful, actually.

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paging Dr. Jack

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on his very first baseball team

The nineteenth of May sends me into a whirlwind each year.

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One.

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Two.

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Three.

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Four.

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Five.

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Six.

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Seven.

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Eight.

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Nine.

And now…

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Ten.

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Wow.

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Just wow.

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That went by way too fast.

But every single day of it has been absolutely wonderful.

Here’s to the next decade, Jackers. 

Happy, happy birthday to you, my son.

spring break…or, London with youngsters, Part IV (final installment, I promise!)

[A photo-heavy, pseudo-travel-guide in several parts, written mostly for family and fellow Anglophiles…in case you were wondering.]

We spent our last day in London not actually in London. Instead, we boated down the River Thames to Greenwich, which was an excellent decision–other than having to endure boat people.

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(What’s a “boat person,” you ask? Boat people are the folks who sat basically on top of me even though we were the only 2 families on the top deck of the boat on the way down to Greenwich. This large woman felt the need to sit on the back of the bench we were on, leaning on me and pushing me forward with her big puffy coat. At first I thought it was a joke. Nope. Classic Euro-disregard for personal space. I promise you her family of 4 and my family of 5 were the only people on the deck. That’s 9 humans crammed into about a 4-foot square space.)

(Yes, I finally stood up and moved.)

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Nonetheless, it was neat seeing places we’d walked past earlier in the week from a different vantage point.

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The Globe Theatre

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The Mayflower–commemorates the actual launching place of the actual Mayflower

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Greenwich was wonderful. It’s on the River, obviously, and many of its attractions were maritime themed.

First stop:  The Cutty Sark (any old students reading? “Weel done, Cutty Sark!”). This ship has been restored and was a no-brainer to visit, especially since we were on a mission to see every boat we possibly could.

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View from a porthole in the Cutty Sark’s belly. Ugh.

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View from a porthole–looking back towards London.

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The Cutty Sark had all kinds of cool interactive things. Jack and Tucker loved it.

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We had lunch at a nifty little Italian place on the water and then walked over to the National Maritime Museum.

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You have no idea how much this thing weighed…

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…but all 3 boys (plus Russ) had to put it on.

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The National Maritime Museum had tons of hands-on exhibits, too.

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This might be the best photo of the trip. Jack, Theo and I were reading about polar exhibitions when I looked up and realized Tucker wasn’t with us. He was across the museum by himself doing this:

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…fully dressed in costume (a ladies’ costume, at that) and pretending to joust (inspired by the knight’s helmet he wore earlier). Hilarious.

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We passed through the Maritime Museum and headed up to the Royal Observatory.

Wow. Just wow. The park leading up to the observatory was unbelievable.

You know that point in your trip where you get nostalgic even though you are still on vacation? That hit us here. The weather was incredible; the scenery was spectacular; it was just perfect.

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The nerd in me was so excited about this:

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I’ve now stood on the prime meridian AND the equator.

Yep.

Total coolness.

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East meets West.

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I told you the park was magnificent.

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Tucker gets in a random headstand.

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Our boat ride back to London again gave us some awesome views.

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We went by this big church, but just missed being able to go in. (Sigh. We’ll move you to the top of the list next time, Westminster Abbey.)

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For our last dinner in London we invited Uncle Beardy to join us. The boys were thrilled to see him again; we took him to…wait for it…Balthazar. Thursday night’s meal was just as great as Wednesday’s lunch.

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Tucker and Jack are completely addicted to Dr. Who, and they loved getting in these (completely useless) phone booths and pretending to be teleported somewhere. Here, Theo uses Tucker’s iTouch to record the moment.

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a very tired Theo in a black cab

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Tuck’s version of levitating Yoda

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The next morning, we left the Park Lane Hotel and headed to the airport, courtesy of the most verbose cab driver on the planet. He told these long, rambling stories that included questions like, “have you ever heard of the band Fleetwood Mac?” and “guess how much [insert British celebrity here] makes?” We all had the giggles by the time he deposited us back at Heathrow.

The best way to spend 9 hours on a plane? Right here.

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And I also figured out one small yet critical element to maintaining my sanity while flying: the window seat. Normally Jack claims it and then proceeds to close the shade before we even take off, a move that obviously exacerbates claustrophobia for those of us not excited about flying. I convinced him that he was wasting a perfectly good seat by doing that and so I needed to sit there instead.

