Adventures in London

The boys have survived, even enjoyed, three days of school. Enrolling them was such the adventure that even they are relieved to have started. Weyland soon starts preschool, and I will have something I’ve not experienced for ten and a half years: regular days without children.

To understand our schooling journey, one must know how we learned in the U.S. When the transfer opportunity opened in late June, I had already planned — luckily not paid for! — activities six days a week. Garrett would have Shakespeare, Latin, and musical theater. Both boys would have swim team, tap dance, Team Time at the YMCA and Chapel Hill Homeschoolers “Friday Enrichment” classes. Sundays we’d be at Eno River Unitarian Universalist Fellowship Religious Education; I was stepping up as co-chair of the RE Committee. It would have been our busiest year ever, and even though most classes wouldn’t start until September, in June I had playdates and carpools and teaching swaps (you teach mine, I’ll teach yours) arranged around them.

Homeschooling does not necessarily mean staying home or doing schoolwork. Our approach is unschooly and eclectic — I owned (but seldom used) curricula only because I accepted hand-me-downs. So the kids are nimble with mental math and slow at pencil and paper exercises, advanced in reading comprehension but slow to blossom as independent readers, intensely knowledgeable about things that grab their interest and sadly lacking in other fields that just never came up.

If they never went to school, they didn’t need to be on grade level. But an international move changes things. Adult friends shared their childhood memories of living temporarily in the UK. School, meeting the local kids and doing what the local kids do, was central to their universally positive experiences.

I tried to picture life if we homeschooled. Where would I find liberal homeschoolers without a prescribed religious dogma or distrust of unschoolers? Where would we find the park days, playdates, clubs, and classes that are usually advertised by email lists? How would I know which teachers’ philosophies I could embrace? Would I drag three boys along to churches and libraries while I pursued my historic research?

I spent years gradually learning from and growing into the homeschool communities in Durham. I couldn’t recreate that quickly, and I also knew that activities would begin with the school year, in early September. Without time to assemble homeschool activities and friends, putting the boys in school became, clearly, the expedient option.

We spent the summer “torturing” the boys with math and reading lessons, trying to better align their skills with their age peers. The boredom of the six weeks in London without schedules really readied them: Garrett and Tallis were EAGER to be out of the house and in the company of kids.

If only we could have gotten them there sooner. We got to the UK as fast as we could, two weeks in advance of Tom’s start date (coincidentally, the start of school). We hoped our children could start with the school year, but no such luck! Although we paid a deposit on our flat before the first day UK children were in class, our boys were delayed a month. We needed a rental contract and copies of utility bills with our address — which of course you can’t get until you move in. Then we submitted paperwork to the Camden school office (that’s our borough in London) with a list of preferred schools. I dropped it off in person Thursday after we moved. I know nothing about the Royal Mail, and maybe it would have made it there overnight, but I wanted to be SURE! The lady on the phone told me to expect 20 days to assign the boys and the lady at the desk where I dropped it off told me 10 business days, so I was thrilled to get a call on Friday afternoon with our first choice school assignment.

Our requests were simple: we wanted something not church-run (there are both Church of England and Catholic state schools quite near us) within walking distance. Why did we get assigned in one day? According to a friend of my mother in law, the date to tally up students for the sake of getting next year’s budget is near, so they would want my kids’ included in the count. Also, I requested a non-church school (I hear that church schools are considered better, even if their rating scores aren’t superior. I wonder if they have fewer minorities and more students of English descent? Hmmmm….) and one in which I knew there were plenty of openings in year six for Garrett. Once Garrett gets in, his brother has priority if they have any way to fit him in — and they did, so Tallis got a year three spot. They also give priority to children living nearby, and their new school — Kingsgate Primary — is a 0.7 mile walk away.

So Monday morning I called the school to schedule our initial visit, Tuesday morning we completed paperwork in the head teacher’s office and paid for school uniforms (white polos with embroidered school logo, and green sweatshirts with the same) and Wednesday was their first day of school.

Tuesday after Weyland’s nap we had a terrible time hunting down the required gray trousers. When I asked, the lady in the office gestured dismissively behind her; of course the Marks and Spencer on Kilburn High Street had them. Wrong. They probably had them back in July and August, but by October, they had Halloween decorations, no clothing. We trekked up and down the street five times before, standing outside yet another unsatisfying clothing store while typing queries into Google maps trying to figure out what to do next, an older gentleman stopped to ask if I was lost. He told me to go to the Marks and Spencer downtown on Oxford Street and helped me look at the map to be sure I got the right place.

Four tired people — Weyland was riding on my back, protesting “no go shopping!” — hopped on a bus. Tallis entertained Weyland, Garrett paid careful attention to the sign announcing the next stop so that we wouldn’t miss ours, and I texted Tom: come meet us, we’re tired out and I need help, and before you do figure out something near there that will do for dinner. He suggested pizza, I said perfect. When Tom found us I was in the school uniform section — in the basement, in the back of the children’s department — trying in vain to find reasonable sized clothes for my kids. They aren’t obese, but they aren’t skinny, either. Would they need something two years larger than their age year? Three? More? Did I want pleated front or flat? Adjustable waist I wanted for sure, and even though I dug through the “short” section I knew there would be hemming in my immediate future.

