It's Only For A Year

I never knew how much I loved my dog until we got our cat. Kitten, actually. I emphasize that for two reasons: first, they are supposed to be trainable and secondly, it needs friggin training! Husband and I are dog people. What that means for us is that we enjoy having a pet that you can exchange emotions with, one that you can understand and interact with, a pet that you can take out for a poo.

It was Husband’s idea to say yes to the kitten when we went to our friend’s house and they showed us their four, brand new kittens. All of our boys fell in love and I must admit, they were pretty darn cute. How could you say no to an 8 inch fluffy toy?? Easily, my mom would say. My mom came over, btw, and had a complete disco freak out announcing she was allergic to our black magic cat called Ziggy (yes, as in Marley). She is so not allergic but is also not a cat person so I secretly understand. I’m desperately trying to connect to our newest addition and my boys study my reactions to make sure I’m not going to secretly leave the door open to the vast amounts of cayotes that await their daily prey. Ziggy follows me around everywhere, which is sweet, I guess. He sleeps during the day and drives my dog crazy by night. Scarlet thinks we’re devilish by making them sleep together in the garage, that’s where the animals belong at night says Husband…she looks exhausted every morning!

They sleep in the garage for one very good reason: poo. One morning Husband and I were trying to get over our cat annoyances and bond with our new kitty, and began playing with him on our bed. He was doing tumble flips and really showing off his minx skills when all of a sudden, Ziggy paused…and pooped…all over our duvet cover. Funny how no one ever mentions cats can do this – they’re soooo independent, you won’t have to do anything – until you say it happened and THEN they admit, ‘yes, well, yes, they can mark their territory and indeed spray all over your house if you’re not careful’. What????!!!! How are you meant to monitor their peeing when it blends into the litter and the litter stinks like pee to begin with!

I will say one thing, Ziggy licks himself all the time. The only time Scarlet ever licks herself is to, well, you know. I suppose if I could bend that low…

Moving on, it’s the week of the Yurt. I began the series in my yurt a few days ago with Cari, the most restorative, incredible yoga instructor I’ve had. She’s a dear friend who now lives in New York and I took the opportunity to initiate – activate – the space with her tuition. The first class was filled with a massive easterly wind blowing off the sea, howling around the walls of the circle as Cari’s voice guided us through poses and meditation. I cried during meditation, and so did my sister and my friend, as the center of ourselves were awakened. As Cari put it later, when you emotionally react to meditating, it’s probably because you tap into your inner self and realize you haven’t seen Her for a long time. Tomorrow is session two and already I’m finding that space to focus on, again.

I am box free. Finally. And I haven’t been able to write until I could write just that, as order needed to be restored before my brain could compute words again. Back in LA in our new home. There’s a space for all of us here which is why I can see this house in our future for a long, long time. And then there’s the yurt! After some serious contemplation during the holidays, I feel like the yurt is a physical manifestation of a lot of my wishes; as if my birthday wish, the one that has nothing to do with others or anyone’s health,the one that comes just before you blow out the candles and remember ‘oh shit, I should wish for something for me!’ has come true. I wanted a center to my creative energy and it came in a very large, round wooden structure.

I’m at a moment in my life where things could go in many different directions. Having just spent two weeks awakening my English soul, I returned a bit more fragmented this time; the delicate balance of my pushing and pulling is slightly wobbly. I felt rushed in London and now I find myself wanting to take my time, even with the horrid boxes, to place rather than shove my belongings into an interesting position. Got to move like Jagger…bend it like Beckham…the images go on!

I’m just feeling the flow of things right now and I want to do it all a bit differently, push the boundaries on what is safe and explore more. Husband looks at me strangely and yet is intrigued enough to enter the yurt and bow, yes, bow. So who knows, this could be a spiritual awakening for all involved.

London, Xmas season. Christmas is truly a season here. Cocktail parties every night of the week give way to dinner parties followed by family get-togethers the closer Christmas comes. It’s dark at 3:45 so the twinkly lights begin from half way through your shopping day and carol singers gather on the high street corner in the midst of all the chaos. There is an energy of celebration in London, even with the end of the financial year taking on the role of Scrooge. The life of this season reaches further than the pound can anyway. Maybe it’s the coming together of the cold and picturesque city covered in tinsel, the roaring fires, the bare trees dancing next to iced ponds, even all the pubs look warm and cozy…Christmas just suits London.

