MY HEART

Approximately ten days ago I told half of my heart that it would be wearing brown for family photos. The other half, since I actually trust her fashion instinct, decided to pair PINK with the brown. Go figure,

This is the result.

Is it any wonder I asked my sweet neighbor to take Blake's senior portraits for us and then snap a few of the whole family?

A few words to mothers of little ones. Remember that feeling when you saw the first professional photo of your baby? Or even the one taken in the hospital? Remember how you fell in love all over again and you wondered how in the world you were still breathing even though your heart had suddenly jumped outside your body?

Remember that?

Well, that feeling doesn't go away.

Even when, say, hypothetically, your grown son has decided not to shave or get a haircut until January 1st. Even, when, say, hypothetically, he holds fast to this commitment when it's time for his senior photos.

Even when, say, hypothetically you beg and plead and say "Why, son? WHY?" And you wave the white flag of surrender because, as you're pleading for a clean shaven young man, his peers are saying things likes "Dude, that is SO COOL. It's like you're a wolf man or something."

And how can a mother hold battle against such encouraging words?

But you look at the photos of "Wolf man" and his little sister and you fall in love any way.

You really can't explain it.

It's just there like a balloon swelling somewhere inside of you (probably that place where your heart used to be) and as you look at each proof, that balloon grows bigger and bigger. So big you know it's going to burst and leave a spray of tears all over your computer screen.

I love photos. Photos have a way of putting life into perspective. They remind you of what really matters. They remind you to put the past where it belongs. They remind you not to fear the future. They remind you that life is beautiful. Life is good.

They remind us that we somehow manage to do our job on this earth even when our heart is living outside our body.

********************************************

Thank you, Jenna. The photos are all gorgeous. You have a wonderful gift and we appreciate you.

SWEET HONEY...

...David Whyte in The Heart Aroused can resonate with the Spanish poet Antonio Machado who wrote:

Last night as I was sleeping, I dreamt - marvelous error! - that I had a beehive here inside my heart. And the golden bees were making white combs and sweet honey from my old failures."

"White combs and sweet honey from my old failures." Sometimes it works out that way, but not always. Sometimes my failures have me buried in shame and guilt and loss. I've come to learn that when I fail alone and isolated, I don't crawl out of the muck so well. Sweet honey only comes from my old failures when someone has taken the time to love me through my failures. And through the loving touch of that caring human being, I am healed.

Paul S. Williams

From the devotional book When I'm Learning to Love by Greg Allen, Rick Rusaw,
Dan Stuecher - Paul S. Williams, editor.

FRIEND

*Edited to add: Apparently this post made my friend cry and she sent me an e-mail IN ALL CAPS telling me so. This is not a good thing for her to be doing at work, crying that is. She works in a male dominated profession, which she combats beautifully by wearing lots of pink and carrying great purses. But still, there's no crying. So, sweet J-net, if those big mean men made fun of you, give me their names and I'll come down and smack 'em.
Okay, not really. That's your job.

I have this friend.

I'll call her J-net.

She's carrying quite a load right now so I decided last week to take dinner to her and her husband. I whipped up a pot of chicken noodle soup and popped in with it.

Don't they say chicken noodle soup is good for the soul or something?

So anyway, I had such a good time that night that I decided to do it again tonight.

Because even though I went to make their evening a little brighter they ended up making my evening a whole lot brighter.

Tonight I popped in with some meatloaf and trimmings. I knew I'd have to keep my visit short because Friend J-net has a cardio class in the evenings and I didn't want to keep her from it. Turns out she had a tiny little headache and decided to skip cardio so we could visit and laugh.
And laugh and laugh.

Here's the thing, though. She really didn't want to tell her husband she was skipping cardio due to a tiny little headache. Because, see, he has cancer. And he was in the garage working out while we were in the living room making excuses for skipping our own exercise routines that day.

He was working out with some other guys and I kept hearing this "thwump." "thwump." "thwump."

What IS that noise?

Oh, they're just swinging a sledge hammer against a tire.

Wait, what?

This man who is on the tail end of thirty six radiation treatments is in the garage swinging a sledge hammer before heading off to his second job?

HE WAS SLINGING. A. SLEDGE. HAMMER.

For fun.

And he's not, like, on a chain gang or anything.

And he's undergoing radiation treatments.

And I decided to skip my exercise today because I had cookies to bake and a meatloaf dinner to prepare. Oh and I had to run to the mall to buy an ice cream cone. I had a busy day, people!

So then.

When he came inside Friend J-net confessed that she was skipping cardio because she had a tiny little headache. And I decided to make the ultimate sacrifice for her and let him know: "Her headache's name is Heidi and I'm crying on her shoulder. She can't leave."

Once he finished his NINETY MINUTE WORKOUT he ate some dinner and left for his second job.

Hello. My name is Heidi and I am a slug.

Here's the thing about my little visits with my dear friend. I like to think that by showing up every week or so with a simple meal it might take a little stress off of her for a couple of nights. I like to think that the hour (or two or three) we spend laughing and talking might be a little pick me up for her.

And maybe it is.

But as it turns, out, it is a HUGE pick me up for me. Because even though she is carrying such a heavy burden right now, she has, on each of these visits, set her own burden down, and picked mine up for just a little while.

She has encouraged me, affirmed me, loved me, teased me, and made me laugh til I cry and cry til I laugh. She has been my sister in heart and in Christ. Each of us has helped the other bury her father. When I try to imagine my life before I met her, I simply cannot comprehend how empty it must have been without her shining smile, amazing humor, self assurance, and true loyalty.

Plus, when someone hurts my feelings she offers to hunt them down and smack 'em. Really, she does.

I am blessed by you Miss J-net. You have helped me more than you'll ever know during our years of friendship and I want to help you carry your burden.

And next week we have a celebration dinner to plan....

Love you sweet friend.

SLINKING AWAY

Each of my children has faced a bumpy road lately.

And each of them seems to have navigated it better than their mother.

When Kayla was having a disagreement with another girl - a disagreement that took an ugly turn - this mama bear had to work very hard to keep her responses measured and her words kind toward somebody who was hurting her cub.

Then one night, Kayla came home and calmly said "Oh, we worked it out. Things are fine now."

Now I have a confession.

When she said this, I wanted to say "But...wait...what do you mean you worked it out? What if she....you can't have...."

"Wait, what?"

But there was such finality to her statement, such calm assurance that I, for once, was able to keep my mouth shut and listen and learn.

It's over. It never happened. For now I choose to believe in this peace.

And I slinked away in shame.
***************************************************

Yesterday Blake had an encounter with an adult that, in his words, left him feeling intimidated.

And here came that mama bear again.

I calmly said to him something like "I'm sorry this happened to you. Do you want me to step in and say something?"