With a swath of sizes and cuts in our arms, we trekked back upstairs (the children’s changing room was closed due to a leak) where thankfully children were allowed in the women’s dressing room. Eventually seven year old Tallis ended up in size 11, and ten year old Garrett in size 15 (he really needed 14 but there was not a single pair of gray 14s left in the entire store). After a lovely dinner at Pizza Express and a nice simple tube ride home, I was too tired to hem the trousers. I marked them, I trimmed them, I rolled the hems and pinned them, but I could NOT sew them before sleeping. Next morning I stood in the kitchen for half an hour sewing hems into four little legs, with gray silk thread I’d brought over for weaving medieval laces. The running stitch I put into Tallis’s trousers (I keep typing “pants” and then erasing it because I’m trying to learn to use “pants” in the British way to mean undergarments) was so bad, I thought that it probably looked like a normal person sewed it.

Sigh. At least I got a decent hem stitch into Garrett’s, and we were just barely NOT late for school.

Internet again buzzes through our house, and with it a chance to write. Where to start with the recap? We’ve moved in, gotten boys into schools, celebrated birthdays, learned about living in and getting about London. I’m not yet pursuing research or meeting people, but I can feel it, I’m getting closer.

The majority of my time the last three weeks (other than housework and raising children) disappeared into moving into our new place and getting it suitable for habitation. The week prior to our move was intensely stressful. When would the rental company get the contract to us? Could we get the money wired from the U.S. bank in time for the contract signing? When we moved in, what furniture would we have? How long would we be able to stay in our temporary flat in the City — would we have to check out the same morning that the movers came to pick up our boxes? When could we go shopping for the little things like sheets that we hadn’t needed in the temporary flat but would need in our unfurnished permanent one? Because the relocation company canceled our temporary flat before resolving the question of whether we’d get into our permanent place on schedule, I was wryly contemplating whether my family would be made homeless in a foreign country by the idiocy of the people who were supposed to be making our move easier.

In the end, not only did all this resolve satisfactorily, but we had a generous dash of good fortune: the weekend prior to our move, one of Tom’s colleagues bought a flat in which the previous owner had abandoned five beds, a couch, and four tall narrow wardrobes. They are hand-me-down junk, but they work. We all have beds (so what if they creak a little?) though we’ll get rid of most of them once our furniture arrives from the U.S. (Expect to wait another 2-3 weeks for that.) Same for the couch — it will do for the moment.

The wardrobes will be living room shelves, because once that sea shipment arrives we will have a house FULL of stuff and we’ll need storage. This irritates Tom, who was looking forward to a year of living minimally. But because we packed the Durham house with the intention of leaving the contents in storage, we did not worry overmuch about how the packers labeled things haphazardly. The box labeled “clothes” really had clothes in the first third, and then towels and then blankets, but it didn’t really matter: I knew which room to set the box into before opening, and I’d sort it all back out in a year. Or so I thought. Now because of the vague labeling we will have a large number of items shipped over that are of absolutely no use to us: electronics that will not work on the UK power grid, scrap fabric that is not worth the effort of hauling around (and yet to toss it pains me too much…I winnowed my fabric stash quite well before the move but to toss more…I’m not ready yet), books that we’re unlikely to open, clothes that won’t fit any of our sizes during the coming year, tons of photos and art we can’t hang (no nails in these walls unless we want to patch and paint when we leave!), shower curtains that we don’t need because these showers have doors…unwanted STUFF.

But at the moment it feels as if we are rattling around in here, as if the place is way too large for us.

We acquired more necessities via our SCA connections: we have on loan or for keeps many of the items it takes to outfit a kitchen, such a stock pot and frying pan and ladle, and enough beer glasses to make me laugh, since no one here drinks the stuff. I could buy these things, but all of our own cooking utensils will arrive soon…and I’d hate to spend all that money for one month or so of use. I am deeply grateful to the community mindset that the SCA inspires, the collegiality that motivates someone to offer their personal (spare) belongings to someone else that they have met two times just because she put out a request over an email list. I realize that other hobby communities are also supportive like this, and yet…the SCA seems special.

The day after our move the entire family trundled up north a bit to IKEA, where we bought plates and silverware (for about the same price, or less, than London thrift stores) and bedding and small lamps and a heap of other small but necessary items. We left with everyone but Weyland well laden. I returned today, just myself with Weyland on my back, and spent much more to buy the furniture items that we’d determined were worth the money, but which we did not own. Odds and ends like laundry bins (we have one built into the Durham house), lights for the living room, door mats, trash cans, book bags, and extension cords all went into my basket. Then there were the larger things: we gave away our bed before we moved (we wanted a smaller one), we are buying a dining table rather than waiting 3 more weeks for one (I am sick of sitting on the floor to eat!), we need a TV table (we have a built in shelf for it in Durham) and a computer chair for Garrett’s room.

With walking the kids to school, walking to the tube, walking from the station to IKEA, trekking all through the store (with loops back to bathrooms whenever needed), racing home, picking up the kids from school (late, but they forgave me easily) and returning, I walked more than 20,000 steps, twice my daily goal. I’m TIRED.

I haven’t written recently because the strongest feeling now is “waiting to start.” Even when we get out and explore, it feels like a holding pattern, not an adventure. We’ve paid money toward our flat, but don’t have a contract yet. Without that, I can’t start applying for the boy’s schools. We haven’t figured out how we’ll furnish our flat for the month before the rest of our belongings arrive, and move-related paperwork still demands our attention.

We feel unsettled, which is wreaking havoc on everyone’s mental and emotional states. Weyland suffers least — he has preschool-targeted TV, has his family to snuggle him or play with him, gets carried out and about in his familiar (rather worn) Ergo carrier, and gets fed. We ride trains and buses to visit parks and museums, all of which delight him. He pushes buttons in the lift and plays preschool games on my Android phone. With his mommy nearby, he’s his usual happy self.

