Although unplanned, perhaps it was very appropriate that we visited the Imperial War Museum today, on Halloween.

The place was like a giant "Trick or Treat" for me in that explaining war to the three-year-olds was a more difficult task than I imagined (e.g. the "trick"); yet the museum, itself, beautifully designed and laid out, celebrates the grand scale of all things war, from tanks to paintings---John Singer Sargent's "Gassed" is incredible, as well as the technology war developed (e.g. the "treat").

And, as our friend Jarek pointed out, "Why are there not museums about peace instead of war?" Again, sort of a loaded question that hits directly on the "trick or treat" theme. Some might argue that the war museum does promote peace because it's how peace came to be. Others certainly don't see it that way. But enough waxing philosophical.

I found the place exhilarating, mostly because I thought a lot about my dad (who loves studying WWII and who I wished I had standing beside me as my guide to explain things to me and to see his grandsons' reactions) and because Kellen and Grant were amazed at all the giant guns (they're kind of into pirates right now, so the cannons were a big hit). I know that Grandpa Ed would have loved this place, too.

We wouldn't have put the museum on our radar except that we accompanied our friends on their last day's visit around England. They came from the Czech Republic and were able to take their family around some of the downtown sites this week, with the Imperial Museum on their list.

How they mustered the energy to tour the city even though their accommodations included three full-nights' soundtrack of "Screaming Baby," produced by Lennox C. Marcucci, who was frightfully sick this week and even got the chance to see his first British doctor and register with the National Health Service. Sigh.

(Did I mention utter lack of sleep this week?)

Thus, that I actually forgot that today was Halloween until we all walked home from the Tube station and saw costumed children running about with their parents, and that it was the first time in my life having ever forgotten, I attribute it all to a need for R.E.M.

And that's just good ol' fashioned Halloween scary---kind of like the Meat and Kidney (not bean) pie I ordered at the Museum cafe! ---SM

Our delightful two-hour drive to Stratford upon Avon ended in the quaint and picturesque place its namesake sounds like. If you haven't been there, think about the name, "Stratford upon Avon," and then picture a small, bustling town. It fits. Streets are lined with Tudor-style 15th century buildings that slant because they're so old but somehow make the place all the more charming. People are friendlier and smile more than in London, and it's equally filled with tourists. Statues dedicated to Shakespeare quote lines from his plays and decorate streets, and monuments and fountains placed by the Queen herself also bear reference to him. He'd hardly recognize the place, I'm sure.

We visited Shakespeare's house of birth, his daughter's home (Hall's Croft), and his granddaughter's home (Nash's House & New Place), the garden area was where Shakespeare died. We missed seeing two other houses, but we couldn't have packed it in, anyway. Three was about tops for the kids.

The introduction to the whole thing is really well done. In three rooms, the writer's life comes alive via film, stage sets, lighting, wax figures, and artifacts from the time he lived in Stratford.

Upon leaving the birth house, we were entertained by a museum docent who doubled as a Shakespearean actor. In costume, he acted out several lines from a play of which I wish I could remember the name. What I do remember was we all laughed---especially Grant, who loved the faces and intonation made by the actor. Grant is an actor, so it's no wonder.

Just around the corner from Nash's House, we visited Shakespeare's burial place---Holy Trinity Church, where the poet's remains, along with those of his immediate family, are interred. While there isn't much to see, it seemed somehow important to make the stop. Also there in a glass box, is a Bible circa the time Shakespeare would have attended church in the building.

And...even though our stroller wheel broke off an hour into our visit, we did bring a back-up single stroller, so all was not lost. Another plus was that Mom Jodi found fresh shortbread baked fresh from the local bakery (not to be found in Richmond). And the boys got to run through parks and gardens and collect sticks and chase and hide, just as they love to do. ---SM

Picture a leisurely morning as three women and three toddlers decide to make a break for the beach. (Did I say leisurely? The drive to Sandbanks in Poole, Dorset, was two and a half hours, but we got to see some beautiful countryside and ate lunch in the car---without worrying about crunching into sand!)

In England. At the end of October.

No, we don't let silly things like weather stop us.
(Yes, it did rain. But after we enjoyed the beach for a while.)

No, we don't let casted arms stop us.
(Didn't really think about it, truthfully, 'til we got to the beach and realized sand doesn't do well inside a cast. Dodo suggested a plastic bag, and Gram had one in her purse. Kellen put it on and looked like a pirate with a plastic hook, but he didn't complain at all. He played in the sand and searched for shells with his good hand.)

No, we don't need to wear bathing suits on the beach.
(It's all sweaters and scarves, thank you.)

Truthfully, we all had a blast. The sandy beach was a little bit of eye-candy at first glance; not at all like our visit to Brighton a few months ago, where rocky beaches prevail. This may have been some of the softest sand, in fact, I've felt at a beach to date.

Thanks to the grandmas for making it a day to remember. ---SM

American football really does exist in Europe, but not like Americans might think it does.

90,000 fans packed into Wembley Stadium but fans of what, I wasn't totally sure. The Buccaneers played the Patriots, but what struck me funny were all that people that wore whatever football gear they owned. I saw Dolphins and Bears jerseys, and even game-day souvenir shirts that had the Buccaneers on one side and the Patriots on the other, as if the wearer was voting for both teams. Our friend Tracy said it's more of a "celebration of football" than a real team fan-base.