And he said "No, mom. I have a future ahead of me that's so much bigger than this man and this situation...."

And I slinked away in shame.
*****************************************************

Last Saturday was Senior picture day for Blake, and since it had been a while since we'd had family photos taken, we turned it into a session for all of us.

And as I watched a couple of Blake's shots (I didn't want to watch them all - I want to be surprised) I turned into a puddle of goo just thinking about the fact that we were at this point in life.

Then, just for fun, I had our photographer take a few shots of Kayla.

And I turned into a puddle of goo.

Because, come on!!

How does this happen so quickly? How do we get to this point so quickly - the point where we no longer spend an hour getting the perfect shoes, the perfect dress, the perfect socks, the perfect bow for pictures? The point where we no longer beg and cajole and threaten so that Blake will cooperate with "just a few shots, buddy. - PLEASE!" The point where Blake no longer has to hold his head at odd angles to work around the giant bow on his sister's head.

The point where our children are fighting their own battles better than we could fight for them and coming out the other side with a lesson learned.

The point where glimpses of their character are starting to shine through and we can, between prayers and frustrated slaps to our own foreheads, say maybe, just maybe, things are going to turn out just fine.

And we get out their baby books and try to convince ourselves that those days really weren't so sweet after all.

LEARY

Yesterday at Kayla's last softball game, I noticed a guy there that looked a little...um...shall we say....shady. He was wearing a funny stocking cap and sunglasses that I suppose were like Oakley's or something like that. Maybe he got them in Europe....la te da....

He had not been at any of the games before but he kept standing around watching MY DAUGHTER'S game so I was just a little disconcerted.

So much so that I turned around and snapped his picture:

Oh wait. It's only Kayla's big brother and his friend Mitchell.

"911? Uh, yeah, never mind. The shady guy is my son."

Crisis averted.

PERSPECTIVE

Life has been coming at us hard and fast lately - as hard and fast as a speeding freight train.

And we are tied to the tracks.

For a local point of reference - we are the Trojans and life is Tuscola.

We are the Titantic and it is the iceberg.

Yeah, things have been a little rough.

But Friday I got some news that puts things into perspective for me.

Our neighbor's son was injured in Afghanistan last week. You might have seen the story on one of the national news channels. Our troops were caught in a fire fight - outnumbered - and lost eight brave soldiers. Our neighbor's son, a medic, received multiple shrapnel injuries. I think his body will heal more quickly than his spirit. After all, he had the horrendous task of tending to his brothers in arms who gave their lives.

This young soldier's step dad was Kayla's softball coach last summer. His little sister was on her team. I thanked him last summer for his service to our country - before he shipped out. I talked a lot to his mother about what it was like to have not one but TWO sons serving our country in a war zone. I listened to every word she spoke but I still did not comprehend.

I still don't.

But I called his mother today. I called to tell her that I was praying for her and we most certainly would continue praying for her boy and her family. And that is all I could do. What does one do for a neighbor whose son is injured in a desert half way around the world? How does one even begin to put words to that kind of pain?

Please pray for this family. Please pray for all families that are receiving that most heartbreaking of phone calls or visits from some U.S. Government official who never met their loved one.

It is indeed time for peace.

CHILLY

Now I know why they call it a FALL league.

It was a wee bit chilly at Kayla's games yesterday. But notice the trees in the pictures below. They are truly becoming gorgeous.

But anyway. When we started the day yesterday at the fields it was a balmy 51 degrees, partly sunny with a breeze that kept things a bit nippy. At the end of the final game it was 48 degrees with no hint of sunshine and a breeze that kept the moms a bit snippy.

And now for a brief pitching tutorial - from the least athletic mind God ever created.



When a pitcher warms up she does not throw fast solid pitches lest she hurt her arm and her mom and dad have to pay for some sort of contraption to make it all better. And no no no that's not gonna happen.

Here is Kayla "framing."I think that means she is just like, maybe, getting herself centered, and, like, maybe, staying balanced. Frankly, I don't know. But she's doggone cute while she does it. (notice the girl to the left. That's Hillary. Her hat? It's a magic hat 'cause that girl was on fire yesterday. note to self: buy 12 zebra caps.)

Then the pitcher will bring her pitching arm above her head, forming an "L" with her other arm, then bring the pitch around in a nice smooth arc, then snap her lower arm quickly and release the ball, like so:

She will do this a dozen times or so. I actually caught this whole action in a series of frames but have no idea how to explain it. And I'm sure Kayla will read this post and say "Um...mother? You got it all wrong." Whatever. But she looks doggone cute while she's doing it.

Perhaps as the mother of an athlete I should know more about her sport but I consider myself to be my kids' chief cheerleader. That is my only job. They have coaches. The parents who know lots about the sports - all the technical stuff and every teeny tiny rule - tend to be, in my experience, the ones who are also more critical of their kids. I don't know sports, but I know how to encourage so I'm going to keep myself ignorant, thank you very much.

The girl with the hat? She also wore some pretty nifty little boots to the game. I told you it was chilly.

Here are Kayla and Becky. I had asked for Kayla not to act annoyed at my picture taking so Becky was kind enough to step in and take on that role. What are friends for?

My daughter will not let brisk Autumn temperatures deprive her of her flip flops. She has a thing for flip flops. Oh don't worry. She doesn't play in them. She changes to her cleats that are black with pink stripes. 'Cause you gotta work the pink in somehow.

Kayla, what's with the annoyed look? I'm your mother. I birthed you. I'm really cold.

Could you please give me a genuine, sincere, appreciative smile?

Okay maybe a little over the top but we'll take it.

Oh and her coat? We thought it was a little pricey when we ordered it last year as part of her school softball uniform. But I threw it on today to step outside and it's REEEEALLLY nice and warm, and it's water repellent and it fits me.

If it didn't have her name embroidered on it I'd totally steal it.

FLU SHOT - PART II

So on Wednesday I decided that Kayla and I needed a little quality girl time.

After school, we got in the van and headed out - not for shoe shopping but...wait for it...are you ready....?

FLU SHOTTING

Since I could think of nothing for which Kayla needed to be punished in the past week, I decided to spare her the Walgreens experience and instead headed for our nearest walk-in clinic.

Oh the heartache of having the best family doctor, ever, 21 miles away.

But really, it didn't matter where we were going; what mattered was the mother/daughter bonding time we were giving ourselves, right?

Pulling into the parking lot, I was somewhat encouraged because there did not appear to be many cars there. Counting the staff, I figured the cars represented maybe 10-15 people who might be in various stages of their walk-in doctoring.

My spirits sunk, however, when we walked into the waiting room and the first thing we saw was a stainless steel stand holding surgical masks, tissues and a giant bottle of hand sanitizer.

And I heard the theme from Jaws playing in my head.