Walking into our home was exhilarating. The boys raced up and down and all around the house finding their toys, rediscovering their rooms and screaming up and down the lane for our neighbors to come out and see them. They couldn’t be happier. Last time our arrival was disastrous with the stolen bag so this time for some weird reason I decided to deal with my lost-in-the-LA-move mobile and get straight on the phone with Vodafone. Husband looked at me like I was an idiot, and he was right. I couldn’t be more tired, and emotional, and yet had to deal with a corporation and their customer service in India, now?? Well, I did and then I went upstairs and collapsed into bed.

Part of having Husband travel before me that is incredible is how he sets up the house – market, heating, the works – so we can all arrive and relax. However hard it is traveling with four boys on my own, the trade-off comes when I can nap, wake up to a cooked meal and then just hang out. Apparently the weather’s been mild throughout November and even to our beach bones, it’s not that bad now. We went out for dinner and there were fourteen variations of mushrooms on the menu which had to do with the mild autumn. I love being somewhere small enough that you’re eating the results of that month’s weather.

We have two weeks here to see, touch, taste everything which is way too short and now I write at the end of it all feeling quite bereft as time has ticked by all too quickly. From the moment I arrive at Heathrow, I unzip my European self and step out of my skin into a new one. I am myself, but different. And so are my boys. Each of them shifts into their English behaviour, playing and watching endless football matches, taking the bus everywhere on their own, spending their pounds at the Newsagent buying Lucazade sports drink and eating Shreddies. Even the Tooth Fairy becomes English, so says my little one who currently has no front teeth.

Our Xmas celebration is a four day extravaganza spent at my sister-in-laws. They cook every meal, we drink from midday and delight in doing absolutely nothing but talking, walking, eating, dancing to the odd Neil Diamond song, and boozing it up. The kids flop alongside us and the time is completely spent relaxing. There aren’t a lot of families who can live in eachother’s pockets without any dramas for that long, and we all cherish it.

The rest of our days were spent at home, when Monday became Wednesday and now it’s New Year’s Day. We finally landed a tenant after the last one fell through which meant that I have spent the majority of my time packing this week. And crying. Weeping, actually, on one day in particular. A friend said that the tears represent my emotional attachment to every little thing in my house because I no longer live here, thus the importance placed on material items. She’s not wrong, but I’d add that there is significant meaning in my ‘stuff’ here because it’s 20 years of all the stages of my life here, and when Husband declared either store it or throw it, it became very clear that I wasn’t ready to purge.

I lied to him and said that yes, it’s been beneficial to clear out and get rid of stuff, but the truth is I hoard, I’m a hoarder, and purging/throwing/chucking/clearing out my belongings isn’t part of my nature. How can I possibly throw out my collection of random wrapping paper that I will definitely use one day, and equally, how can I pay to store it which makes no financial sense either???

In the end, meaning literally now as I have packed my last box, I cheated and stuffed my tiny attic with so much I’ll never be able to find anything in order to avoid the demonic notion of choosing between expensive storage and dumping. It all feels relevant; all pieces to my life’s puzzle. Okay, except the Batman with the missing limbs. I’ll give Husband that one.

And tomorrow it’s back on the plane to LA where our new home awaits. I feel like I’m leaving in the middle of something. Just as life takes off here I must go. My two worlds are only one day apart and I’ll be sleeping tonight at the beach. Surreal, really. And all very real indeed.

Happy New Year and thanks for reading.

I actually don’t know where to begin…

Started last week…
I find myself tonight, Friday, having a very stiff Vodka and a huge sigh of relief sweeps over my body…and it’s not just the Vodka. Last week was Thanksgiving, my most favorite holiday. Preparations were underway to host my very large and fabulous family at our house for a last hooray at this address. Husband was not only on board, but talking turkey recipes. But as our building works – construction for you Yanks – was underway at the new house, our tenants from London fell through literally on signing day and tension invaded my home. There’s nothing like financial meltdown to kill the spirit. We were also dealing with my son studying for his high school entrance exam which is an event unto itself, a ‘turkey tournament’ for three of my boys – a three day soccer event played out at the famous Rose Bowl in Pasadena which is miles away – a one night trip down south to celebrate my brother’s annual surprise party (seriously, he is honestly surprised every year) and all the usual end of school term events that overwhelm the calendar. It was truly enough for anyone’s plate to feel full. But then, we really got gusumped. Majorly.

