I know no one reading this cares about my internal conflicts about photo editing, but I’ve had a breakthrough. I have been doing some research and I’ve decided that photo editing isn’t so much changing a photo from what it was to something new, as it is choosing which information from the photo file you want in the final image.  Semantics, I know.  But it seems that the general consensus among photographers is that photo editing is as much a part of the art of photography as the camera.  So that’s that.  I’m now learning my way around Lightroom.  

On Saturday we had plans to go out as a family but Mim and Simon were sick so Richard offered to stay home with the kids so I could go out for the day.  I chose a market. No surprise there.  

Portobello Market.  

I walked the market street for hours, literally, and still didn’t see it all.  There would be a few blocks of “New Goods” and then a few blocks of “Fruit and Veg” and then a few blocks of antiques and then more food.  It was a sensory circus, with so many good smells and colors and delicious things to taste.  It was PACKED though, so I was really grateful to be childless.  

It was so hard to choose what to eat- but I finally settled on a salted pork sandwich, served on a baguette. It was so yummy and I loved people watching while I ate it on a plastic chair that had the legs broken off and was cemented to a concrete bench in a make-shift food-court.  It was totally un-glamorous.  

Then I wandered more, bought a few Christmas gifts, and saw some books that I think my literary family members would swoon over.  

**COME VISIT SOOOOOOON!**

My weeks are hard.  I think I’m dealing with some homesickness, loneliness and culture shock that manifests itself in ways I never expected.  Before I came here when everyone said it would be hard I nodded and agreed.  But I was just being agreeable. I didn’t really think it would be hard.  I thought I was so open-minded and so brave and so grateful for this opportunity that I would be immune from the hard parts.  Truthfully, I had no idea what the hard parts would even look like.  I humbly write these words today; I was naive. ( I hate it when I realize I’ve been naive.  Naive is one thing I do not like to be.)  

So it turns out it IS hard. Sometimes during the week I cry and I wallow in self-pity.  I miss my homogenized world back home with my mini-van and secure social circle. Then I languish in guilt for not valuing this experience enough and for not BEING more open-minded and grateful and brave.  

But then I get the chance to wander the streets of this really beautiful and wondrous place and it’s worth it.  For a few hours I can be present and “conscious of my treasures”.  Portobello Market was one of those experiences for me.  And it’s strange sometimes, the ways and places we feel close to God.  But my heart felt full, amid the cigarette smoke and crowds and happy chatter of families and friends in their world, and I felt lucky to be a part of it.  

Pressica, as we like to call them, were able to sign up for a European Tour as part of the BYU-I business college that happened to stop in London for a couple days.  They spent some of their time here doing business tours (BBC!) but we got to spend a day with them trying to cram in as much as possible.  

I really love having visitors. It’s a nice taste of family and home, and we really like giving our family members a glimpse into our life here.  Everything is better when it’s shared, yeah?  So we were all counting down the days until they came.  And I also think Jess and Preston are super rad company because they are so adventurous and flexible.  Even though Preston wasn’t feeling his best, he was still such a trooper and we had a really great time.  

Awhile ago I came across the blog of a family who had lived in our ward in London from 2011-2013 I think, doing an international rotation with KPMG.  Tanya kept a blog of their experiences, and I’m so glad she did.  It has been of infinite value to me.  I reached out to her via email and she has been helpful to me in many other ways since.   So Tanya- if you ever read this, thank you thank you thank you! And I’m sorry if it feels like I copy all your fantastic ideas. 

Anyway, Tanya talked about an old pub that they loved to take their visitors to for the authentic pub experience. So we found it in an obscure alley, and had fish n’ chips in the same rooms where the likes of Mark Twain, Alfred Tennyson, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Charles Dickens drank a pint.  

Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, built in 1538, rebuilt in 1667. 

We walked through Picadilly Circus and on to Trafalgar Square where I bought our guests my favorite London treat – a Millionaire Bar, shortbread with a layer of caramel and topped with Belgian chocolate.  Cafe Nero makes the best ones and I’ll buy you one too if you come.