There was a young mother with a little girl in line ahead of us at the sign-in desk. The not-so-subtle sign in lady said really loudly "So she's getting a flu shot?" And that poor sweet little girl turned her head and looked up at her mom like she was suffering the biggest betrayal of her life. Her lower lip began to quiver, her face scrunched up in a heartbreaking pout, and then tears began to fall silently down her precious little cheeks. I wanted to take that stainless steel rack and soundly thrash that mean lady. That poor little girl had a long wait ahead of her to dread the needle and obviously her mother had wanted to spare her that. I bet after work that lady went to that little girl's house and kicked her puppy.

Not one to be pessimistic (ahem) I thought SURELY at the start of flu season they had a system set up such that seekers of the flu shot were being called back lickity split while the miserably sick were required to wait a minimum of 90 minutes.

Because fair is fair, people.

Turns out I was wrong.

So terribly, painfully wrong. I soon realized that EVERYBODY was going to wait a minimum of 90 minutes. Escpecially scared little girls waiting to be poked with a needle.

After signing in and checking all the "No" boxes on Kayla's flu shot form we settled in for what I still hoped would be a short wait.

Kayla read her book and made small talk with a little boy who was probably in fifth or sixth grade. (That girl really has a way with kids) I sat and stared into space. I tried not to look at the little girl across the room who was curled into a ball in her chair silently crying while her mother whispered in her ear. It was hard to ignore her. I also couldn't seem to ignore all those germs that were jumping onto my body.

Because this room was full of really sick people. People slumped over in their chairs like they were made of noodles. People whose eyes were red and puffy. People with little piles of used tissues lying beside them on the chair. A lady on the cell phone telling somebody "Yeah, I'm swollen all over." My only distraction was a little boy who was about two. He would catch my eye, smile, cover his face and giggle. He was painfully cute. So cute it made my arms ache to hold him in my lap. But that would not have been wise.

Germs, ya know.

His cuteness was countered, though, by the little boy of about 7 who spent 20 minutes doing handstands in the middle of the waiting room floor. I kept wondering why somebody, you know, like a parent of his, didn't roll up a magazine and pop him on the back of his baggy little jeans after he was told to stop and he didn't. But I'm mean like that.

So we waited about 25 minutes before I decided we had picked up all the germs we could - there were no more germs to be found here - and I politely told the receptionist to take our name out of the line up because we decided not to wait.

We high tailed it back to the van where I made Kayla bathe in hand sanitizer. There was so much hand sanitizer floating through our van, the poor girl had to open her window to breathe lest it bring on an asthma attack. "Geeesh, Mom!"

Then we stopped by the marine office where I had hoped to catch my son's recruiter because I had a question. But we had no luck there, so we walked next door to the new Bible book store and bought my friend and her husband some presents (because he is fighting cancer - please pray for them) and ourselves some CD's and books.

We arrived home just in time for Kayla to leave with a friend to go eat Chinese food for dinner, while I made a note to call our doctor's office to let them know we'd be stopping in for a flu shot.

All in all, I'd say this girls day out ranks right up there with our last trip to the dentist. Plus, I'm still in the running for mother of the year.

HOMECOMING

After the float had been floated, the concessions had been concessioned, and the game and been won, it was time to put all of our efforts into the dance the following evening.

So Saturday evening, my heart got all dressed up and took itself to the festivities.
Separately of course. This was as close as the two W offspring were going to get to spending their evening together. You know, I think I'm objective when I say this; I haven't done a lot of remarkable things in my life but I sure did make me some pretty babies.

The W girls:

Kayla's dress came from London and I think she did a wonderful job choosing her hair-do to go with it. It was a side pony tail with lots of curls and she put a silk flower in it. Nice and simple.

Cousin Maddy spent the weekend with us and went to the dance with Kayla and her friends. Next week, Kayla is going to Maddy's dance. These girls obviously hate each other. See how unhappy they look. They are miserable like that every time they get together.

Since the weather was so terrible, we decided to turn the W house into a clown car and see just how many sophomores (and a couple freshmen I think) we could fit into our family room for photos.

FOURTEEN!! With room for a few more. It was a very sparkly gathering.


Me and my boy:

Notice his huge smile. No really, that's a huge smile for Blake. But I know he loves is mama.


After the sophomores left for dinner we rotated the seniors in. Blake and his friend Connor brought their dates to the house for some quick photos. Connor's Marine ship date is June 21, while Blake's is May 24. The really neat thing about these two big tough future marines - one swimmer and one wrestler.....

...is that they went to the dance wearing pink and purple.

Because that's what their dates told them to wear and they are no dummies.

Blake and his sweet date Mackenzie.

Well, there they are again in front of the fireplace.

Beauties and the Beasts: Connor and Jenna; Blake and Mackenzie.

I have a couple more great photos to post but I have to first steal them from a couple of different facebook pages.

And I need Kayla to help me do that.

*Legal note: There is a slight possibility that this post may disappear within 24-48 hours because I have absolutely NO permission from the parents of any of the above pictured minors to post their photos on this blog. And since I have seven (yes, SEVEN!!!) followers and a few closet readers (those who don't want to admit they read it) this could turn into quite an ugly legal battle. If I do happen to receive a cease and desist order, I'm going straight to Nancy Grace so you'll just have to tune in to see what happens.

RESCUE

Edited to add: Well, I've been called out on a terrible mistake in this post. Apparently, today was simply WACKY TACKY day at school - not WACKY TACKY SUPER HERO DAY. It was my daughter's idea to put on a cape and become a super hero for the day. The good news is, she rescued my weary heart. The bad news is that my daughter actually has a pink super hero cape in her wardrobe. I've yet to decide if I should worry about just how far her love of accessorizing has taken her.


It's been a bad ten days here at the House of W.

Because of things that are too private for this blog, there are some heavy hearts around here.

But life goes on and we strive to enjoy the here and now while picking up the pieces from "before" and looking forward to the peace that comes with "after."

And since this is homecoming week for us, there are many distractions like float building and dance preparations.

Since every day this week has had a theme at school, and since today was WACKY TACKY SUPER HERO day, this super hero swooped in this morning and picked my heart up off the floor:

Seriously, wouldn't your heart feel just a little lighter if YOU had given birth to this super hero?

And while we're on the subject, what shall we call her?

THE PAY AND BEG POLICY....MANIPULATION AT ITS BEST

So, I am granting myself a reprieve from the "no more non-vacation posts" decree.

Because it's homecoming week, people!!

And if anybody out there can think of something that is more blog worthy than homecoming at a small rural school, I'd like to know what it is.

Anybody?

Yeah, I though so.

Homecoming week for me, since I am an O.M. (Officer Mom) means many things - many exciting and wonderful things that I never dreamed I'd be lucky enough to experience.

LIKE BUILDING ANOTHER FLOAT. woot! woot!