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It worked.

(Though I must admit I was tickled pink when we were finally back over land. Photo below is the eastern-most edge of Greenland.)

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So there you have it, faithful readers:  London with Kids. Not only is it doable, it’s highly recommended. We had the absolute best time ever; the boys talk about London on a daily basis. When asked what city he’d like to visit next, Jack’s instant reply is, “London, again.”

London, again, indeed. (Thanks for enduring the photo frenzy…)

Spring Break…or, London with Youngsters, Part III

[A photo-heavy, pseudo-travel-guide in several parts, written mostly for family and fellow Anglophiles…in case you were wondering.]

Anyone other than family members still reading this? (Yeah, that’s what I thought. Just checking.)

Tuesday morning found us heading out to Leavesden to visit Harry Potter World. The brilliant folk at Warner Brothers decided to turn their multi-million dollar sets from the Harry Potter movies into a tourist site.

My boys love Harry Potter, and we’d received several glowing reviews of Harry Potter World from friends who’d visited before. You can add us to the list of impressed people.

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After a very brief movie showcasing the actors talking about how this place was their home for so many years, the screen rolls up and the doors open and BAM! You’re inside the Great Hall of Hogwarts. To say it’s impressive is an understatement.

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Several different sets are here in their entirety: the Gryffindor Common Room, the Weasley’s house, Dumbledore’s office, Diagon Alley, the Potions Lab…along with the great purple Knight Bus and the Weasley’s car. It was fantastic. (Quick flashback story: I think movie sets are pretty doggone awesome. I once waited in line for several hours at the Smithsonian just to see the sets from M*A*S*H. I was going into 8th grade. Clearly, that was just a foreshadowing of my coolness, huh?)

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Butter beer. Just gross.

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Diagon Alley was spectacular.

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Perhaps the coolest part of the entire tour was the green room experience. We rode in the Weasley’s car, and the boys were able to try flying on a broomstick.

Here’s Tucker flying a broomstick, followed by Jack’s flying skills. Skip to the 2 minute mark to get to the real action. (I’m having a hard time getting Theo’s video to upload–but trust me; he loved every second of it, too.)

See? Amazing, right?

The cherry on the top of the Harry Potter experience was the double decker bus ride back to the train station where Theo landed the bombdiggity of all bus seats: shotgun on the upper level.

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We arrived back in London and headed over to Trafalgar Square for the obligatory lion shots.

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The lions sit across from The National Gallery, and we had a few minutes until it closed, so we headed in. We never anticipated how much Tucker would love it. We had to drag him out, even as the guards were telling us they were closing and we needed to leave immediately. We were even able to sneak a peek into the room where Van Gogh’s Sunflowers were. The experience made for a happy mom and happy boys (though the cast of weirdos outside the National Gallery was equally as impressive to the boys: a levitating Yoda? Hard to beat.).

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After yet another completely ordinary meal, we were sidetracked into just about the craziest place I’ve ever seen. M&M World.

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It was 4 full levels of (absolutely free) mayhem.

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We roamed around this chaotic mini-amusement park for awhile and walked out with 3 pairs of M&M socks and a mini-football. Random.

Wednesday morning came, and we realized we only had 2 days left. Time to play high-speed tourist.

We walked out of our hotel and across Green Park to Buckingham Palace (sorry for the sideways video).

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Well, some of us walked; others of us skipped, hopped, and ran.

We saw the Palace, looked at the guards and then hailed a cab because we didn’t want to wait another hour until the guards were changing. Guess we’ll see that next time.

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Next stop: The Tower of London.

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Our Beefeater Tour Guide was the best we’ve ever seen–but he made taking his photograph expressly forbidden. Seeing as he was wielding a sword, I didn’t push the envelope.

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After so many completely ordinary meals, we decided to step it up a bit. More than a bit, actually. 

We left the Tower of London and headed over to Covent Garden and wandered right up to Russ’s favorite restaurant:  Balthazar. Now most people would never dream of taking 3 small boys to such a place, but we gave it a go. 

It was a raging success.

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This meal was incredible. The weather was awesome, we were over our jet-lag, the food was unbelievable, we were on our way to see a play–we were the happiest little group of 5 people you’ve ever seen.