At this point Simon and I split off to go pick up the kids from school and Richard took Jesston to the Tower of London and Tower Bridge.  We all met up at Cutty Sark so we could eat dinner at Goddard’s, another English must.  Pie and mash with Blackcurrant cobbler for dessert.  

After dinner we walked home through Greenwich park, which even on a cloudy day offers spectacular views and scenic fall foliage.  

It was dark by the time we got back to our house, but the kids really wanted to show Jess and Preston where we live, their bedrooms, their toys, all that important kid stuff.  Then we said our good-byes and Richard rode the train back into the city with them.  It was such a fun day. I wish it could have been a whole week. In fact the next morning when I told Mim that they were on their way to Paris she cried for a good while.  

Thanks so much Jess and Preston! I hope your European tour was phenomenal and I think its an experience you’ll never regret.  We love you so much.  

Even though I’ve admitted to and joked about the realities of tourism with four kids under ten years of age, I still find myself disappointed by those realities each time I plan something.  It never goes the way I imagine it, and that may just be the way I describe these two years once they are all said and done. 

“It was nothing like I imagined…”

But it’s an experience nonetheless.  

Oxford is the home of one of the oldest universities in the world AND various scenes from Harry Potter movies, so what could be more appealing? 

We loaded up the brood in the morning and made the drive in about an hour fifteen.  We parked at a park n’ ride because we were told that parking at the university is hard to come by.  The bus took about 15 minutes to get into the town and then there we were- at Oxford!

The list of alumni from Oxford is impressive.  It’s EPIC for lack of a better word.  Something like 47 Nobel peace prize winners, two kings, 12 monarchs of sovereign nations, 25 prime ministers, 35 presidents of 19 other countries, the list goes on and on.  Julius Ceasar, Dr. Seuss, Hugh Grant and Bill Clinton all went to Oxford.  

I had a “walking tour” sort of mapped out in my mind but that didn’t match up at all with any lunch plans and it quickly went out the window.  Miriam and Simon were feeling particularly restless so their attention spans were virtually non-existent.   So I’ll just post pictures of our patchwork visit to this great establishment of learning. 

The Divinity School was built in 1488 for the study of theology.  It’s a gorgeous building, and I marveled at the discussions that must have taken place in those walls. 

I also marveled at why they reduced such a remarkable place to the ranks of “hospital wing” for Harry Potter filming. It’s majesty was apparently lost on Hollywood…  

Dang.  If I wasn’t so busy planning a trip to Oxford for a family of six I would have looked up these images BEFORE we went and taken a picture of myself in the exact Prof. McGonagall pose… We stood on that staircase while we waited in line to see the dining hall.    

Alas- the picture on the left is my shot of the lampost you see in the picture on the right.  Please don’t ask me why it’s cool to see places from movies because I could not muster a satisfactory response.   The places we saw have sufficient merit on their own for architectural beauty and historic magnificence.  And yet I keep going…

There was so much I didn’t get to see.  There are a couple really neat museums in Oxford that we didn’t even walk by, and a quick trip into the Oxford bookstore to use the loo had me dying to go back.  So will someone please come visit so I can have a reason to return? Sans children? 

Once the kids were sufficiently bored we took the bus back to the park and ride.  I had read in a guide book that Oxfordshire is one of the prettiest places in the countryside so we drove outside the town and took a walk along the river.  The Thames.  The same river that runs through London.  You’d never know it…

So I suppose the trade-off to having kids and not getting to spend hours in a museum, is that you get to spend gorgeous late afternoons in a field with the glorious sunshine.  

By the time the 24 of September rolled around Miriam was so anxious to start school.  She had already been to the school multiple times and seen what it was like and seen Simon’s classroom and her bus-stop friend Savannah had already started.  