In order to build a float, you first have to load a couple of teenage girls into your van and traipse through Menard's looking for just the right materials to make your float - materials that can be converted into something that conveys the theme of the parade. The theme is ROMAN. This trip to Menard's will involve speaking to many different staff members who will look at you as though you've grown a second head when you say "oh, we're going to use it on a float..." about all the different items you need to purchase.

My idea was to pull an empty flatbed behind our Jeep with a banner that says "Rome Wasn't Built in a Day." But that suggestion didn't go over well.

Unfortunately, I can't tell you our REAL float idea now because there might be moles from the other classes reading this blog and we don't want any of our FANTASTIC ideas being leaked to the wrong people. There is, after all, absolutely nothing at stake here - no prize money, no blue ribbon - so we need to be very careful.

Anyway, back at Menard's you and another O.M. have to get all those materials into your van and/or Tahoe only to find out the ply wood won't fit, causing you to have to make arrangements for somebody with a pickup to come back and get that later. Which will turn into a whole new adventure....

Then you meet at the appointed garage and start assigning tasks to the pack (pack? herd? gaggle?) of sophomores assembled there so we can get this float going. You also realize that JUST ACROSS THE STREET the freshman class will be building their float and you feel a little ashamed as you try to think of ways to send your sophomores over to spy on them to see what they are building. Maybe they could say they lost their frisbee?

This is all even more exciting if it occurs on a day that you are suffering a knock-you-off-your-feet migraine and your mail order prescription company has once again failed to deliver your medication.

So then.

Letters are traced. Items are painted. The school mascot is reproduced. The float is taking shape.

All the kids are working well and you are able to stand back and decide that it is not necessary to panic after all. This will get done.

And then you are hit with the realization that last year you GROSSLY underestimated how much candy would be needed to keep all the little parade watchers happy and - OH MY GOSH!!- where will all the candy come from? Because the officer parents simply can't donate everything!! Suddenly you are obsessed with candy.

Must. Find. Candy. Preferably one full ton.

This is where the manipulation comes in.

Since you need to buy flowers for the upcoming dance anyway, you go into the local balloon/flower/candy shop and order two corsages and one boutonniere (don't ask), and after you hand over waaaaay too much money, you casually say something like "Would you be interested in donating some candy for the parade so that our kids can throw it from their float?" And when the nice lady asks how much, you say "Whatever you are willing to give would be greatly appreciated."

And then you walk out with two pounds of Bit-o-Honey.

Then you go back to Menard's where you, just a few days prior, had spent waaaaay too much money on float supplies and ask the same question, only to be told that those requests have to go through their home office, which takes about two weeks. And you're really disappointed because, really, what's a giant bag of tootsie rolls to these people when you just put $170.00 on your credit card (for which you'll be reimbursed) to purchase supplies from their store?

But you refuse to be bitter so you thank them nicely and head to Pizza Hut where you are hoping to snag some pizza boxes.

Once again you decide to follow your "pay first, then beg" policy. So you order a salad bar to go and then casually ask how much they would be willing to sell their pizza boxes for, unless, you know, they'd be willing to DONATE them. Then you say the magic words..."The kids are going to use them on their homecoming float."

And the nice young man says he thinks he can give them to you but let him check with his general manager, as he pulls out his cell phone and - GREAT NEWS - the GM says you can have the boxes if you promise to come in and eat pizza sometime soon.

Ummm....pizza? Wow, what a sacrifice. So you reluctantly agree to come in for a pizza sometime soon (what's next - force feeding me chocolate?) and skip merrily to your van wondering how you can manipulate your husband into donating a new sofa to your living room.

SO, I LIED....

Okay, so this has nothing to do with our vacation but school pictures came in today so what's a mom to do? Simply not post them on the blog?

I think not.

Sweet Kayla Beth - Sophomore class vice president, softball fanatic, scholastic bowl member, extreme social butterfly. My girl.


Big Man on Campus Blake. Senior, wrestler, future marine. Sufferer of severe senioritis. Mother thrilled he's actually smiling - almost. Shirt? Also worn in sophomore photo AND junior photo.

Like I said: JUST. LIKE. HIS. FATHER. My boy.

Blake's formal senior portraits are scheduled for October and we are going to have some family pictures taken at that time too.

Blake is absolutely thrilled, mainly because I'm picking out his outfit for those.

IT'S TIME TO PUT THIS BABY TO BED....

It's interesting how, while we were on vacation IN EUROPE!!! that I couldn't wait to get home and blog about our experience. I would lie awake each night on our trip thinking of a post that would sum up the day we had just experienced.

Then we got home and had to wait on pictures to be printed and sorted.

And real life started happening again.

And I said to Paul one night "It's kind of sad that the memories of our vacation are fading such that we don't even sit around in the evening saying 'remember this....' Life goes on."

And he said "yeah."

It was my goal to journal our vacation, day by day, as a reminder to our kids so that one day they might look back and say "oh yeah, that really was a fantastic 12 days."

And I still want to do that, but have allowed things like the back to school rush, a new job for my husband (yeah, a whole new series of posts), fund raisers, homecoming week, and just the excitement of my life in general (FLU SHOTS!!!) to get in my way of documenting some of the most exciting days our family has spent together.

Well, NO MORE, I say!

From now on, there will be no more posts on this blog that do not pertain to the W Family's trip to Europe until I have expended every word, every memory so that it will finally be part of my legacy that is this blog.

And it's all printed and bound, on it's way to a publisher who will surely see to it that it lands on the New York Times bestseller list.

I will admit it has become more like an assignment that I must complete instead of an easy flow of words describing the trip of a lifetime with my family.

But I have a feeling that as I start to review the photos again and sit down to recap each day, the excitement will pick up and I will once again enjoy putting into words this journey that was actually indescribable.

If I remember correctly, I am about to recap our trip to Bayeux and the beaches of Normandy, which might be why I have stalled out a little bit.

My grandfather was there, and as I sit and look at the photos of him in his Army uniform and I try to imagine his journey, I simply cannot wrap my mind around it.

But the ideas are forming and the words are coming. And I do find it important to put these words to paper, so to speak, not for the sake of the few of you who read my blog (although I am thrilled to have you check in) but for the sake of my children who simply must know the connection they have to one of the many many heroes that left their homes and fought on a distant land to liberate a continent.

I think I'm back on track, kids.

ONE FLU OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST

So have you all seen the Walgreens commercials about flu shots?

You can go into your local Walgreens any time between 10:00 a.m. and 4 p.m. seven days a week and get a flu shot for $24.99. I think I even saw that there would be an actual nurse there giving the shots. Perhaps I was wrong.

So, since our family doctor is 21 miles from our house and Walgreens is about 2 miles from our house, I decided to take advantage of the Walgreens Flu Shot Service and go get myself vaccinated today.