Garrett is clearly stressed but trying to stay aware and helpful. He heard our conversations about the difficulties transferring money from our US banks, how expensive things are, and how annoying/expensive it was to get cash (we now have UK debit cards and everything is easier) and began to freak out when Tom and I discussed ANYTHING financial. I finally got through to him that we are fine, we just have to think about money a lot more than we used to. Leave it to the adults, we’ll be OK.

Maybe Garrett is slightly happier now that I have an established pattern for getting our groceries at a discount — I’m sure that feels familiar to him! About every other evening we all go down to the Mark & Spencer Simply Food and pick up an assortment of items that are marked down because they must be sold that day, and it’s close to closing time. We sometimes get fruit, milk, bread, and prepared food items like meat pies and pre-breaded chicken (never would buy them normally, but they’re working for us now), but always an assortment of pastries, donuts, and cookies. The kids LOVE that part.

Garrett is a bit worried about going to school, but he’s sick of my pestering with spelling lists. He’s engrossed in Harry Potter — just finished the fifth book today. He wants to read it everywhere, even carries it on the tube when I let him. Garrett bickers with and picks on Tallis a bit more these days — it would be hard not to, we spend all our time within steps of each other, and almost never see any other kids to play with — but otherwise, he’s holding in there.

Tallis is not. This move was horrible for him, and this extended wait for our permanent housing excruciating. He hated the London  adventure as soon as he realized that friends and home would be left behind. He worried while we were in the US, but since we’ve arrived, he’s been almost impossible to be with, much less please. He’s moody, angry, picks fights with us constantly, has no sense of humor, cannot be patient (and yet is constantly asked to be as we establish ourselves here and learn how to navigate London), and refuses to take delight in any adventure we can conjure. Our situation got so difficult that we sought professional help designing behavior management techniques for him, and we are seeing improvements, but oh, this has been a hard road to travel.

Tallis’s moods overshadow every outing, every meal, every day. Some mornings I have offered him breakfast and had my greeting returned by a surly bear certain that there is not a SINGLE pleasing thing to eat in the entire flat. No fantastic museum, no interesting bit of architecture, no historic “oh wow” moment, no novel experience, no familiar entertainment, no beautiful view will get past his stubborn resolve to NOT HAVE FUN. He wants to go to school, make friends, and start playing football. Which I cannot provide, no matter how I want to.

Tallis concocts his own misery, but he is a master at the art. For example, he refuses to try English foods. Garrett and Tallis took quickly to fish and chips, roast, meat pies — unfamiliar things that we find everywhere here. Tallis persists in ordering the most American foods he can find on the menu (burgers, pizza, waffles) and they are consistently sad imitations of the food he desires.

Tallis’s moods swing so widely, so rapidly, that I cannot keep up with him, much less anticipate his needs. One day last week he entered a museum with us fairly fuming, spewing a hatred of all that he saw and demanding to be taking home immediately. He would not engage the exhibits, would not remark on the ornate architecture, would not select some other exhibit he would prefer to explore. I dragged and coaxed and ignored, and we sped through many a hall in which I would rather have lingered. Then we stopped at one of those hands-on carts with two silver-haired ladies behind it. He and his brother fully engaged the activity, tested themselves, probed for answers, learned things. Before we made it to the cafeteria for lunch, he expressed such delight and joy in this museum that he wanted to donate all his pocket change to it.

One ray of sunshine with Tallis: he loves having STUFF. His desire to accumulate toys cannot be satisfied (at least, not as long as he has parents like us who are so opposed to the prevailing consumer culture) and is a frequent source of conflict. Just before we flew, he discovered his friend Eleanor’s bottle cap collection. Bottle caps are free, can be found all over the ground, are shiny with diverse colors and designs, and make a fantastic sound when rattled around in a pocket or a bag. So he now has a new hobby: collecting bottle caps. He has also experimented with other entertaining refuse, but bottle caps are the most reliable source of delight. Childhood memories of enduring my brother’s and father’s soccer games and road races by playing with nearby trash (the stuff you can score under the bleachers at a high school is AWESOME) make me rather sympathetic to his new hobby.

That’s our life these days: stress, paperwork, delays, boredom, and a steady stream of learning, exploring, discovering, understanding, experiencing, deciding. Most of my effort is focused on living: dressing children, potty training a toddler, moderating screen time, concocting meals, picking up and cleaning up, soothing raw nerves. I rely on Facebook for connections to people and things I care about, and on hope that we will soon move into a flat and find a routine in which we all can blossom. It’s an adventure all right.

This past week has been an exercise in rapidly changing direction and otherwise not knowing what I want to do. Tom has been at work each day and is getting settled into a routine, but the kids and I have nothing of the sort.

Monday I thought I’d take the kids to the park, but inertia and ill tempers kept us from leaving until after Weyland had his afternoon nap, so all we managed was half an hour on the playground at Regent’s Park before our evening appointment. Tallis, true to his normal style, quickly managed to organize a game of tag with other similar-age kids at the park, and Garrett joined in. Weyland explored the equipment and wanted to play in the sand, but when I pointed out that sandbox time would mean an obligatory bath, he skipped it.

Tuesday Tallis had a playdate with his new friend from camp, Sam. They live in the complex near the fitness center, so this meant some tennis and swimming time, as well as drooling over Sam’s Warhammer figurine collection. Before heading out Tallis repeatedly emphasized that he wanted this playdate to be for just him, not Garrett — and he got his wish. Time away from his brothers! Garrett, Weyland and I instead checked out a small playground and a street market.

After nap I twisted Garrett’s arm enough that he consented to go back to the Museum of London to look at the Medieval collection. Weyland wanted to push buttons, and there weren’t many for him, so he was distracted and irritable. I got to read a few things, point out some items to Garrett. I enjoyed a few small shocks whenever I’d see, sitting right in front of me in the case, some medieval or early modern item that I knew perfectly from its photos in books.