To drop off your child at Nursery (SImon) you have to personally escort them into the classroom, sign them in and then leave.  For reception you have to line up with your child until the teacher arrives to escort them into the classroom.  (Or make arrangements with another adult if you are unable to.)  Unfortunately on Mim’s first day we were late and her class had already gone into the building.  So I walked her to her classroom and she never looked back.  

Her first three days of school were all half days, I picked her up at 1:00.  The school (government) provides “dinners” (lunches) for children from reception to year 2. (Ages 4-7) so for the first few days Mim ate the school lunch.  But after that she really wanted a packed lunch like Cameron and Eli, so we’ve been doing that since. 

Starting school full-time was hard for Mim.  I drop her off at 8:50 and school dismisses at 3:40.  That’s a really long day for a four year old.  I have mixed feelings about it.  On one hand, she is getting great socialization, education and lots of free play at school.  She is getting cultural exposure and activities that, let’s just be honest, I would never arrange for her at home.   This is really good too, because I think she a little behind where my other kids were as far as letters and numbers go, so I am grateful for all the help I can get in that arena.  

But on the other hand, she is missing some good quality “at home” time.  Because it is such a long day, she doesn’t get much play-time at home.  And she doesn’t get the quality hours with me that each of the boys got.  (Which is mostly due to the fact that Simon came so close after her.  Even if she was at home in the afternoons, she would be sharing my time with Simon.) 

Miriam was quick to make friends, she quickly learned the names of he kids in her class and talks about them a lot. Even Eli and Cameron’s friends love to fawn over her.  In fact one day she said to me 

“Mom, I don’t want so many friends.  All the kids want to be my friend, they follow me around but I don’t want so many friends.”  

“Well Mim, I’m glad you have a lot of friends.  You are a very sweet girl.” 

“It’s because I’m so beautiful Mom.” Then she sighs dramatically. 

I don’t even know where to begin with my issues with that comment.  But needless to say the girl has what the Bird’s call “Irrational self-confidence” and plenty of friends.   

And that is the extent of Mim’s complaints about school.  Too many friends, she says.  She doesn’t complain about being there all day, and I know she really likes it.  But I think she does feel like she doesn’t get much chance to play with her toys, alone in her room.  (Something she really likes to do.) 

So while it is convenient for me to have just one child for four hours each afternoon, I’m still sorting out how I feel about full-time school for a four year old.  

Skellig Michael took most of the day on Monday – we got back to our car after 4:00.  We stopped in Sneem for dinner and then just made our way back through the Ring of Kerry. 

It was just about dark when we finished at the waterfalls and we were exhausted so we drove the last hour back to Annascaul and crashed.  

The next morning we woke up, ate our Irish breakfast alone because all the other guests had gone, and then went on our way.  It was a little awkward when we checked out of the B&B because she said “We only take cash.”  What?! Because who carries around that much cash? AND to make matters worse there is no cash machine in the whole town of Annascaul so we had to just give our word that we would bring by our cash on our way back to the airport that afternoon.  

After making a stop at Annascual Lake, we drove back toward Dingle to drive Connor’s pass and see Peddler’s lake.  We needed to be to the airport around 3:30 and it was over an hour away but we had all morning.  

We drove back down to Dingle from the mountains, bought the kids some souvenirs and ate a really quick lunch before heading back to the airport. 

I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before we left, but once we got to Ireland I realized I really needed some Enya to listen to as we drove around, so I downloaded one of her albums on my phone via the B&B wifi.  I grew up listening to Enya and her music makes me really nostalgic.  On our last morning, as we were driving up to Connor’s pass, surrounded by the beautiful Irish scenery with Enya serenading us in the background I got really emotional.  I really don’t want to take any of these opportunities for granted, I felt so lucky to be there.  

It was a really lovely trip, traveling without the kids was pleasant and much more leisurely.  Richard and I really enjoyed the time together and I’d say I’ve created quite a traveler out of that man.  