Silly me.

So I show up, fully expecting to have to fill out a little information slip stating my name, date of birth and medical issues. And then I though that a nice nurse from, oh I don't know VNA or something, would take my form and stick a needle in my arm.

Um...not so much.

I was instructed to fill out the form and return it to the pharmacy counter, where it would then be placed in the "we'll get to it when we can" pile - along with all the prescription requests.

"We have to treat it like a prescription," the pharmacy tech told me.

Huh?

So then.

I sat in a nice molded plastic chair and read a riveting magazine/pamphlet entitled
Diabetes and You, while glancing around the store looking for the ever elusive nurse who was supposed to be sticking a needle in my arm.

Hmmmm. I couldn't seem to find the nurse. I was, however, starting to see red flags every where I looked.

After a 20 minute wait, my self prescribed flu shot finally made it to the top of the prescription request pile and somebody called out my last name.

Oh goody, I'd get to meet the nurse!!!

Only instead of a nurse, a pharmacist pulled herself away from her pharmacisitacizing and came out to the plastic chairs armed with alcohol wipes, rubber gloves, and needles.

Are pharmacists trained to give injections?

I mean do they have practical, hands on experience with needles....on real live people?

I'm just askin'.

Because, owwwwww-uh.

I don't think this one did.

I'm sure she's an excellent pharmacist and has tremendous knowledge in all things pharmaceutical.

But she really wasn't meant to give a shot.

Because, owwwww-uh.

She somehow managed to push the needle against my skin without actually puncturing the skin, but merely briefly torturing my arm with a searing pain that made the left side of my mouth curl up in a little snarl while little silver sparkles flashed in front of my eyes.

And then she let out a little "Hmmmm," like she was confused as to why the needle wasn't actually, you know, piercing my flesh; followed by a nearly inaudible grunt as she gave the needle one final thrust, causing the needle to not only pierce my flesh but also enter it approximately one quarter of an inch.

Now, I'm not one to be bothered by needles, but I let out a little wince and she said "Oh, did that sting a little?"

Ummm....yeah, if you call having a dart thrown into your bicep "stinging a little."

I guess this professional cross-over could be a good thing. If pharmacists can now give injections, maybe the man who changes the oil in my van can now fly a commercial jet.

And maybe I can deliver my neighbor's baby in February.

COMPLEX

I am feeling a little insecure right now as I just picked up our mail.

I have received a note from the local "Behavioral Health Center" - that would be the mental health clinic - AND a note from the Midwest Center for Plastic Surgery.

Clearly my husband has been in contact with these organizations.

Upon opening the plastic surgery letter first, I found this note:

Dear Mrs. W

As Medical Director of Midwest Center for Plastic Surgery I've decided to offer a select group of individuals the opportunity to get to know my staff and I...blah, blah, blah.

Aside from the poor sentence structure - shouldn't it read "to get to know my staff and ME?" -
I could not bring myself to read further; it was, after all a five page letter/advertisement.

Because, how rude!!

I will admit that I'm intrigued by the final page that offers $900 OFF! any series of three or more fraxel treatments - must present coupon for discount. I have no idea what fraxel treatments are but they don't sound pleasant. Plus, I cannot imagine myself presenting a coupon to my doctor.
Thank you Mrs. W; that will be $2500 today please.
Oh, wait I have a $900 coupon. Wow that really makes it much more reasonable doesn't it?

If I can't be bothered to use a coupon for kitty litter, I can't be bothered to use a coupon for fraxeling. Plus there's that sentence structure thing again. I may have cellulite and crows feet but I really do like me some good grammar.

Now for the mental health correspondence, I had decided before opening the card that I might be willing to cash in the coupon for some mental health evaluations.... for the good of my family.

But alas the mental health correspondence is merely an invitation to a fundraiser for a day center for homeless adults.

A fundraiser which we may or may not attend.

Depending on whether or not I've healed from my plastic surgery by that time.

LONDON TO FRANCE

British sailors.





Ships of the Royal Navy

My girl on the deck of the ferry

Cars driving onto the ferry

Our little diner in Cherbourg, France

Looking down the street from the diner.

There were lots of flower shops in this area - close to the Normandy Cemeteries.

We spent very little time in Cherbourg on our way to Bayeux. Coming back, however, we had much more time.

Because we got lost.

I'D RATHER...

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I will be visiting the cell phone shop tomorrow to purchase a new cell phone for a member of the W family.

While I think the sudden death of said cell phone is totally beyond the control of the cell phone owner; I still do not enjoy the thought of entering this little shop of horrors where rude sales people, numerous contracts and long lines await me.

I will be lying in bed tonight thinking of the many things I'd rather do than spend time at the cell phone store tomorrow:

- root canal

- child birth

- an ice pick to the eye

-an ice pick to the other eye

- re-enrolling in that Church History class I took in college

- sitting through a fifth grade band concert

- swim suit shopping

- the South Beach diet

- bathing the cat

- letting my husband choose my clothes

Other than that, I think it'll be a real good time.

PERMISSION

It is always a little bit disconcerting when the caller ID on the ringing telephone indicates that it's the kids' school calling.

So when that happened just this morning I wondered who was sick, who forgot what, or what function I was being asked to volunteer for.

Instead of any of those things it was Blake asking if I would please tell the school secretary that it was indeed OK for him to watch President Obama's Back to School address.

I'm guessing Blake's Current Events class is watching it today.

I do not fault the school for needing permission for Blake to watch this speech. They do, after all, have to cover all their bases with anything that could be considered politically divisive, even explosive.

But here's the thing.

Blake is eighteen years old.

He is old enough to vote.

In less than nine months he will be leaving for Marine Boot Camp where he will be trained to fight in a war.

He no longer falls under the confines of the city curfew.

And to top it all off, he is more politically astute than his father and I and probably more so than many adults.

I think he is old enough and smart enough to decide if he wants to watch the President give a motivational speech to students.

So I said No way, he absolutely could not watch that Presidential address!

Oh stop. You know I'm kidding.

Actually I apologized to the secretary for having to take time out of her busy day to make a phone call to me because my son forgot to get a permission slip and then I said Yeah, he can watch the president.

As a Republican I see absolutely nothing wrong with President Obama wanting to address our school children. Having seen previews of some of the ads that went with the speech, I was not thrilled with the little montage of stars saying "I pledge to be a servant to President Barack Obama." How about pledging to be a servant to our country?

But that was not enough to make me keep my children from watching our president address our nation's children. As much as we disagree with many of his policies, we have always tried to teach our kids that the office of the president deserves respect. And it can never hurt to listen to a message that is meant to do nothing more than motivate kids to work hard, stay in school, and always try your best.

Because some kids really need to hear that kind of talk...ahem.