There were some mannequins you could dress in a replica leather jerkin (pretty good replica, I think, especially since the real thing was in the case immediately adjacent) and a Henry VIII era gable hood. I refuse to say that it is “early Tudor” when it is a style popular approximately 50 years after the beginning of the Tudor era, even if it was labeled as such. Garrett asked me whether I’d complain to the museum about how inaccurate the headgear was. No, I didn’t say anything negative, he looked at it and decided by himself that it must not be up to my standards.

I loved looking at the details and layers on the transitional gown painted on the dismantled altarpiece c. 1500. I’m always happy to see a source I’ve not seen before, even if the artist was (sigh) German, not English. And the memorial brasses on display…even if they were from 1525…I got to see a real memorial brass. So despite the unwilling company, I enjoyed my tiny taste of seeing real medieval artifacts in museums. Already thinking of questions I’d like to ask the curators.

Wednesday was the first day of school for most districts around here, and even though we’d paid a great deal of money to secure our favorite flat at 50A Greencroft Gardens, it still isn’t our address yet and I can’t register the kids for school. To Tallis’s great frustration, he would miss the first day of school. All the rushing we did to get here, hoping to be here and ready for this day, and we just couldn’t make it fall together.  Sigh.

Instead, we rushed out of the flat at the last minute to meet Tom and open a bank account. Which is still useless to us, as we have no money in it, and I have yet to get the wire transfer from our US accounts to work. Grrrr…

Since the bank is adjacent to Tom’s workplace, we toured the Google offices and ate snacks in their Coffee Lab. Tom couldn’t make me any interesting coffee since he hasn’t taken the class on how to use the equipment. Seriously. Google engineers get such cool snack areas, they require classes to learn to use them. It was interesting seeing a larger Google office, not the tiny one in Chapel Hill, but Tom had work to do, and we came home.

We tried three different stores looking for pickles, because dinner that evening was hamburgers, and Tallis believes that pickles are a required condiment. Even learning that I should be asking for gherkins didn’t help — the stores nearby didn’t have what we wanted. Alas. He ate the burger anyway, after I set off the super-sensitive fire alarm simply by cooking real food in our flat.

Thursday morning we decided to see how painful it would be to furnish our flat from Ikea. This meant a long tube ride, the last four stops or so above ground, out to Wembley. I enjoyed the overground portion, looking at the perfectly normal — but still novel to me — London architecture. Why DO they have all those chimney pipes, anyway? Garrett asked, and I can’t answer with any but a guess.

We passed the tube ride playing 20 questions. Sometimes I feel like the only person on the entire train who is speaking to someone else. I wonder if I irritate or amuse nearby passengers? Well, I guess we did meet one chatty lady this week who asked friendly questions of Tallis, who instantly turned shy. And people are often nice and offer me a seat, although with Weyland on my back, standing is really easy enough.

It is a bit of a walk from the tube stop to Ikea, although the path is well marked and there is a pedestrian bridge over the train tracks and over the highway. Garrett commented that this area looked “more like home.” We were out of the skyscraper district. There was a large (in my opinion, normal sized) grocery store. There were highways, and overpasses with bags of trash underneath. The cars we saw were normal cars and trucks, not bright red double decker buses and distinctively shaped cabs. (I am amused that Weyland refuses to call a cab a car — they are different to him. No matter what interesting color or advertising might adorn the cab, it is still a cab to him.) There were old warehouses that have been converted to offices (so very Durham!). Only the houses, small and crammed in tight little rows, look distinctly English to me.

Garrett has been to Ikea in Charlotte, but Tallis and Weyland have never been. We started our trip by playing on the outdoor playground, and then eating lunch at 11:00. No crowds in the cafeteria, and everyone got food they liked — a good way to head off meltdowns! I also stashed a chocolate bar in my bag for future emotional emergencies.

After lunch, we wandered the storeroom floor. The boys helped me test out futons and chairs, and thought about what sort of lamps and decorations they liked. I really wanted their input, but even engaged like this, I was asking them to GO SHOPPING. You know it can’t last too long without incident. Around about bedrooms, after maybe 45 minutes, Tallis had “had it.” But you can’t just exit Ikea, we had to keep walking, even if we sped up. I asked him to take all his frustrations and upset feelings and dump them onto my hands. Then I pretended I was holding a piece of paper, which I wadded into a large ball. I handed it to him and told him to throw it as far away as he could. It took two tries of this trick, but with it, we made it through the rest of the floor’s displays.

Both Garrett and Tallis are the right age for the Smalland at this store, so they enjoyed an hour of playing in the ball pit and watching a movie while I sped through both floors, taking photos of items I thought we’d need. Weyland, too young to play, grabbed a way-too-short nap on my back. But I accomplished enough, when their hour was up, I was ready to leave.

Ice cream on the playground made a perfect ending to our Ikea trip. I bought nothing at Ikea — nothing! — except food. Tallis thought is was great, and he wants to go back. Which is good, because I came home with quite a list of what we’ll need to buy — AFTER we get access to the flat.

Today I finally did what I had planned to do every day this week, and took the kids to Coram’s Fields, a private playground that Sam’s mom recommended. The greatest barrier to getting there was that I had to figure out the bus system. I’d tried to use the official bus trip planner, but it kept giving me different results from Google map’s “public transit” option. I wasn’t sure which to trust…but would it surprise you to learn that Google was right?

We caught a lovely double decker bus (what fun to ride!) in front of St. Paul’s and rode to within two blocks of our destination. Our short walk included a stroll in front of Goodenough College. Really? That exists? I am so amused.