When I was doing research about what to see and do on the Western coast of Ireland I came across the Skellig Michael.  It is a UNESCO World Heritage site and the reviews insisted that it was worth the effort to see.  It required jumping through hoops a little bit- there are a handfull of boats that go out to the island each day, and if they are full you are out of luck so I had to book in advance.  The boats only go out to the island if the ocean is right, there is only one small “pier” to unload and if the swells are too big then you can’t get off the boat, so everyone made sure to hedge their bet about whether or not we would actually get to go.  The night before we were required to call in and then again on the morning of to confirm that the boat would be going.  

It was a long drive (back along the Ring of Kerry) from our B&B to the port so we left early.  If you aren’t there on time, they go without you.  We made it, but just barely, and we boarded the boat with 10 other people.  There was another married couple sitting across from us that we struck up conversation with and spent some of our time with them.  They were both doctors from the Midwest United States and they were really nice and fun to talk to about all the funny quirks we’ve discovered in Ireland and the UK. 

Richard and I, and our other American friends, had a good laugh about the difference between a trip like this in Europe and a trip like this back home.  If we had been in the United States we would have had to sign a waiver, watch a 20 minute video about safety, and we would have been required to wear life jackets.  As it was, there was no waiver, no safety video or speech (just some shouts and orders from the tanned man at the helm) and only a small placard that indicated that there were life jackets, somewhere on the boat.  

Our boat was definitely the slow boat, although I’m not sure why. I think maybe it was just older and our “captain” was in no hurry.  The trip out was long, it took nearly two hours and I found myself getting bored and restless. 

There is this game I play with the kids when they are bored or tired or restless, I probably learned it at yoga or something.  It usually happens when we are walking somewhere and they get tired of walking.  But I just ask them to tell me what they are seeing, smelling, tasting, feeling, etc.  It helps distract them and keep them present.  I decided to play this game in my head to entertain myself.  It was a really serene experience and I want to write it down, as best as I can recall. 

I can see the ocean for miles and miles.  I can see the glorious sun and it’s reflection on the water.  I can see the people around me and I wonder about them. I can see our hilarious sailor, cigarette hanging from his lip.  I can see the skelligs and I can see the rolling Irish coastline.  I can see birds- so many birds! Seagulls and puffins.  I can see our old boat, with sea-worn wooden floorboards. I can see blue, blue sky.  

I can taste the salty sea water that is splashing on my lips. I can taste the chewy Werther’s that Richard passes to me.  (He loves that candy.) 

I can feel the ocean breeze on my face. I can feel the ocean spray on my cheeks and the back of my neck. I can feel the warmth of the sunshine on my skin and body.  I can feel the rocking of the boat on my seat beneath me and under my feet.  

I can’t smell much at all, aside from clear fresh air, until we go past the little Skellig where the stench of bird waste is foul and heavy.  

I can hear the splash of the water against the boat.  I can hear the birds, there are SO MANY birds.  I can hear the rustle of my jacket as the wind blows it and as I shift in my seat.  I can hear the muffled voices of the others on the boat.  I can hear the low grumble of boat’s engine.  I can hear another boat as it passes by us.  

Okay- so, what exactly is Skellig Michael?  “The Skelligs” is the name given to the two rocky islands, the Little Skellig is the bird sanctuary and the Great Skellig is the site of the remains of an early Christian monastery.  It was dedicated to Saint Michael around 950AD and has since been called Skellig Michael. 

There are two peaks on Great Skellig, and the lower peak is the site of the monastery.  It was built between 600-800AD and the monks built three staircases to the top.  The staircases were all built with the rocks I’ve been mentioning so often, and the staircase we took to get to the monastery has something like 613 steps.  There is now a lighthouse on the island so they have since built a road that goes around the periphery of the island at sea level, but the stairs were the only way up.  And it should be noted that people have been killed falling off these staircases.  Fortunately it was a dry day when we were there and the stairs were not slippery. 

Does it go without saying that these staircases are an epic undertaking of engineering and man-power? Well I’ll just say it.  These staircases were so rad.   Although- not so rad to climb.  But thankfully there were beautiful views every time we stopped for a rest.  