Even Blake, who has very strong political opinions (Republican opinions)and, due to his youth, sometimes has a hard time softening his own views to make room for the views of others, has said that he doesn't understand what all the uproar has been about. "There is nothing wrong with our president addressing school kids. Other presidents have done it," he told me the other night when I asked how he felt about the controversy surrounding this speech.

When George W. Bush was president I often commented that I had never seen such hatred for a man and I truly felt the attacks on him were vicious and unwarranted. Many of the attacks were against the man and not against his policies.

And now the same is happening with President Obama. There is such hatred and anger surrounding the president that it makes me wonder who would ever want to pursue the office.

Some might think that a Republican such as myself would be glad to see President Obama receive some of the venom that our last president had coming at him from all directions. While I'll admit that the shallow part of me is glad to see the other side realize it's not so easy to do that job, I'm actually just sad about the whole thing.

Isn't it sad that no matter who presides in the Oval Office, there are those who are determined to spend four or eight years full of anger and hatred?

I do not know if there are many left in Washington who truly want to serve our country. I do not know if there are many left who think of country first and self last, as they all claim while they are campaigning. The few who truly want to serve country first are drowned out by the voices of those looking out for number one.

So because there is such a volatile political divide in our country, our children now need permission to watch the President of the United States give a speech.

And now I need to find a way to watch that speech because, when Blake gets home tonight, I don't want him to be able to politically one-up me....again.

DAY 4 - LONDON TO FRANCE - JULY 27

On Monday the 27th, we spent the morning hanging out at the flat, finishing laundry and packing for our quick trip to France.


Upon arriving at the train station late that afternoon, I realized we had not brought any umbrellas and, since it had rained at least part of every day so far, I decided to pick up a couple at one of the station shops, because who wouldn't want an umbrella from London?


But then I got the stink eye from Paul.


Because he thought since we had some umbrellas back at the flat there was no need to purchase more, even though we were traveling 1,000 miles AWAY from the flat.


For three days.


So then.

We had a 90 minute train ride through the beautiful English country side. And I do mean beautiful. The scenery was out of a perfectly set movie. We saw deer, sheep and lots of rabbits. We saw beautiful farms and rustic little cottages. Everything was green, greener than things are around here in late July.

We arrived in Portsmouth, England at about 5:00 p.m. Portsmouth is also an historic town. It served as a staging ground for Allied Troops as they prepared to cross the English channel to France. Except I think our method of travel across the channel was much more pleasant than that of our troops.

Of course it was raining when we arrived.

So we carried our luggage out of the train depot and flagged a cab to take us to our Holiday Inn Express, only to have the driver say "Do you know where it is? It's just right around that corner. It's really not worth your money for me to drive you there."

Okie dokie then.

So we dragged our luggage up hill and around the corner.

In the English drizzle.

With no umbrellas.

We had two adjoining rooms - nothing fancy, which was fine because we were only going to be there about 12 hours. Paul and I were especially lucky because we had a wheelchair accessible room that also happened to be a smoking room.

So we had plenty of space AND were able to inhale second hand smoke as we slept.

I will get to the shower later.

We had been told about a great new outdoor mall, Gun Wharf Quay, that we were eager to explore.

It was especially exciting to explore it in the rain.

Without an umbrella.

As I got wetter and hungrier, I unfortunately also got grumpier and less forgiving. I grew tired of dashing from awning to awning. So when we decided to separate for a while, I turned into an obstinate 12-year-old and decided that, by golly, I was going to buy not one umbrella, but TWO so Kayla could have one also.

I knew Blake wouldn't want one and I had decided that Paul didn't deserve one.

It was surprisingly difficult to find umbrellas at an outdoor mall in England, but I managed.

And yes, when we met up again, I made sure my umbrella was up in full bloom and managed to give it a couple of twirls as I said "Here's an umbrella for you....Kayla."

Because I'm mature like that.

One of the first shops I wanted to visit was the Pastry Shop because I'm all about pastry and sugar. So I walked into this shop that smelled like Heaven only...wait a minute...I didn't smell sugar. I smelled meat and spices. Turns out in my drooling excitement over another European pastry I had misread the sign and had entered a PASTY shop - not a PASTRY shop. Boy do I wish there had been an "R"on that sign.

After exploring the mall and agreeing that we needed another day to fully enjoy it (which we did not have), we headed to supper at a very nice seafood place - Loch Nye. This was one of only three full service restaurants we ate at on our trip. It was a little out of the kids' comfort zone but they were good sports.

After dinner, Blake and I headed back to the hotel because we were cold and damp. Paul and Kayla explored the area a little more, looking at the ships that were moored in the harbor.

Before bed, the four of us had a wonderful time simply sitting in the lobby of the hotel drinking sodas and talking about our trip so far and what was to come. Simple moments like that are what make the trip so memorable for me.

Since we were getting up at 5:30 to catch the ferry to France, we tried to get to bed early. I did not sleep well at all so it was a difficult morning for me.

A morning made even more interesting by my experience with the wheelchair accessible shower.

See, it was basically a shower nozzle without a stall. There was a curtain, but nothing to contain the water.

It literally flooded the entire bathroom floor.

Perhaps I did something wrong, but for the life of me I couldn't figure out how I could have showered in there without leaving standing water ALL OVER THE BATHROOM.

So as I was using every spare towel we had to mop the bathroom floor I kept telling myself "this is no big deal. I'm going to France. I'm going to France. I'm going to France....."

We finally were able to make it to the ferry landing where we started our three hour trip to Cherbourg, France.

Since I had not slept well the night before, I settled into my seat, popped a Dramamine and slept the entire time.

We arrived in Cherbourg, where we had two hours before we could get our rental car, because in France, most businesses shut down from noon to two. We took this time to eat at a little family owned diner, where the kids and I enjoyed Croque Monsieur, or French Grilled Cheese.

Leave it to the French to make grilled cheese better than anybody else. It had some really yummy ham in it and...get this...cheese on the outside of the bread as well as the inside. I don't know how those French women stay so skinny and, frankly, I resent it a little.

Coming up next...Bayeux -what turned out to be the best part of our trip for Paul and me.

DAY 3 - LONDON - CONTRIBUTING TO THE DELINQUENCY OF A MINOR

So we arrive at the Original Hard Rock Cafe and by that time I am doing a little Potty Dance.

As we are told that it will be a twenty minute wait in the London drizzle, I begin to panic a little because...HELLO...I must find a loo!!

So the host tells me to wind through the upstairs dining room and then down the narrow flight of stairs and there I will find a toilet.

*They are not called restrooms in England - they are called loos, toilets, "ladies" or "gentleman's" And boy do I feel cultured knowing that.*

So after availing myself of the facilities I climbed back up the narrow staircase, wound my way back through the upstairs dining room and back out into the London drizzle, just as our party was called for dinner.