One of my son’s came home asking me if I knew what ‘this lump’ was under his chin.. It’s hard and quite prominent. It hurt to the touch and was bigger than a lima bean on his very cherub-like face. Strange. We went to the doctor who immediately sent us to a pediatric ENT surgeon who immediately sent us to a radiologist for an ultrasound. All doctors thought is was a cyst until radiologist called it, definitively I might add, a mass – not a cyst. I don’t care who you are…when a doctor refers to something in your child’s body as a ‘mass’ total hysteria envelopes your every pore. Husband and I looked at each other and felt Time stop; absolutely nothing on this planet mattered more to us than to find out what was wrong with our boy.

It’s hard enough dealing with medical issues when everyone agrees, but when all of your doctors begin disagreeing you genuinely fall off course and sometimes head for divorce. One must remember that they are all practicing medicine. To top the whole thing off, he had related – or unrelated – swelling in his jaw that made him look like he got properly popped in a fight. At first it went away with the antibiotics he was taking for his ‘mass’ but last night it came back. Back to the doctor, back to the beginning. My poor little boy then had to go to another doctor and discovered he had to have oral surgery to remove two molars that were infected, related -or unrelated – to the other problems. Meanwhile, five movers arrive on our doorstep to pack up our house! If ever there was a time I thought I can’t possibly handle more, here it is in all its glory. And then, of course, just as that thoughts enter my mind, there’s more.

Tomorrow is Husband’s birthday. Tomorrow we physically move house. Tomorrow is teenage son’s high school entrance exam. Tomorrow is the semi-final soccer match for my two boys who are on the same team. Tomorrow I have to remember to give four doses of antibiotics. And I thought yesterday was the calm before the storm. Oh what tomorrow will bring.

Question: What are your child’s strengths, interests and hobbies, achievements in these, awards, and briefly describe their character.

Answer: My child is a teenager. On some days he moves effortlessly through his life, with total confidence and a sense of purpose. On other days he wanders aimlessly, doesn’t tie his shoes, forgets his homework, forgets his lunch that he specifically asked me to make five minutes beforehand, goofs around and hums to himself when I’m trying to get his attention.

He is always loving but does that matter to your school?? He is a loyal friend and confidante, and makes friends easily. His achievements academically are inconsistent. The truth is, when he’s had an engaging teacher, he’s performed remarkably and with huge gold stars and when the teacher seems bored with his subject, so does my son. It’s not a blame game, it’s just an observation.

In sports he’s competitive and will want to win your school their banners. He’s won awards for his soccer but if I list them you’d probably not know any of their meanings. He sees himself as a professional soccer player and is becoming quite obsessed with the sport. Of course that would never interfere with his academics…

In London he was in a hothouse environment that didn’t suit him as at 11 he is supposed to have it all together and test like Einstein. It didn’t work out that way, and now I’m hoping that he can sit long enough to test well for you in your four and a half hour exam. Honestly, four and a half hours for a 14 year old boy in one morning?? I guarantee he’ll have to go to the bathroom at least five times and miss points because of it.

I have no idea if your school is our number one choice, the perfect match. He’s 14. What I do know is that he’ll figure it out, but how much support he’ll need from you along the way is a question mark, and can you provide it? Will you step up for my son?

My son is precious and special and soulful and wonderful, but so says all the parents who are writing to you today, because we’re their moms and dads and we want them to get into your school. I would just love for you to know the real boy that I know, the child who is becoming a man and a beautiful one at that. Will his scores be enough to impress you? Will he get the opportunity to show you who he really is?

Getting into your school may pave the way for his brothers, for our family’s life journey. These pages are more than just an application in the pile; they are our family’s fate. This may seem like a lot to put upon a school, but I’m just being honest and surely that is what you wanted me to be in this application. Right?

Yours sincerely.

I’m hiding in my bathroom. I haven’t hid in my bathroom in a long, long time, but right now, I am in the middle of three moves, two mortgages, three houses in various stages of rental and sale, building works, tenancy agreements and furnishing contracts AND HIGH SCHOOL APPLICATIONS and honestly, nothing but major tears is getting me out of the peace of my bathroom right now.

What was that?? There was a major crash. Wait for it, wait for it…yep, the wail of injury. Seriously?? Right now?? I must abandon my inner haven of a toilet closet for the yells of blood, I’m sure.