The entire experience reminded me of Machu Picchu and Wayna Picchu in Peru.  Ancient remains at the top of a treacherous mountain… 

The monastery itself is quite impressive.  It is believed that no more than a dozen monks lived there at any given time.  They lived simply off birds, eggs and probably a small vegetable garden.  They had cisterns to collect rain water and there are six beehive huts and two oratories.  

Coming down was physically less exhausting, but mentally more exhausting.  You had everything BELOW you.  I’m not really afraid of heights but I do have four children that I’d be leaving behind…

There is a small valley, called Christ’s Saddle, between the two peaks, and after we got back down to that valley we ventured across to the other peak.  At the top of the higher peak is said to be a flat rock slab where pilgrims would come to make penance.  Richard and I ventured part of the way up the peak, but the stairs were really narrow and steep and so we thought better of it.  One of the park wardens said she had seen someone crawl out on that rocky slab and it made her heart race.  

We only spent about two hours on the island, which was okay because there were no restrooms on the island.  We worked our way back down to the pier to catch our boat back.  It took just as long to get back to the mainland as it did to get out to the island, but the time went much faster because we talked to our American friends the whole way.  

It was a remarkable thing to see and I felt so grateful that it worked out for us.  It was kind of last minute and we were at the mercy of the weather so it was lucky indeed.  

Sunday morning we woke up and ate breakfast with the other guests.  That’s one of my favorite things about a B&B, the chance to meet people from different places.  There was a couple from New Zealand and one from Nashville. It’s always fun to see other Americans too, a little bit of home. 

We drove up to a town called Tralee for church.  We were having the hardest time finding it because it didn’t resemble any church I’ve ever been to.  We stayed just for Sacrament Meeting and then we drove down to Kilarney where we ate lunch and began the Ring of Kerry loop.  

On the left is Main Street in Kilarney, where we ate lunch.  On the right is a group of young street performers.  They were really good, the best I’d seen so far in Ireland.  There were quite a few groups in Dingle and Kilarney, with instruments I didn’t recognize.  

I had picked a handful of things I wanted to see on the Ring of Kerry loop, but I also wanted to just wing-it and stop when we saw something that looked interesting.  The loop goes around the Kerry peninsula and there are a lot of people on TripAdvisor that debate which drive is more scenic, the Slea Head Loop, or the Ring of Kerry.  We loved them both but the Ring of Kerry had really diverse views, a lot of variation in the scenery. 

Not too far into the drive we saw a sign for Caragh Lake and since I really wanted to see some lakes we took the turn-off.  We followed the road up to an empty parking lot at a trail head and read a sign that promised a gorgeous view at the end of the trail.  A view of the Macgillycuddy’s Reeks and since Macgillycuddy is so fun to say we took set off.  

I was just wearing flip-flops but the trail was easy and reminded us a lot of Idaho. 

After our mini-hike we resumed our journey on the loop and our next stop was Ballycarberry Castle.  It was just ruins but it was totally accessible, so we could climb in and around it.  I loved that, and thought of how much my younger self, with her wild imagination, would have loved to explore and play there.  

The castle was built around 1569 and belonged to the McCarthy and then O’Donnell families. 

We continued on the Ring of Kerry and just stopped here and there for some photos until we got to Staige Fort.  

Our German friend at the Gallarus Oratory told us that Staigue Fort was not to be missed.  It was quite impressive. You can read about it in the photo below because it is written much better than I could describe from my memory.  It is estimated to have been built between 300AD and 400AD, one of the oldest structures we’ve seen so far.  

Once again there were no rules or signs or fences so we could climb up and look around.  I couldn’t believe how big it was on the inside, enough room for a small community.  The thing I’ve been realizing as we’ve seen castles and ruins is that safety was always #1, and I think I would have felt pretty safe in this ringfort, albeit pretty isolated.  Hard to imagine what the dating pool was like…

The entire day I had that Johnny Cash song “Ring of Fire” stuck in my head, everytime I saw or said the words “Ring of Kerry.”   After we left Staigue Fort we drove to the town of Sneem, where I had ice cream and we took a little stroll down main street.  Richard wasn’t feeling well so we called it a day and drove the rest of the Ring mostly as observers.