The playgrounds were a good choice for the morning. Weyland loved the sand (although he kept insisting that he needed ME to do the shoveling, he couldn’t do it himself), Tallis organized a game of tag, they all climbed the assorted playground equipment. We ate an early picnic lunch and headed home at noon. Since the cleaning lady was here this afternoon, if I just do a tiny bit of pick-up, the flat should be in perfect shape for the weekend. I’m not used to having so few chores and obligations. The kids aren’t the only ones who don’t know what to do with themselves!

I can drive around a place, even slowly and with intelligent running commentary, but I can’t decide whether I want to live there until I walk its streets. So Saturday afternoon, kids in tow, we headed for Hampstead.

Friday afternoon, during our nineteen flats in one day sprint, we found one that stood out. It was too expensive, too large, too fancy. But it had a private garden that opened onto a 3 acre communal garden — and the garden had kids. Not sculpted rows of flowerbeds, not tennis courts, not cute little park benches, but open green fields for ball playing, trees you could climb, and a small playground. There were people playing in the communal garden (others we saw had been empty) and the agent told us that the community would get together on occasion for cookouts and such.

So it isn’t Eno Commons, but it looked like it could be home.

Our flat hunting consultant, Linda, recognizing how much we liked the flat, immediately scheduled an appointment for us to see it again on Saturday with the kids.

The flat is very close to the Finchley Road station on the Jubilee line. We took the tube to Swiss Cottage, the next stop to the south, and walked to the flat. Finchley Road has restaurants that appeal to us, a thrift store, a dollar store sort of place, a large Waitrose grocery store, hardware stores, a furniture store. Lots of useful-looking places to acquire what we might need.

The street itself is beautiful, filled with well-preserved Victorian buildings. We strolled down one side of Greencroft Gardens and back the other, admiring the decorative architectural elements. We were somewhat hoping we’d find the nearest state school, but failed at that, finding instead a private Montessori.

Our second tour of the flat only confirmed its magnificence. The kids were delighted with their brightly lit bedroom and the gardens. I was pleased to find that the kitchen had a large refrigerator and both a washer and dryer. The flat also has lots of built-in storage, which appeals a great deal. The only really big drawback is that it is unfurnished. And expensive.

We left Greencroft Gardens and decided to walk more of Hampstead, headed toward our second most likely flat and Hampstead Heath. Unfortunately, we had not realize how much hill we’d have to climb to reach High Street. Although the houses were lovely, and I still cannot see the street named “Frognal” and not smile, Tallis was in a thoroughly foul mood before we crested the hill.

We checked out a bit of High Street, which Linda thought we’d find appealing. No, not really. Shops and restaurants that expensive don’t get much business from me, and nothing but the overpriced ice cream shop appealed to the kids. Garrett discovered that he likes salted caramel. Drat! Now I won’t be able to hoard that flavor all for myself.

By the time we got to Hampstead Heath, Tallis was too irritable to even enjoy the open space in which to run around. He was also terrified that the English ivy climbing the trees was poison ivy. Eventually he snapped out of his funk enough to climb some trees, but then he was outraged when we announced that it was time to go home for dinner.

We’ve been living with only what we carried onto the airplane, and none of our family games made the cut. Tom looked up game stores (how I’d make it about without a smartphone these days…I have no idea) and we decided to add one stop on the way home to buy something our family could play together. Only Tallis, even when told this plan, and even when told that yes he could spend his allowance, refused to come. Pitched a super-stubborn silent tantrum and refused to enter the tube station. We dragged him onto the tube, but as we attempted to exit, he fought us so much we had to stop and tell him that if he didn’t cut it out, the staff were going to assume we were kidnapping him. That changed his behavior instantly, and the rest of our day went smoothly. But oh, living with that kid right now….

We found one store that carried a few games, but more “fandom” type stuff. I saw some women dressed in Lolita fashion, and I really would rather not have seen them. Ladies, you’re supposed to look CUTE when you put on your costume, not scary bad. Tallis and Garrett eyed the Star War Legos, the Munchkin games, and the Magic cards, trying to figure out how much they could get with their allowances. Tom couldn’t find what he wanted, and the next shop was only two blocks away, so we left.

The Orc’s Nest WAS the right store. A tiny space, but filled floor to ceiling with board, card, and dice games, a sizable number of which we already own. Each of us found a nook and started browsing…until Weyland announced the dreaded “I have to pee.” No, they didn’t have facilities, but there was a nearby Pizza Hut that might let us in? And off we went….

Luckily for me, Pizza Hut was nearby and accommodating. Luckily for Pizza Hut, Weyland recognized what he smelled and made immediate and firm plans for what he wanted for dinner. After finalizing our gaming purchases we decided to give the UK version of American food a try. It was delightful, though somewhat more upscale (shrimp appetizers at Pizza Hut? sure!) and harder on the wallet. My veggie pizza even came topped with wild rocket (a popular salad with a nice bite, like watercress).

We rounded out the evening with a silly fun game of Munchkin Bites. Small World was a hit with everyone when we played Sunday. I’d love to make a post titled “and on the seventh day, we rested” but really, what is there worth sharing about a peaceful day gaming and watching television at the flat?

On Tuesday, August 28, Tom and I really got down to serious flat hunting.

We started by giving Garrett and Tallis something more interesting to do: a sports-themed summer camp. I combed the internet and found only one camp available in all of London. I suppose that everything else was either full, or the programs didn’t want to run a camp on the last partial week before fall term started (bank holiday on Monday). We were lucky. The camp had swimming, tennis, arts and games; both of them could go to the same camp; it was only a half mile walk from our flat; and they had an “extended hours” option that we used on Friday for our flat-seeing marathon. The boys loved it, Tallis made a friend with whom he had a fun playdate this week, and Tom and I could walk and walk and walk neighborhoods.