S0.

Our server took us back through the upstairs dining room, back down the same narrow staircase and into the back of the DOWNSTAIRS dining room. And I had a vague feeling of resentment about retracing my steps.

A very nice young man was our server and when he asked for our drink orders, I was thrilled to be able to say "Iced tea with lemon, please." God bless America. Blake ordered a Coke, Paul ordered water and Kayla ordered a raspberry lemonade.

Then as we waited on our drinks and looked over the menu, Kayla says "Um....Daaddeee....I think I might have ordered an alcoholic beverage."

She pointed out that there were two raspberry lemonades on the menu and what if the server thought she wanted the one with rum in it?

So we were all like - oh surely he would have known you didn't want the alcoholic one - we'll be fine.

And then he brought our drinks and she took a sip and...YOWZA!!! her eyes couldn't get any bigger!!

Wait, says Daddy, let me try... and sure enough, we had just given our underage daughter alcohol.

So I was all like - we can simply explain to the waiter that we need a non-alcoholic raspberry lemonade and we were sorry for the misunderstanding. Paul, however, was all like - Noooooo-uh, we didn't want to offend anybody (wait, what?) and we would just keep it.

So I was all like well, then it's just going to have to sit there and he was all like - no way, that cost 7 pounds, it's going to be drunk (drunk? drank?).

Is anybody that knows Paul surprised at that... anybody?

I spent seven pounds on that booze, somebody's going to drink it...

So since Kayla got a drink of it, we had to let Blake have a drink of it, and then Paul finished off the fruity, girly, alcoholic beverage that was intended for our underage daughter.

Because he's greedy like that.

Then he woke up in the middle of the night with a really bad headache and I was all like - it's the rum, you know? And he was all like - no it can't be that. And I was all like - Uh huh, it's the rum, you big lush. There's Tylenol in my bag over there.

I wonder if the Museum of London would have been more enjoyable had we given our kids booze BEFORE we went though it.

HOLD ON A MINUTE....DAY 3 - LONDON

So the other day, while he was at work I think, Paul figured out how to find our lost pictures.

Because he is VERY busy at work doing lots of planning and business developing and...well, whatever.

So, while the guys went to have a real live "In the Trenches" experience at the Imperial War Museum, Kayla and I did a little more sightseeing and people watching.

Hey, Kayla what's that?
Heh, made ya look!

The museum had all sorts of aircraft hovering overhead.


Here is my little boy with Little Boy.

After the museums we headed back to St. James Palace to get the typical tourist-type pictures.

Um...excuse me...but could you tell me how you get such height to your hair?


Kayla with the police officer.

Blake with the police officer.

I think all the police officers are named Bobby....



Kayla and Blake with a palace guard.

Between the Imperial War Museum and the above photos, we visited the Museum of London.

This was my idea because I had read that the Museum of London had an air raid shelter in which you could experience what Londoners experienced during the war.

Not only did we not find the air raid shelter, but we did not find anything of interest to any of us.

This sounds very uncultured and boorish of us, because it actually was a very nice museum. But we were over tired, over hungry, over walked, over subwayed, and by that time, over museumed; so three quarters of us were a little bit grumpy, and so, went through the museum in about 13 minutes.

I'm sure you can guess that Paul was the 25% of the W family who took his time and absorbed every last detail of medieval life in London.

This was fine, as the rest of us were able to rest on some benches and shop at the gift shop. The kids really wanted to buy some Bobby helmets to bring home but I didn't think they would pack easily being the dome shape that they are. And neither one of them would agree to wear them on the plane to save valuable suitcase space.

Seeing as how it was about 3:00 pm and all we had eaten that day was a little bit of cereal and some chips and candy bars (because even when we travel, I INSIST on maintaining our healthy eating habits) we were desperate, DESPERATE I tell you, to find a place for dinner.

So as we made our way back to the subway that would take us to the other side of town, there was a little grumbling about the fact that the Museum of London was kind of a bust for us.

I'M SORRY! The guide book said there was an air raid shelter. I thought it would be neat to see.

This of course caused Paul to insist that I had misread the guide book and was confusing the air raid shelter with the "Life in the Trenches" exhibit at the Imperial War Museum.

Huh uh!

So when we got back to the flat that night, I had the unpleasant task of turning to the page in the guidebook that said, IN BLACK AND WHITE, that we were sure to thoroughly enjoy the air raid shelter at THE MUSEUM OF LONDON.

Look, I don't enjoy saying "I told you so" but sometimes it is necessary.

It was not however, worth it, considering the numerous subway stops and eternal walking we had to suffer to get to the museum that did not, after all, have the air raid shelter. We had even skipped lunch to make it to that museum.

Talk about sacrifice.

After the museum visits we walked through Greene Park and decided to eat at the original Hard Rock Cafe.

All moods improved greatly here because, of course, we were able to fill our stomachs.

Oh, and we accidentally let our fifteen-year-old daughter drink a beverage made with Bacardi Rum.

Yes, even 4,000 miles from home, I can still manage to stay in the running for mother of the year.

IS IT ANY WONDER I'M SO PROUD....

Blake started running cross country last year.

It is important to note that Blake does not like cross country; he merely runs to stay in shape for wrestling. It is a means to an end.

Last week we cross country parents received a wish list from the coach letting us know of different snack items and drinks the team would appreciate having for practices and meets.

Yesterday, being the super mom that I am, I dragged my sorry self to Sam's and bought a few things in bulk; left them on the dining room table with a note for Blake and then headed to a doctor's appointment.

Evidently, when Blake saw the stack of goodies that his martyr of a mother had purchased for his team, he called his father and said something like "I think I may be in trouble because mom went out and bought all this stuff for the team, and, uh, well...I'm not going to run cross country this year."

Oh yes he did.

When he saw me that evening he promised me that he would indeed be able to consume 36 bags of pretzels, 48 nutri-grain bars and a case of Gatorade; so, no need to worry, my money and time were not wasted.

Then he said "Wait, how about if Drew and I load this stuff up and take it to the soup kitchen downtown?"

Which completely stole my thunder, because how could I be mad at him after that?

Seeing as how he is no longer a cross country runner, I am especially glad that Blake brought this photo to my attention. It is a picture of the team last year.

Evidently, Blake and Cody occasionally ran their route in their wrestling singlets because...well, I have no idea why, other than Blake is just like his father was in high school.

JUST. LIKE. HIS. FATHER.

My son is the one in the back. The one wearing the orange cap and the shades. Cody is the other one in the back who also appears to have no shirt on.

Because evidently this was a day they decided to run in their singlets.

I feel a little sorry for Cody's mom because her son did not think to don an orange cap and sunglasses with his singlet while running through the village park.

That pride is mine and mine alone.