It turns out we would see more of the Ring of Kerry on the next day.   

We got home really late on Friday night from Richard’s work dinner party so we collapsed in bed.  Just before my eyelids closed I asked Richard if I should set my alarm too, as back-up to his, and he said that was a good idea so I did.  Turns out it was a really good idea because his alarm is only set to go off on weekdays.  The bad part was that I set it for the last possible minute, thinking his would go off first, so we had to scramble.  We hadn’t packed yet because we were so tired the night before so I was just stuffing things in the suitcase.  I had some regrets about what I brought and didn’t bring but oh well! 

We had to leave the house for the airport a little after 6:00AM.  We hoofed it to the station as fast as we could so we wouldn’t miss the train.  There are something like eight airports in London, and I chose the one with the cheapest flight, but it was a pain to get to.  Fortunately Saturdays are pretty quiet that early in the morning.  We grabbed breakfast at the airport once we got there and then just relaxed until we boarded.  Well, if you can call standing for 20 minutes at the gate relaxing… 

The flight was quick, just over an hour and we landed at the Kerry International Airport.  It was the smallest airport I’ve ever been in but it made arrival and departure pretty straightforward.  We picked up our rental car, which was a manual transmission, and off we went.  It all went really well except that we couldn’t figure out how to put the car in reverse.  It was so hilarious. (But not really.)  

At one point we pulled over to the side of the road to try and figure out where we were going.  My cell phone didn’t work at all and Richard’s was on international roaming and we felt totally handicapped without GPS.  Anyway, Richard had pulled into a parking spot at a little park and we seriously could not figure out how to put the car in reverse, so Richard had to open his door and with the car in neutral managed to use his foot to get us backed up enough to turn around. (That part really was hilarious.)

We stopped for lunch at a pub in a little town, I can’t recall the name, but the food was sooo good.  I just had fish and chips and Richard had roast beef with potatoes and gravy, but it was some serious comfort food.  Richard decided to just eat the data charges and Googled how to put the car in reverse.  Thank Heaven for Google.  

After lunch we drove to the town of Annascaul, and checked in at our Bed and Breakfast.  It was small and quaint and the people were polite, but it wasn’t nearly as warm and welcoming as the one we stayed at in Scotland.  

It was a really pretty day- we passed a beach on our way and I wish we would have stopped because the weather was so perfect, but I thought we would have another chance, which we never did.  

We left Annascaul and drove to Dingle.  My friend Suzy had suggested Dingle and it was the destination we were looking for.  So charming and Irish and lovely.  

Trip Advisor has become my go-to source for planning our holidays.  I read on there about two loops that you can drive, one is around the Dingle Peninsula, called Slea Head drive and the other is back near Kerry, called the Ring of Kerry.  The thing about holidays is that it’s this conflict about never planning enough but always planning too much.  The more I learn about a place, the less prepared I feel about visiting it.  It becomes overwhelming. I had a list a mile long of things to see, but once we got there it was complicated and hard to sort out how to see them all.  It’s one thing to read about places to visit and to do all the research about how to fit as much as possible into a day, but then inevitably things come up that look interesting, or are closed, or take longer than planned.  Anyway, there were a couple things we missed because I didn’t know where to find them and I’m sad about that- but all in all I felt really grateful about all we got to do.  

So we left from Dingle and drove the Slea Head loop.  It worked out really well, the timing was nice so that we came around the western side of the peninsula at dusk.  

We stopped at this beach along the drive, which was lovely, but not as nice as Inch Strand, the one we never really made it back to.  

I loved the pattern the water made in the sand as the tide went out.  