Tuesday we tackled Notting Hill. Linda, the home search consultant that Google contracted to help us, recommended that area. It has a great street full of interesting shops and a regular street market. It is full of parks, although most of them are gated and if you don’t live on the block, you can’t get the key. Still, very pretty. We stumbled upon a children’s library and took a storybook break for Weyland, who otherwise was just riding along on our backs, looking at the world. Just south of Notting Hill is Holland Park, which has an assortment of lovely playgrounds (so grateful that Weyland napped past that bit) and ball fields and a cafe. Just south of that is a more upscale district where we had a delicious Indian lunch.

We kept up our habit of wandering into rental agencies. (Although we were seriously inquiring after flats, it was also a good way to find a toilet and refill our water bottles.) After lunch an agent showed us two properties — one was a dump with a landlady who didn’t like kids, the other was a pretty cool maisonette. “Maisonette” means that an old house was converted, but instead of putting each flat on one floor, the floors are stacked one on top of another in a narrow space. Entertaining effect, might be a bit of a pain to live in. The one we saw was nice, and it was entertainingly close to Simon Cowell’s residence (our agent pointed it out) but we weren’t ready to make an offer and other offers were on the table already, so we let it go.

Wednesday we met Linda for the first time. She drove us around (and oh boy, am I glad I’m not trying to drive and park in London) to show us several likely neighborhoods. She also had an assortment of flats for us to tour, but all of them were wrong. Too expensive, often too large, too fancy, wrong sorts of neighborhoods. After several hours looking at flats and talking with her about what we wanted, what we liked, what we needed, she finally admitted that we were like no Americans she had ever helped relocate. I think this meant: grocery shopping and a decent kitchen was more important than nearby restaurants and bars, and we didn’t expect huge flats.

She picked an excellent restaurant for lunch — Banana Tree — and that gave us real hope for her ability to select flats for us.

Thursday we “did our homework” and walked through Islington, as she recommended. It would be a very convenient tube ride for Tom, but she’s right — not much greenery or park space. Boring shopping district. Even strolling down Raleigh Street (random detour through residential area) didn’t make us fall in love. Or maybe it was the intermittent rain. We told her to cross that off the list of places to look. And then we went back to the flat to rest for the afternoon. Even dedicated flat hunters get tired.

We also collected information about which secular state schools had spaces for our boys. There are Church of England and Roman Catholic schools that are free state schools, but those don’t seem right for our family. Many schools had no more spots for children in both years 3 and 6, and so our search was narrowed rather a bit by school availability. Without even  limiting for school quality or reputation, we found our housing impeded by school districting. I know this is normal, but it was the first time WE’D experienced having to juggle this factor in our home choice!

Friday our marathon started at 8:30. Weyland, who had been nothing but a little charmer on Wednesday, showed clearly how sick of this in-and-out-of-car-and-flats routine he was. He spent many short trips in the car riding on my lap, grabbing a quick nurse and avoiding the car seat straps. Show children just once that the rules can be bent, and you’ll suffer for it forever.

We were immediately cheered by the flats Linda had selected — the first three we looked at all seemed like good possibilities, and one was downright fantastic. She had preferentially scheduled garden flats after seeing how delighted Weyland had been on Wednesday by all the outside spaces. OK, he’d been delighted by the fifth floor balconies with flimsy railings, too, but I hadn’t been. Garden flats were a WAY better compromise.

One space that really awed us was a gothic house built for a wealthy merchant, that had been split into flats. Wood floors! High ceilings! Stunning shared garden! Although it would be a fantasy home for  history geeks, it was not right for kids. Sadness.

There were some furnished flats, blah but livable. There were plenty of unfurnished ones. We even looked at one place that was larger than the house we own in Durham. A couple of places were carpeted with white or very light carpets — no way on those. And carpeted dining room? Are you KIDDING?

Some were close to Hampstead Heath — very pretty “wild” outdoor space. Many had sweet little private gardens, although every time we would comment approvingly on the “little” garden, the agent we were with was usually quick to point out how spacious the garden was. Sorry guys, size descriptors do vary with your frame of reference, and no, we’re not adapted to London living yet.

One fairly likely place had the ODDEST sort of utility room. It was set up with a full washer and dryer (not this miniature combined washer /dryer contraption, which based on my experiences with the one in our temporary flat, is entirely inadequate for a family of five) but the washer was the only thing you could reach easily, and you had to bend over through a four foot high door to do that. To get to the dryer, you had to lean to the left, past the washer, and you could only half open the dryer door. Converted historic houses are WAY cooler than custom-built residential buildings, but they do have their share of quirks.

We came home exhausted with pages of notes and only one clear winner. We needed a weekend to think about the options, list the pros and cons, and talk to the kids.

Hunting for a flat is mentally and physically EXHAUSTING. It would be less confusing if I knew anything about London. It would  be less physically taxing if I were more fit. According to my pedometer, last week I walked about twice as far as my stateside norm.

Day One: Saturday, August 25th

After many days looking at flats online, this was our first afternoon “on the ground” investigating neighborhoods. We went by the Google offices on Buckingham Palace Road, where we used the printer and snagged some healthy snacks. Food does wonders for improving the moods of children.

Then we tried to open a bank account, but were unable to do so. We’ll have to wait until Tom’s first day of work, when he’ll be able to get the appropriate paperwork in order. Until then, we’ll just keep using our U.S. credit card and paying the fees for currency exchange.

