I've Had Better Weeks

So David left on Sunday and things (at least in my mind) have steadily unraveled since then. I'm a needy wife. I was never (blatantly) needy until I got married. But I need him. Even when he is nothing but present, everything is better. I'm a baby. Having a(nother) baby.

There is relentless city noise here - we are on a busy street and the apartment gets rather stuffy if there is not a window open, but I realized the other night that it was the noise that never stopped that was really getting to me. So wierd. You'd think I'd be tuning it out by now instead of getting more bothered by it. I think it's because it's not like the noise of the ocean, which is also relentless but more or less the same noise all the time. There is no soothing rythm here - it's always punctuated by intermittent honks or squeels or pointless car alarms or drunken yelling. I've found myself wanting everyone to be quiet and realizing that everyone I can actually tell to be quiet is being quiet.

We planned on Tuesday to go to the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace. The guidebook says it is kid-friendly. Tuesday morning started out with Henry being too wild and rebellious to go anywhere so he and Charlie stayed home with Megan and Calvin and I decided to have a mother-son outing. (With the thought that Henry would be pricked a little by Calvin getting to do something fun outside of the apartment.)

It was a complete bust. Calvin couldn't see anything, I didn't know exactly where to stand so as to maximize viewing, and the Changing of the Guard (which I pictured as something like what they do at the Tomb of the Unknown in D.C. - military and simple and relatively short) turned into a band concert of sorts that you could hear but not see through the throng climbing on the ornate golden gates of the palace. I didn't get it. Neither did Calvin. We did enjoy the brief view of the troops marching into the gate, but after that, ppphtththththhh.

Then the rain started coming down. In buckets. So Calvin had nothing positive to report when we returned home and Henry was perfectly happy to have stayed inside.

Thursday we went to the Science Museum, which, if you ever find yourself in London with a six and under crowd, is a great place to go. Three hours of hands-on playing and looking, and we only saw about a third of the museum. The boys loved it.

Then we headed home and Calvin and Henry took it upon themselves to boom and bang and throw fits and otherwise completely disconcert our taxi driver so much so that they are on a four day we-are-going-nowhere-except-church-in-any-kind-of-transportation lockdown. (This because it is not the first time that they have gone berserk in a taxi or on the Tube.)

That makes it four days until they can go to the zoo or the Natural History Museum or the palace with the maze (all places they have been hankering to go), hopefully with the understanding that transportation is not a place to mess around.

So late yesterday afternoon we walked to the park to feed the ducks. It was a fine little walk. I stopped in at the Subway sandwich place to get me a fountain drink (they have that fabulous rabbit-pellet-like ice in their machine - after a year in a country that doesn't believe in icy drinks and two weeks in a country that doesn't believe in air conditioning, it's a dream come true...) and the boys had a heyday sharing our bread with the hundreds of birds at Regent's Park.

Then we started out walking the two blocks home. Within those two blocks, Henry managed to get loose from Megan and bolt in front of a van (which was just pulling through the light, luckily not going very fast) and get hit. He bounced off the hood and landed on the curb with nothing more than a scraped up elbow and I think the driver of the van and I were more upset than Henry. Well, I was calm while I was checking on Henry and talking to one of the three doctors who happened to be walking home at the same time, and then one of them asked me if I was OK. I bawled all the way home. (And don't think that because I'm so blithely blogging about it that I wasn't up all night replaying it and panicking and feeling entirely inept and out of control and completely cognizant of the fact that he could have been killed. Not to mention that we've lived for months in a country with the world's most insane drivers but Henry gets hit by one in a beautifully civilized country.)

I don't know what to do with him. Any of them. But especially him.

And here we are with a wonderful place to enjoy and I can't go anywhere with my kids, even on foot, without (at best) a scene or (at worst) a catastrophe. But we all get cabin fever in a big way. Them, because they are boys and ideally need about 20 acres or at least a nice dog run in which to expend their energy. Me, because I feel guilty being tired and so I get restless to prove (to who?!) that I'm not lazy. Or something like that. But I also think I was born restless. I want to be doing.

But I'm very tired and very pregnant.

And did I mention that I miss my husband?