Yes, there was blood and tears and cuts and tears. Little one, who
never wears shoes unless he’s in school, and that’s with serious bribery, has stubbed his big toe for the hundredth time and it’s cut down to the nail. He defies the notion that if your child can learn from hurting themselves (by not wearing shoes) then the next time he will choose to wear them. Nope, skateboarding will never require shoes for this guy. So, where was I? Hiding peacefully as the world whirls around me in detail after detail of very important matters. I got a call today and it was from a removals company. It was in the morning and I actually had to ask them what country they were calling from. They thought I was insane. I feel like I am a bit insane at the moment.

Husband and I have bought a house after a five minute viewing from him – I went back four times – and a thirty second commercial break conversation in the middle of his crazy Friday afternoon work day negotiating how high we were willing to go financially before the weekend closed. Assuming that we lost the house in multiple offers, my sister Nancy, who is my amazing broker, and I had gone over every reason why the house was not quite right and all the negatives a girl could think of to make the situation feel better. It was seriously like ‘I didn’t like that guy anyway’ kind of talk. Feeling much better, I left to get pizza for the masses of boys at home. I came home to the phone ringing. It was Nancy. ‘What are you doing?’ “Holding three pizzas,” I replied. “Well, put them down cuz you’ll need to…you got the house.” What???????? What about the mulitples?? What have I done?? I have seen my husband for ten minutes in the last three weeks and with one nod between us, I bought us a house!

I poured Vodka. Lots of it. I couldn’t tell the boys as they had friends over and two out of the four hadn’t yet seen the house. It was going to be a family decision and experience. I texted Husband. He said ‘in twenty’. Sister and I have said everything and then some. So I had to wait. What the heck have I just done?? I drank the Vodka in one. Pacing up and down my kitchen, I fed boys pizza and began to sweat. I couldn’t tell them in front of friends and without all of them having seen the house. I had to fake my craziness. I began to sweat. I know that big decisions can be made in any given moment, but truthfully, I had rolled big dice here without total consideration and was praying I ended up on the winning side.

So now, with the dealings of renting London, selling Santa Monica and buying in the Palisades, I feel like I’m hovering somewhere up above it all laughing at all the stress I’ve caused. I will engage soon enough with all of it, but for now, I can’t quite believe any of it. There are times in life when chaos takes over and you just have to give in to it; where big decisions are made and you’ve plotted and planned how to take it all on. I have subconsciously and now consciously manufactured all of this change and I have to believe it is for a reason. The new house has a yurt (look it up, I had to) and I will now finally have a place to have my femme circles. The house is near Lake Shrine, Paramahansa Yogananda’s spiritually tranquil temple along Sunset Blvd where some of Ghandi’s ashes are buried and one of my most favourite spots in LA.

I have definitely shaken up things here. Maybe it’s because we are here longer than planned and it was all too… too…easy?? And no, this does not mean that we are now here forever as that phrase means nothing to me.

One last note…a HUGE congratulations to my amazing illustrator as she was a bride last weekend:) All love.

A friend of mine from London sent me Autumnal leaves from my garden in Richmond. I cannot say how much that gesture meant to me. Aside from loving and being present in our life in LA, I completely miss my home and life in London. Seeing the red, yellow and orange colors from my garden’s floor took me straight to the acer tree, the maple, the soon to be bare magnolia. And I sat there, in my mind, watching the season’s change, listening to the culling of the deer and wanting to walk in the park surrounded by ancient trees and evergreens lining my path.

I feel far away from London this week. I need the trip back at Christmas. We are going through so many decisions right now and both Husband and I don’t want to disconnect. It’s the hardest thing to explain about our lives, but we actually live in both places with total presence, simultaneously. We have so far paid for each home to be available at a moment’s notice and have offices and a full set-up in each. Madness some would say, and they’d be right. But that is what has given us peace of mind.