Just after the bank stop, rain started. It was harmless enough at first but grew steadily heavier, and since we lacked umbrellas (it had been a gorgeous blue sky moments before!), we took shelter in the offices of a letting agent. There seems to be one of these on every other corner. So many different agents! So many different websites to peruse!

While we looked at fliers about potential properties, the skies opened up. The agent we were with commented on the unpredictability of the weather and the inaccuracy of forecasts. We showed him the up-to-date doppler radar we were accustomed to consulting in North Carolina and he was amazed. Weather Underground, oh how we miss you.

When the rain lessened, we left and set off to see some of the streets with potential flats. Down by the Tate Britain, the rain intensified again. When we got tired of lurking in a bus shelter, we slogged toward the nearest tube stop. We were quickly soaked to the skin and miserably cold. Such experiences are NOT a good way to convince either adults or children of the beauty and desirability of a neighborhood.

That first Saturday afternoon we walked from Victoria Station (across from the Google offices) through bits of Westminster and Pimlico. Victoria and the area just to the west are way too expensive for us. Westminster and Pimlico have affordable properties, but our housing consultant insists that they are not for us — lots of transient people, lots of professionals who rent something there for the week and go home on the weekends, too much assisted housing, too little shopping nearby. Tom would be able to walk to work, but there probably wouldn’t be a good community for the kids.

Sunday morning we ignored housing questions and instead enjoyed the Museum of London. Well, four of us enjoyed it; Tallis grumped and complained the whole way through. We only covered the exhibits about prehistory, Roman times, and the great fire of 1666. Can you believe that the kids wanted to skip the Medieval section entirely? We will definitely have to go back.

Sunday afternoon we spent at home. There are three televisions in this flat, and the kids love them. I have a new Android, and they vie for chances to game on that. The couch cushions and drapes also make fantastic play forts, and we did pack an assortment of toys.

We are so close to St. Paul’s that Sunday before each service a cacophony of bells cascades through the open windows. Shopping for dinner just before a service, we got to watch the end of the procession of notables in fancy robes as they entered the cathedral. The cars parked beside the building were all decorated with heraldic crests. Interesting.

Monday was a bank holiday, and we spent it being low-budget tourists: we walked from our flat south across the Thames on the Millenium Bridge, then east along the riverbank until the Tower Bridge. Along the way we looked at the peregrine falcons on the Tate Modern using the RSPB scopes, the reconstructed Globe Theatre, a Tudor tallship and a WWII light cruiser, some lovely and diverse architecture spanning the centuries, the outside of the Clink Prison Museum (Tallis was oddly interested in paying the entrance fee), the London Bridge, an outdoor exhibit of large photographs mostly of people in war zones or areas of famine, many different artistically decorated sculptures of Wenlock and Mandeville, the Tower of London, a pay toilet that wouldn’t accept our coins, multiple restaurants and shopping districts that didn’t seem quite worth the effort of stopping to sample, a touchable 3D map of the buildings near Tower Bridge, construction-obstructed sidewalks, a building made out of pretty green marble, street vendors selling tempting roasted nuts, and the ruins of Winchester Palace.

We stopped to read maps so often that now Weyland puts up a fuss if we attempt to walk past a large map without consulting it. There is one every few minutes along major routes in the city, but really, do YOU want to tell the curious two-year-old that reading a map is not important?

A couple days after arriving, I thought “why did I pack these useless CLOTHES? We need familiar FOOD!”

Things will improve once we get a permanent location…because I won’t rent anywhere that doesn’t have a good-sized grocery nearby. For now, we’re in the City, in the middle of the banking district. The shops cater to business types zipping in and out to grab a bite; they carry few basic ingredients. It was comical trying to get the man (admittedly a non-native English speaker) to understand that we wanted cinnamon. You know, cinnamon? The powdery spice? For my kids to put on their porridge in the morning? Never mind.

My unconventional grocery shopping habits make my frustration worse. I like to do a huge ($300) shopping trip every few weeks, stocking up on items on steep discount, buying few items at full price. I kept a rather full pantry. When organic raisins went on sale, I bought not two boxes, but twelve. I gave away loads of food when we moved because 6 weeks was nowhere near enough time for us to eat our stockpile.

Now I’m pining for simple things…salsa, refried beans, and tortillas. Peanut butter in large jars. Whole grain crackers. Parmesan cheese for pasta. Plain raisins, not a fancy gourmet mix. Bags of frozen vegetables I can add to dinner at the last minute.

I’m buying convenience foods because they’re all I can get — not one huge tub of yogurt plus frozen berries to add, but individual disposable yogurt cups. Bagged salads, not heads. Single serving meat pies. My kids are confused — I never buy this!

They also don’t appreciate the frequent trips. I fill a cloth bag or two (thank goodness I had the presence of mind to pack those in my luggage) daily. Five people eat a lot of food, and I don’t have a large car to fill with two weeks worth of groceries. The kids are getting tired of the trips to the three different nearby markets. And I really have to go to them all on different days — each carries a slightly different selection, and the kitchen cupboards are empty.

We never eat out this much, either. I just can’t come up with much dinner variety from these markets. But eating out is so EXPENSIVE. Makes me feel like a tourist.

The only thing we really love about the local Marks & Spencer Simply Food is the 7:00 hour, when the staff goes through marking down everything that needs to be sold that day, especially baked goods. I came home with a big bag of bread and pastries last night — enough for dessert, breakfast, snack, and lunch today. And we still have a whole grain loaf to enjoy with our dinner.

We arrived Thursday on a red eye. I got  a couple quick catnaps between re-settling a restless toddler. Thankfully the flight attendants didn’t mind him sleeping in my arms instead of buckled in as he should have been.

