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We had a school interview for Girlish on Thursday at the local non-sectarian primary school, which has achieved an "outstanding" rating this past year. That is, apparently, a very rare occurrence, and so we were concerned that we might not be able to get her placed there. As it turns out, though, they have a place for her in Year 3, which was really exciting and a big relief for me (us). The only hitch is that the school where Fiona’s son attends, a Church of England school, has all of Fiona’s friends and neighbors and they all seem to really want us to come there. It’s not as highly-rated a school, but obviously the parental involvement and community there is very good. A sidenote: many public schools in London are religiously affiliated. The CoE school was rated as an "outstanding" school about 10 years ago, but hasn’t been so again since. And there’s the religious issue, which concerns me since I don’t go in for religion much, but the parents I met there assured me that it was very low-key.
Oh, and our checked bags—the other 8 of them—were delayed in Cincinnati on the way over, so Rod had to taxi to the airport to pick them up Friday morning. It rained an absolute gully-washer that morning, and his taxi got stuck in a flood and we almost didn’t make our hotel checkout. A bit of drama. Finally, we got everything over to the new place, where Fiona was frantic with last-minute packing and errands, and then we cleared out until 7:30p.m., when she was planning to leave. When we returned we got to meet our new neighbors, who have 3 children: two boys, 9 & 7, and a girl, 5. All six kids hit it off famously, and after forcing Fiona to stop her frantic packing and have a cuppa tea, we hung out with Karen while she finished up. Karen’s going to be a great neighbor, I can tell. She has a northern England accent, which sounds almost Irish to me, and she’s as sweet as the ginger cake she served with our tea. Around 8:00 we moved back over to "our" house, and it was bliss, bliss, to just be in a place that was a space all our own. We put a few things away, made the beds, and popped some champagne.
Yesterday we went to the store and bought groceries, which was also a bit of an adventure, the whole family hiking down the High Street with the stroller, bags and backpack for the groceries, with Babe-ish on my back. We stopped in a fruit & veg store, and also a butcher shop, and then on to a big grocery store for staples. I roasted a fresh chicken and some potatoes and red peppers for dinner, and I used some rosemary, sage, and oregano from Fiona’s (our!) garden. The butcher-shop chicken was fresh—as in, I opened the plastic and gasped out loud because the drumsticks had feathers clinging to their heels. I took a deep breath and plucked them out. If I’m gonna eat chicken I might as well remember that it used to have feathers, I guess. It was worth getting over my squeamishness, though. I cooked it at 500 degrees for 50 minutes, rubbing its skin with salt and olive oil and stuffing its little body cavity with lemon, garlic, onion and Fiona’s fresh garden herbs. Little chicken, you did not give your life in vain; we thoroughly enjoyed you.
So, we are well and happy, feeling so grateful to be just the slightest bit settled, and as soon as we get the phone up and running we will start calling all you friends and family that are waiting to hear from us.
P.S. Girlish is already trying on her British accent. "Mommy, can I have some wat-ah?" and, "Ouch! That huhts!" She kills me.