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Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at Drury Lane did not disappoint. Even though the Gene Wilder film version is one of our favorite movies, Theo had never seen it. Remember seeing Willy Wonka’s wonderland for the first time? It was magical seeing Theo’s reaction.

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Covent Garden is so photogenic.

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After the show, we somehow ended up riding in a rickshaw. Um, yeah. Poor guy. 

We hit one more major tourist spot before eating dinner at a Japanese noodle house (which was also incredible; Wednesday was a slam-dunk of a day as far as meals went.).

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And finally back to the hotel for this…again. (The novelty never wore off.)

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Did I really think I could wrap this whole thing up in today’s post? We have only one day left in London, though, so I promise the next installment–in which we venture out of London yet again–is the last one and you won’t have to hear about London again for awhile.

spring break…or, London with youngsters, part II

[A photo-heavy, pseudo-travel-guide in several parts, written mostly for family and fellow Anglophiles…in case you were wondering.]

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We’re back!! (This struck fear in the hearts of the other guests of the Park Lane Hotel for the entire week, by the way.)

My boys lovelovelove science museums. Big…small…doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t matter if we’ve seen the same exact exhibit 420 times (talking to you, Fernbank and your super-cool Nature Quest). They will jump at the chance to get a science fix any day of the week.

Monday found us at the Science Museum of London. Holy Toledo; it was a million floors of awesomeness. All other science museums will pale in comparison from now on.

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I’ll let the photos speak for themselves…

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We kept seeing Tucker’s name everywhere, so of course, he had to have his picture taken next to them because that’s what you do when you travel 4,218 miles to another country:  you search for your occurrences of your own name. (And there’s a whole lotta orange in this shot. Goodness.)

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After the Science Museum (which we didn’t really want to leave), it was time for some more pasta.

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Jack is a huge Grumpy Cat fan. Grumpy Cat is, well, grumpy, and this is one of his favorite sayings. Now you know.

Another Tucker name sighting. Malcolm Tucker could be a porn star or a serial killer. We have no idea, but we do have a photo of our sweet 8 year old standing next to him.

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Afterwards, we milled around South Kensington a bit before opting to head back to the hotel for a much needed rest; day 3 of jet-lag was the worst. We regrouped and then, armed with iTouches galore, hit the British Museum later that afternoon.

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The British Museum is beyond overwhelming, so we cheated. Russ grabbed the “Must See” list, and we zipped through, knocking items off the list one by one at the speed of exhausted sight-seers.

Obligatory Rosetta Stone picture coming right up.

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This is truly disturbing. I have no idea why we did not buy this mask. It was well worth $5. We needed it, big time.

After a speed tour of the British Museum, we knew firsthand why the Brits take afternoon tea. We one-upped them, though. Afternoon wine.

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exhausted boy

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Exhausted boy enjoying a bottle of ginger ale; parental libations are also shown.

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Voila! Magically unexhausted boys ready for more action!

We roamed back over towards Piccadilly and were sucked in to a Michael Jackson street performer show. Yeah…not sure how that happened.

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insanely awesome architecture here–made even more glorious at night

After another ordinary dinner, we headed back to the hotel for more of this.

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In fact, this was the night someone came out of his room, glared at the boys with a most impressive stink eye, and then slammed his door–a nice passive-aggressive British touch, I think. (Please let the record state that I had just gotten off the elevator, and I was w-a-a-a-a-y down the hallway with a serious zoom lens, not just standing there as an active spectator cheering on WrestleMania4 Live From London. I promise.)

Three days down, three to go. Halfway through our best vacation ever.

You tired yet? (Us, too.)

spring break…or, London with youngsters, part I

[A photo-heavy, pseudo-travel-guide in several parts, written mostly for family and fellow Anglophiles…in case you were wondering.]

This post is a bit delayed. Forgive me; jet lag ain’t fun.

We took the boys across the pond for Spring Break this year; now that we’ve definitely survived, I have to say it was the best adventure yet.

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Our flight left Atlanta at 10:30pm on a Friday night, so you realize we were setting ourselves up to deal with painfully exhausted boys from the very moment we left the house. I have several friends who’ve all gone to London with their own kiddos, and all of them gave the same advice:  once you land, hit the ground running. So that was our original plan–though in truth, we were going to play it by ear.