Our meal arrangement worked well by accident. I was brought my vegetarian meal before the main carts rolled through, so Weyland could start eating early. When the cart came by I could choose a meal for him, and whatever he didn’t want to eat, I could nibble. Even so, I finished much more slowly that most passengers. Taking care of a toddler is time consuming.

We sat in the center aisle, so we had limited views of the morning sun over the English countryside, but still, landing was emotional. All this work to get here, and…now I was here! Another country, a new adventure. A chance to learn…a gift from my beloved husband. I admit to a few tears.

Then came lines for immigration and baggage collecting and customs (which wasn’t too bad, honestly).  I saw the Paralympic wheelchair racing team from Australia. Then the interesting trick of cramming all our luggage (three 49.5 pound bags, five back packs, and one standard size carry on) plus five passengers and a carseat into a standard black cab. Honestly, the cabbie wasn’t sure we’d fit.

The ride through town was exhilarating. Besides Olympic signage, there are still patriotic banners left from the Diamond Jubilee. Mostly, I was so glad to be HERE. Cute, narrow houses! Ornate churches! Bright green parks and seemingly impossible trees dotting everywhere, despite the city! New, sparkling, interesting architecture!

We drove past the Natural History Museum, and my heart gave a lurch. I was GOING to spend time there, plenty of time there, and I would take my kids there, too. I felt a real blast of “you used to be a science geek, you still love this stuff” and that almost drowned out the awe of the next sight: the Victoria and Albert Musuem. The V&A! THE V&A. I’ve looked at so many books with images of their works, spent so much time looking at their online collections…and now I was here and could see the real stuff.

Our temporary lodgings are business apartments in the City of London. The relocation agent gave us two choices the day before we flew, and we chose the one right by the Cathedral of St. Paul.  We knew we wouldn’t end up living there, and the boys were fascinated recently by learning about the City of London (as opposed to London…for details, watch this video by C. G. P. Grey). So from the very first day, the boys have hunted for the city crest and marveled at the dragons which guard the City entrances.

Getting close to our apartments was easy, but the cabbie had some difficulty locating the exact address. It didn’t help when a street he tried to enter was blocked because the previous Saturday it had changed from two way to one way! But we arrived, unloaded, paid him almost half the cash we had in our wallets (having changed all our US dollars in the airport) and stumbled blearily into bed.

I can’t believe that I’m here, but I am. I’m writing from a temporary apartment in the City of London, having used today’s bank holiday simply to take a long walk along the Thames with Tom and the kids. I’m here. In England. For the first time ever. And I’m going to live here for the next year.

The members of my family here with me:

Tom, software engineer for Google. His 40th birthday is coming up in three weeks. His company is paying for this crazy adventure because they want him (well, someone who works on the Chrome software) here in London working with the Android team. They’ve done all sorts of things to help with relocation, but we’ve really pushed to make everything happen as quickly as possible so that the boys can enroll in school before the start of fall term. Tom is looking forward to joining an amateur medieval music group in London, doing some rapier practice, and generally soaking up the history that the city has to offer.

Garrett, age ten. He’s been homeschooled thus far and is feeling nervous about starting at a regular state school next week. I have concerns about him fitting in — he’s introverted, deliberately looks different (long hair in a ponytail) and has decidedly geeky interests like Magic the Gathering, Minecraft, and Dungeons and Dragons. But he’s smart and I think I’ll be able to help him transition to normal schoolwork. It took a little while to convince him, but he’s now solidly on board with the idea that this move is a grand adventure. I think partly it is that he is so adult focused, and so many adults have said what a great opportunity this is for us, he now believes them.

Tallis, age seven. He is the most extroverted member of our family, and thus the most miserable, as he has just been plucked from the only home he remembers (we moved to Durham when we was two) and from his network of neighborhood and homeschooling friends. He is also extremely nervous about the start of school, because his reading is well below grade level. He loves listening to stories and has a great grasp of vocabulary and plot comprehension, but he doesn’t enjoy the mechanics of sounding out words and reading for himself. I hadn’t been pushing him because Garrett was also at this point at this age, and he is already reading above grade level, because some education philosophies (like Waldorf) think that 7 is still young to teach reading, and because Tallis has such a stubborn streak that fighting with him to learn something that he didn’t want to learn didn’t seem like a winning strategy. I think that sports will help Tallis stay grounded, make friends, and have fun, but I have to have a flat to call home before I can arrange that for him.

Weyland, at two. He is confused by this move, but thus far is staying true to his nature — bright and sunny and excited. He loves trains and buses and planes and noises. About a month before we moved here he was sleeping on my lap while my mom and I talked with Garrett and Tallis about things they might see and do in London. Weyland woke just after we’d mentioned the Queen. He slid off my lap, stood up, raised his hand and announced “see Queen too!” Ever since he has, multiple times a day and especially if anyone said “England” or “London,” announced with great joy, “ride train see Queen!” We have already taken him on the tube, and he wants more riding the train. We have yet to see the Queen. The many sounds of the city — most especially the church bells — fascinate him, and he is constantly asking what that noise it.

And there is me, Challe, who will be 36 next month. I suppose that it is really my fault we’re here, because I got so involved in researching and recreating the clothing and fashion of women in England during the time Elizabeth of York (Henry VIII’s mother) was on the throne (1486-1503) that I exhausted the resources at the University of North Carolina and Duke University libraries. To make a more comprehensive study, I had to go to England, and so, thanks to a lot of luck and an awesome husband, here we are. I hope that with the children in school I will be able to work on my research. Perhaps I can even amass enough useful information to write a book.