As I was thinking about what to write about these Beehive huts that are all over the Western Coast of Ireland, I started thinking about what the ancient Americans lived in around this time.  I was thinking “If they built anything it’s not anywhere to be seen.”  Then all of the sudden I recalled visiting Mesa Verde National Park, just this last January so I did a little research. 

At the same time these beehive huts were being built in Ireland in the 8-12th centuries, ancestral Puebloans were living in cliff dwellings in the western United States.  Richard and I talked a lot while we were in Ireland about how people just make the best use of the resources the land has to offer, but it strikes me now with even more awe about the reality of that concept. 

The Beehive huts were built with rocks, with a geometric design that kept them dry inside because the rain would wash down the outside.  Ireland has rocks everywhere, but not much timber and no canyon walls for cliff dwellings.  They were built before mortar, and yet they have lasted so long.  

There are also rock walls everywhere in Ireland.  Everything is built from rocks, even in the last couple hundred years. 

This spot was believed to be a little settlement, designed either for safety or to keep the animals in.  I just really love things like this, imagining what it was like to live in a place like this.  But just like the park ranger at Mesa Verde pointed out, I’m probably romanticizing it.  

I remember Suzy and Caleb telling us that things in Ireland (and probably elsewhere in Europe) are different than the U.S. in the sense that you are more free to use your best judgement, there aren’t guard rails or fences protecting you from imminent death.  Just plain old common sense.  Which meant that we could climb, walk, explore just about anywhere we wanted to.   (And thankfully we didn’t have kids with us to worry about.)

The roads are so narrow.  Richard and I joked that when planning the roads the engineers said 

“What is the average width of a car?  Alrighty, multiply that by two and that should be adequate!”

When passing other cars you have to slow down, and sort of maneuver your way around, and that’s saying something because the cars are so small.  In this case it was cattle we had to maneuver around.  

The Gallarus Oratory. 

I’ve learned that an Oratory is a small chapel or prayer room, often used by early Christian monks.  This one was discovered in 1756  but believed to have been built between the 9th and 12th century.  It was so amazing.  The stones were all cut perfectly to fit together like a puzzle and we were told that nary a drop of rain gets inside.  It must have taken years to build with the most primitive technology, and it has never been “restored” in modern day.  It stands exactly now as it did 900+ years ago.  You can see the pictures that it sags a bit on the outside walls.  

There was a retired German school teacher there when we approached, and not anther soul in sight.  He wanted to take our picture next to the oratory so that people who saw the photograph could understand the size of it properly.  He was really fun to talk to and he took a picture with my camera for us. 

Ireland was green, no doubt about it, but I was a little disappointed that it wasn’t MORE green.  I think that had a lot to do with the parts of the country we visited and the time of year, I suppose the beginning of September is the driest time, which made for perfect weather for sight seeing.  So I’ll stop complaining now.  

After looking back through my Ireland pictures I’m committed to becoming a better photographer. I know that a picture can never do justice to the scenery, but I know it can do a lot better than I’ve done.  

We finished the loop back in Dingle and then drove back to Annascaul for dinner. We ate at a pub called The South Pole Inn, it was started and run by the famous Tom Crean, an explorer who ventured to the Antarctic and lived to tell about it, miraculously and multiple times! He is the pride and joy of Annascaul and I have to admit I was pretty impressed by his tales.  Sadly, after all he survived in explorations and war, he died of a ruptured appendix in 1938.  

Anyway, the pub was fun and tasty and we were exhausted.  We left the pub before 10:00PM but our fellow guests at the B&B told us that the party really got started at midnight.  Yikes. 

When we first found out about moving to London, my friend Michelle told me that the government sponsors 15 hours a week of free education for three year olds.  Right away I knew it was something I wanted to do for Simon and for me.  The idea of having all four kids in school each week for 15 hours was too hard to resist! But I also knew how much Simon would love it. He is such a social kid, he loves being around other kids and other adults too.  He’s not shy and he’ll make friends with anyone.  Even on the bus or train or at the grocery store,  he will sit by anyone, talk to anyone, shake hands with anyone.  