Additionally, the jumbo tron explained the rules of American football, in case one wasn't all that familiar. And the home-team was designated Buccaneers, so under each seat was a flag with the team's logo. The entire stadium waved them around when the Bucc's scored, but then cheered without them with the Patriots scored. It was like every play was a celebration. I kind of laughed, but I was secretly glad the home team wasn't the Patriots. The boys prefer pirates, and the flags were a great gift to them!

I really had fun, though. We had great seats, great company, and I do love live professional sports games. ---SM


Above: Justin, Steph, Tracy, and Pablo


Above: The crowd cheering for the Buccaneers.


Above: The sea of people walking to the Tube on the way back from Wembley Stadium.

Brothers, maybe? Separated by 30 years... ---SM

Today was one of those overcast days that I just enjoyed half of being home with my family. Still, I knew I wanted to get out and explore a bit, and my moms were right along with me. We arrived to the train station around 2:30 p.m. to head to the National Gallery, but what we found was a closed Tube. The District Line from Richmond was nixed for the weekend, so stupid me got on a Southwest Train with a Tube pass and the moms followed.

When we got to Waterloo, of course we didn't have validated tickets to exit the train. The worker there told us we'd have to pay a fine of 20 pounds each (about $32 USD). We begged and pleaded, and he decided to let the moms go through but not me because I should have known better. The moms plead for me again, and I was granted mercy.

Mercy.

We jumped on two more trains and got to the Gallery, just in time to spend less than two hours here before it closed. Still, it was beautiful and relaxing and we picked up a great audio guide that has commentary for almost every art piece in the collection. My favorite was Madonna of the Pinks by Raphael. I've seen the painting in books before and was never moved like I was seeing it in person. Maybe it's because I'm a mom now, or maybe it's because the painting is so small and simple but really detailed with contrasting images, like the Christ child in the foreground and a ruinous landscape in the background. Or the dianthus---flower of God, being offered to a mortal Mary. Anyway, it was touching and thought provoking, and, coincidentally, full of mercy.

We took two buses home, stopped by the grocery store, and still managed to come home, make dinner, and eat by 10 p.m. A day well spent. ---SM


Above: Me, Mom, and Mom in Trafalgar Square, just outside the National Gallery.

Drove up to Birmingham [say it: "Birmin-'em] a few days ago to pick up the Early Rider for the boys that I found used on Gumtree---the UK's Craig's List equivalent. The woman I bought it from thought I was absolutely mad to have driven two and half hours to get the bike, but it was sheer adventure and a great thing to do on a rainy day. Plus, the Early Riders---pedal-less, to help young riders get their balance---are almost impossible to find used at a decent price, so I was happy to take the trip.

The bikes haven't really caught on in the U.S. like they have in Europe. I first saw one earlier this year in Switzerland, when my friend's little girl rode into pastoral infinity. And I knew the boys would love it. Since living here, I found the English-made brand, and thought we'd try it out.

When we got home that afternoon, Grandpa adjusted the bike to fit the big boys, then Grant dominated the ride, taking on persona "tough guy." He even rode it all the way to the Green (by himself) and then got off to walk it across the streets. When he'd get ahead of me just enough, he'd stop, look back, and make this look like cool-hand-Luke, nod his head, and say in a lowered voice, "Yeah. I'm ridin' my bike."

Almost makes me want to get another one! ---SM

Last night my mom and I heard a loud cry from a room where two boys were supposed to be sleeping in bed. Instead, they were jumping on (said) bed, and yes, "one fell off and broke his . . ." arm.

When Kellen told me he couldn't move his arm, I knew we'd be going to the hospital. Thank goodness about 10 minutes later, Justin knocked on the door after having arrived home from an overnight business trip, and I greeted him with a kiss and the question, "Are you ready to take your son to the hospital tonight?" He looked shocked, walked in, set down his bags, and ran upstairs.

About 20 minutes later, after a call to find out where the nearest A&E was (Accident & Emergency. That's what they call the E.R. in England), we arrived to a packed waiting room. Still, Kellen was called in right away: his arm was x-rayed twice: once around the wrist, then again around the elbow, and finally it was decided---thanks to an extra-caring nurse who convinced the doctor---that Kellen had the tiniest hairline fracture. The nurse promptly casted his arm, and gave us a referral to return next week for the specialist to look at it and determine if it should need a more permanent cast.

Kellen was a champ---he cried a little at first, but once he realized he was the star of the show, he played a lot, too. Once in the pediatric play room, he discovered a train table and building blocks and he had it all to himself, just the way he likes it. Also, I had packed a bag of gummy candies and he squashed three at a time into his mouth. We read him his favorite books and he was (almost) in heaven after a while.

[Political Side Note: And the cost? Well, free. Or, at least, no additional charge, thanks to our first exposure to the National Health System (NHS). But as great as that sounds, I have to remind myself that U.K. residents pay more than 50% tax, and if the U.S. passes a NHS, I'm not looking forward to the paycheck decrease. And that's the tip of the iceberg. I've heard the horror stories, including the ones where private-insurance patients in non-emergency situations basically get the best of the best while everyone else waits and waits in line for what may not be the best of care.]

Thankfully, our little patient fell sound asleep well after midnight during the car ride back home. He also arose happy and playful this morning, having already run around the Green after kicking a soccer ball with his brothers this afternoon. If anyone finds out how to zap energy from a three-year-old and transfer it, please let me know.

And so marks our third visit to the E.R., once with each of our boys. May it be the last. (Or as Grant likes to say, "You joking, Mom!") ---SM