*************************

For the zeroes of you who are wondering; I'm going to get back on our vacation story tomorrow. Really I am.

BIG NEWS...

And it's kind of related to our trip.

But not really.

So.

While we were in London, the kids were not allowed to use their cell phones t0 text or call their friends back home because it would have been really expensive.

They did, however, get to use their father's Blackberry to make a couple of phone calls and/or text on occasion because it wasn't an extra cost to do so from that.

So they were able to at least take the edge off when they needed their fix.

Fast forward to last Saturday when Kayla went with a carload of friends to the Illinois State Fair. They went to a concert and I was really excited for her to have this opportunity, mainly because I was not the mom driving.

Thanks, Mrs. K.

When Kayla arrived home, she had fantastic news to share.

SHE WON A TEXTING CONTEST AT THE ILLINOIS STATE FAIR!!!

I know. Could a mother be more proud?

This is how she told us the news:

Daddy, remember how I used your Blackberry so much in London? Well, it paid off. I entered a texting contest at the Verizon tent. I stepped right up, raised my hand and said "I call Blackberry." And I won!

(I also suspect the fact that she had twelve thousand - yes TWELVE. THOUSAND - texts on our last phone bill might have helped. Yes, she will lose her thumbs by the time she's twenty, but she'll be famous by that time.)

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather when I heard the news. My heart was overflowing with pride and memories of all the maternal sacrifices I've made to get her to this point. I could imagine her stepping up to enter this contest; extending her arms to each side to clear away her many admirers, popping her knuckles and looking to either side and saying "you're going down," to her two nearest competitors.

Oh!! I have goosebumps just thinking of it, and it is taking great effort, even now, to hold back the tears of pride.

We have not yet heard where her next appearance will be; but surely she will be advancing to some sort of national contest....AND THEN THE WORLD!!.

Plus, she won a drawstring backpack and a lanyard.

Could scholarships be far behind?

It is still sinking in that my daughter is an Illinois State Fair Texting Champion.

And here we thought she'd amount to nothing.

*for a schedule of Kayla's appearances please go to http://www.mythumbsfelloff.com/.

HIS LAST FIRST

The kids started school yesterday, so naturally I made them stop in the driveway for a first-day-of-school snapshot.

Since it is Blake's senior year, he decided to dress up for the occasion:
Yes, this is Blake's last first-day-of-school photo.

Funny, I don't think it's the last time my heart will fall to my knees....


But enough of that.

You kids go on now...

Don't worry about your mama sitting here sobbing about her babies growing up...

No, really. I'll be fine. You go on and have fun.

Seriously, don't give me a second thought, you crazy kids.


OKAY, STOP! Please just one more photo!

And don't forget your seat belts.

DAY THREE - LONDON - JULY 26

It is important to note that at the end of this day, museum day, we had a camera malfunction.



Okay, so it was more like a camera OWNER'S malfunction.





While I thought I packed everything we could possibly want or need in Europe - travel sickness pills, band aids, tums, cough drops, Tylenol, extra glasses, cell phone chargers and camera chargers, I forgot to pack those cord thingees that allow you to transfer photos from the camera to the computer.



Which is how I do it at home all the time.



Having no cord thingees, we had to take the memory card out of my camera and insert it into my little computer to transfer pictures at the end of museum day.



This is when the memory card got stuck in the computer. But thank goodness I had packed a pair of tweezers.



If only I could have found them.



I don't know how Paul finally got the memory card out of the computer - because a cork screw didn't work and a steak knife didn't work and a pair of nail clippers didn't work - and I don't want to know, but suffice it to say we lost some photos on this day - museum day. I do remember hearing Paul mutter "Doggone it!" and "Oh, for Pete's sake!" throughout the flat as he struggled to remove that tiny little card from the tiny little computer.





I finally found the tweezers the night before we headed home - 6 days later.





Oh honey! I found the tweezers.



Yes dear, but it's a little late.



So then.




Not only was this day museum day; but it was also subway day. We decided to buy a one day pass for the subway, which in London is called The Tube, to make our way around the city.



Paul and the kids love the subway.



Myself? Not so much.



After exiting the subway station we began our walk to the Imperial War Museum. We happened to pass a church whose doors were open and I suggested we sit on the steps and listen to the singing. You know, enjoy the music and feed our souls on this Lord's day?



But NOOOOO-uh. We must keep moving said my husband-turned-dictatorial-tour-guide.




No time for music. No time for rest. MUST. KEEP. WALKING.



The Imperial War Museum was a favorite for all of us. It had wonderful displays of British involvement starting with World War I.


They also had a Holocaust display that could not have been more moving and heart wrenching.



Each of us went through this display on our own, walking, reading, listening at our own pace. The beginning of the walk allowed us to see actual home movies of Jewish families in the happiest of times. Films of celebrations of faith and family showed little girls in crisp dresses and little boys in knickers and shiny shoes.




And lots of laughter.




Gradually, but much too quickly, the tour took us to the evil of the Holocaust. We saw first hand accounts of what these individuals lived through - written accounts, audio accounts, and video accounts.




We saw personal items that had been found when the concentration camps were liberated.




Cameras were prohibited in this area of the museum; and rightly so, as it would have seemed somehow wrong to photograph this evil scar on our world's history.




And besides, the images will never leave our minds anyway.




Each of us came out of the exhibit at different times and we were drained. We all carried ourselves a little slower for the next hour or so; we didn't laugh as easily. Part of me wished I hadn't seen what I had just seen - that our children hadn't seen what they had just seen, but it is a huge part of our history. It is one of the reasons my grandfather left his wife and infant son at home in central Illinois and landed on a far away beach in France. And if the survivors of the nightmare I had just glimpsed could live through it; then I could certainly read about it and look at a few photos.

After the Holocaust exhibit we decided to look around the museum a little more. This is when we came upon "Little Boy," which was a bomb just like the one dropped on the city of Hiroshima. So I said "Hey Blake come over here and let me take a picture of my little boy by Little Boy."

Now is when you have to imagine a picture of Blake standing by a big bomb because, you guessed it, that's one of the photos that was lost.

After buying a few souvenirs we headed back toward the subway station. We stopped in a little grocery shop for a snack, which was to serve as our lunch. Noting the big MasterCard sign on the door, Paul handed his over to the clerk who simply looked Paul in the eye and shook his head no. It was the kind of "no" that we knew allowed no arguments so we spent the last of our pounds buying some water and candy bars to get us through our next subway trip, which would take us to The Museum of London.

I spent the next three days apologizing for that decision....

BEAUTY ON THE THAMES...

On our last evening in London, Paul and Kayla decided to take one last sight-seeing walk. I really regret staying behind to pack.

Because look what I found as I was browsing through the photos they took that evening:

Seems to me the sights in London were especially pleasing that night.