But then in a later moment of sentimentality I realized that if I sent Simon to school 15 hours a week, that would be 15 hours a week of time I wouldn’t be spending with my littlest dude.  He’s such a fun buddy, and did I really want to miss out on that?  Fortunately that moment of sentimentality was short-lived and I realized that I would still have plenty of time with my little guy and I can’t deny him this opportunity to get British education.  

Oh that kid. 

The Nursery School (American equivalent= Preschool) is part of Lucas Vale for all intents and purposes but also operates in it’s own system as well.  So Simon’s start date was different than Cameron and Eli’s start dates but came before Miriam’s start date.  I still haven’t figured that all out, but I do know that they stagger-start the little kids to avoid having a classroom full of meltdowns for the first week.  

Simon had an induction just like Miriam, where we went to the classroom and he met the teachers and some of the other children.  He loved it, he jumped right in, he was happy.  The plan for starting nursery is that on the first day the parents are allowed to stay for 30 minutes, then they must leave for 30 minutes and then come back and pick up the kid, for a total of one hour of nursery time.  The second day parents can stay for only a few minutes and leave the child for 2 hours, and then by the third day, if the child is adjusting well the parents leave the him/her for the entire three hours.  

Simon was so excited to start school on his first day.  He does this funny thing when he is really excited where he takes deep gasping breaths, and stutters his words.  It’s adorable and hilarious.  He did that the whole way to school, talking about what a big boy he was.  My mom was still here so I left Miriam with her so I could stay in Simon’s class for 30 minutes with him.  But the minute we walked in he ditched his backpack and went on his way, never turning back. Needless to say I didn’t stay for 30 minutes, and he waved to me on my way out.  

Simon has been going to school now for two weeks and he loves it.  His teacher is Miss Ahmed and the other nursery teachers are Miss Julie, Mr. Mickey and Miss Sam.  His friends are Eric and Tolu and he loves the slide and singing songs. He sings his nursery songs all day long to my utter delight.  He hasn’t picked up an accent yet, but once in awhile he will say a word in a purely British way and we will all laugh- which makes him laugh.  Our favorite is when he says “Toe-mah-toes.” 

I knew it was going to be hard to do things without my mom around.  But this last week was harder than I anticipated. And to top it off it, every evening this week had Richard meeting other obligations and me doing dinner and bedtime alone.   

I’ll save the details of my days for another post, but it’s like Glennon says,  a day is a lifetime.  

By Friday evening I was at my wit’s end and when I cracked an egg on the counter to put in the meatballs, the egg smashed all over the counter, cabinet and floor including my foot, and I lost it.  I fell apart.  

Aside from the day I drove Miriam to her induction and got lost on the way, I’ve avoided any major meltdowns in our new home.  But I let it out. I cried into the meatballs until Richard came home and I cried into his suit coat.  (I’m sure mine wasn’t the first runny nose to encounter the shoulder of his jacket.)  

It might not be so bad if all that occupied my mind during the days were the tasks associated with being a mother or even a human being.  But our minds don’t seem to work that way.  It seems that my thoughts are always preoccupied with the latest tragedy in the life of a friend, or the current crises around the world, or my own faith and spirituality.  My mind and spirit feel heavy sometimes with the deeper issues of humanity, and all of the sudden things like three meals a day and baths at bedtime for four little people, feel overwhelming.  

Sometimes I feel guilty for complaining about motherhood, because it seems like whining is a luxury, an expression of first world problems.  Motherhood is hard, absolutely, but it’s not just motherhood that breaks me on Friday evenings. It’s that life is hard.  And even when my life isn’t hard, it’s hard for me to observe other lives that are.  

So my body did what it usually does when I work myself into a dither, and my immune system went on strike resulting in a bad head cold accompanied with body aches.  Richard took the kids to church and I’ve just nestled myself under the covers, enjoying the sunshine coming through the window and listening to church bells and chatter outside. I feel grateful for a chance to slow down.  As cliche as it sounds – just to be alive is a grand thing.