Uncle David met us at the airport and helped keep boys on the correct side of the road as we navigated the way from Heathrow to our hotel.

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Ha. Thank you Park Lane Hotel for not having our room ready. We had no choice but to hit the ground running. We dumped our luggage and headed out to find some lunch. The concierge sent us around the corner from the hotel to Shepherd Market where we were reminded of Europe’s number 1 rule for eating out:  if the restaurant isn’t crowded, the food isn’t good.

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tired child #1

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tired child #2

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miraculously untired child, ready to take London by storm

We walked in circles for about twenty minutes before deciding on a small Italianesque cafe with outdoor seating. This reminded us of Europe’s number 2 rule for dining out:  pasta will always work.

Russ ordered wine. I look at him with my glassed over, sleep deprived eyes and reminded him that it was technically 7 in the morning. “Back in Atlanta,” he replied. Ok, then. When in Rome and all that. Pass me a glass.

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Where do you go on your first sightseeing adventure in London with small children who’ve slept maybe 4 hours? Somewhere lively, exciting, and kid-friendly, right? Somewhere where they could be loud and run around and–oh, yes–get some sunshine.

You were thinking the underground catacombs and bunkers of the WWII command center for Winston Churchill, weren’t you?

We were, too.

Off we went to the Churchill War Rooms.

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Look at the combination of clothing on this boy. If that doesn’t scream “jet lag,” I don’t know what does…

The War Rooms were actually amazing…for everyone. And some patterns were beginning to be established:  Jack wanted to soak it all in. If there was an audio tour, he would listen. If there were placards, he would read them. Jack was sure to get the most bang for the buck at every single place we visited.

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Seeing the Cabinet War Rooms was incredible. We are so very fortunate that none of our boys has endured any type of war like the World Wars; the whole concept of bombs falling on the very city where we were staying blew their minds.

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We left the War Rooms and stumbled around outside for a few minutes before realizing there was no way on Earth we could walk all the way back to our hotel. Time for public transportation.

Flashback:  once upon a time, Theo was absolutely obsessed with buses.

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This infatuation was rekindled the very second he saw his first double-decker bus. Theo would shout it out to everyone…anyone…”DOUBLE DECKER BUS!!” He used his iTouch to take hundreds of pictures of double decker buses. If he’d had it his way, we’d have just ridden around London on a bus for a week. We decided to go ahead and nip this one in the bud, so we hopped a bus and rode it back to our hotel.

Theo didn’t want to get off.

We got back to our hotel–which had a giant revolving door at the front that beckoned to Tucker every time we came near it. He couldn’t stand it. He’d get in there and run until we started screaming or get in it and go around and around and around until the hotel doorman came up or get it in and stop it mid-way around until other hotel guests started beating on it. This happened every single time we left or returned to the hotel. It was maddening.

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Tucker’s excuse? “I just can’t stand it. It’s too awesome.”

Anyway, when we finally got off the double decker bus and through the revolving door (between buses and doors, 2/3 of our boys were convinced London was the best place on Earth) and back to the front desk of the hotel around 5pm, we were beyond exhausted. We were punch-drunk and silly and couldn’t see straight, and our room still wasn’t ready. Russ discussed options with the clerk while the boys and I all lay on the floor. Of the lobby. While a Sikh wedding processed by us. Low point for the Americans, for sure.

We finally got up to our room and still needed a cot for Theo. I called down for it and then promptly passed out cold on top of the bed. Russ dealt with our own revolving door of visitors: housekeeping showing up with a crib (because, you know, that’s what the British call a “cot.” Rookie mistake; chalk it up to lack of sleep), returning with the American cot, returning again to put sheets on the cot and then coming yet again for some unknown reason. People were in and out of our room for nearly an hour, and I did not move an inch. It was the best power-nap I’ve ever taken.

No one else slept, though, due to all the in-and-out going on. We walked down the road to dinner (we sold out and went to the Hard Rock Cafe (don’t shudder) because A) it was close, and B) we knew the boys would eat). Jack fell asleep in his chair at the table and then fell right out of it onto the floor.

Literally.

We were done for Day 1.

Sunday arrived and we all felt pretty good which was a good thing since someone had over scheduled our day.

Rookie mistake #2:  somehow I calculated the time change backwards when booking all of our tickets. Total idiot. So Sunday morning we had tickets for the London Eye at 11am–which is a completely reasonable time of day in the real world, but when you are barely 24 hours into the jet-lagged world, it still feels very much like the 6am you are used to.

But the London Eye was totally worth it.

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Purchasing tickets ahead of time was a must-do. We zipped right up to the Eye-equivalent of the Disney FastPass while the rest of the line snaked around underneath us forever.

It goes without saying that the views were incredible.

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Did I say that the boys used their iTouches as cameras the entire time? I loved watching them take pictures–even if most of them were of things like pigeons and buskers and double-decker buses. Every now and then, I’d look over and catch them capturing something terrific.

(I’m sure the good folk of London were convinced our boys were complete video game addicts, but that would be an utterly incorrect assumption. At least in London…check with us back home and you are likely to find them all knee-deep in Mindcraft or Terraria (what on earth is that?), but in London…nope. They were all budding Ansel Adamses.)

After the Eye, we were met by my sweet Uncle David (or “Uncle Beardy,” as the boys call him). He’s lived in London for well over 20 years and raised 2 boys there, so he was a solid resource. We laughed later because our Sunday afternoon had a definite nautical theme, but it was terrific.

We left the Eye and walked along the Thames for awhile. After an ordinary lunch (Uncle Beardy’s words; remember the first rule of dining in Europe? Yeah, we forgot about it, too…), we stopped at the Golden Hinde, a replica of Sir Francis Drake’s 16th century sailing vessel.

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Tucker at his completely ordinary meal at Doggett’s Coat & Badge (although the tomato soup wasn’t half bad…)

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on board The Golden Hinde

There’s a reason all those sailors were crazy; I cannot imagine sailing across a sea in this cramped and tiny ship. No way. I could barely stand upright in the belly of the ship, and I’m only 5’3″. In a day long before the invention of Dramamine, I can’t even fathom how sick its crew was.

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Of course Uncle Beardy had brought the boys to the right place. They thought the boat was a miniature model. Oh, no, cowboys. This puppy was built to scale. It’s one heck of an awesome floating museum. The boys ran, climbed, explored and accidentally sat in on a scheduled youth presentation.

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We left one boat and headed to the next (told you it was a nautical themed day).

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Next stop: the HMS Belfast.

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Wow. Just wow.

This was amazing. I just wish we had gotten to it earlier in the day. I think Jack and I could have spent hours here, but the rest of the family was withering a bit.

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Jack and his audio tour.

The Belfast has 9 huge levels, each packed with information on the day-to-day life of a navy sailor as well as other exhibitions detailing WWII and D-Day. Intense. You want to talk about some brave people? These folks had courage in spades. I loved how Jack was full of questions about it all, and how we were able to talk about Papa B. (my grandfather) and his breathtakingly heroic actions in Normandy. (The lessons didn’t stop at the Belfast; Jack was able to see Papa B’s Silver Star and citation back at Uncle Beardy’s house. There just are no words for this. Incredible.)

After all that heavy history, Tucker was begging to see something a little less intense. You know, something like a prison or torture chamber (his words). So while Uncle David refueled at Starbucks, the rest of us visited The Clink, a prison museum dating back to the 1100’s.

Touristy? Yes.
Fun? Well, actually, yes.

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For a kid who loves Halloween, this place knocked his socks off (or, at least his shoes…).

We were all truly exhausted by this point, so we began to make our way to the train station to head out to Uncle Beardy’s house for dinner.

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David lives right on a huge, gorgeous park. We had tea and then supper with him, our Aunt Debbie (whose birthday it was), and our super-fab cousin Will who was a life-saver and took the boys out in the backyard to play ping-pong and upstairs to see his brother Nick’s drum set (both of which quickly catapulted Will to hero level in Tuck’s book).

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Sadly, this is the only shot I have of Debbie…and it’s only of her back. The photographer was worn out by this point. But check out that amazing park!

We cabbed it back to the hotel, endured the revolving door drama, cleaned up and crashed out. The boys we tucked in that night were some of the happiest we’ve seen. And our adventure had just begun; Part II includes a triple-decker bus (!!), a matinee on Drury Lane, a fancy French restaurant (twice), and more museums than you can shake a stick at…hopefully to be posted soon.