And then the call came. It was the estate agent that we employed doing her job, as requested. She found a perfect German family to rent our house. They want it for three years, fully furnished. All we have to do is take out our personal belongings. Take out our personal belongings from my own house that we have a love affair with? Take out what makes it personal?? So we slowly negotiate, asking for this, saying no to that, until alas it is all agreed upon. Except one thing…I don’t want to have anyone else living in my house. There is a break clause, we can break the contract after a certain amount of months. This becomes our focus. Husband and I look at each other in disbelief and uncertainty about whether we are making the right choice. But there’s a break clause…

We can rent in London for the summer. We can stay with friends and family. There’s a coach house with our names secretly stenciled on the bedroom door frame. It’s not that, it’s the feeling that we are letting go of more than our house. But that’s crazy. That really is dramatic and sentimental. But I cry nonetheless. A burst of emotion as I was cooking pounds of chicken stew. I had to get it out, expel what took hold of my heart. Instead of adding more salt to the stew, I phoned a friend. We spoke of the reality of it all. The trips I had already booked back to London and the time that would not change. The only real difference is we were getting some money for a house that shouldn’t be left alone over winter anyway. And once back, our personality and personal belongings will again fill the house on Hazel Lane.

The House on Hazel Lane…now there’s a title. It’s a chapter I didn’t want to embrace, but hey, Hamm is a German name…

My week was spent in New York City. Somewhere in the romantic side of my mind I thought it would be a great idea to accompany Husband on a work trip for four nights. We could finally have some time to talk, to linger in eachother’s company without the panic of getting it all said – and done! – in 5.5 seconds before the kids come in. Was I on crack??

New York is a fast paced, exciting but completely exhausting city. From the moment we stepped onto the pavement outside our hotel, our romantic embrace was ripped apart and I was literally stepped on by fellow pedestrians racing through their lives. Add rain and wind to that scenario and I nearly took out three people’s eyes, including Husband’s who of course is British and wouldn’t use an umbrella in the storm so wasn’t amused. Kill or be killed! We changed hotels after two nights from midtown to downtown which was better, as the pace seemed a fair bit slower. I still felt like a snail next to road runners at every corner, and these women are doing it in heels, and soon realized that if I didn’t throw my elbow out a few times I would end up in the gutter. And it’s a wet and grimy gutter.

We were exhausted from LA jet lag. I didn’t expect it but it disturbed me nonetheless as the morning fog in my head transformed to a thick, sticky goo by lunchtime. I desperately tried to wear more make-up, dress sexy yet with an ease and be perky. Perky!! Sex was on our minds as four less bodies stood between us, but each day brought more and more fatigue from no sleep and work stress. There is definitely an immediate intimacy being on our own that we both acknowledge and frankly sometimes that’s as close as we get! When we checked into our second hotel, I had to laugh at the front desk manager. He looked at our booking and said to Husband,”Will I be adding another name to the room or shall I just leave it at one?” the insinuation being that I am, perhaps, the ‘other woman’. Husband smiled wryly and replied with a wink, “No, just my name will do.” And there you go. Fantasy started; the anonymity of it all providing the foreplay.

I got ill, of course, half-way through the week. Achy then chesty. Figures. No kids, free pass to party, and illness. I still ate my way through the city, who can resist, and saw some beautiful exhibitions and walked miles window shopping and pretending I lived there, seeing how it felt. I always wanted to live in New York but for the first time, I felt quite claustrophobic. Being inside tall buildings without any outside space for too long made my Californian skin itch.

But what can compare to that energy, that life force New York City embodies?? Nothing, nowhere. It’s incredibly exhilarating, in all its dirt and glory. Husband’s film Killing Bono was a part of the CMJ music and film festival so the week had a strong sense of purpose for him. I, on the other hand, was free. The city is a half-way mark between London and LA and because of that, I have people from both sides of my life living there. Stolen moments to catch up with really old and great friends. They’re not old, just great. On a tangent…my one friend just adopted a dog and had complained that it had issues on day two. As a dog owner, I chuckled a bit at this and truthfully thought she was exaggerating. Then I went for a walk with them. Well, not really a walk as her dog refused to walk. There isn’t anything physically wrong with her, but hey, she didn’t wanna. She would do these ‘throw downs’ and my friend would have to drag her across the floor, and street, with onlookers staring and commenting nasty things as we passed. She would loudly declare to the hissers, “Special needs dog, coming through, it’s not my fault, day 2 here – no, I don’t beat her!!”. The dog also has an overbite and refuses to pee outside. So I take it back, no exaggeration here. It was the funniest walk I’ve ever had, for me that is. As for my friend…she saved this dog from her fate in a dumpster and because the dog is now living with love, I’m sure she’ll start walking soon. If she doesn’t….well, thank g-d she’s cute!

When we finally reached the plane to go home, I was huddled into a ball dealing with the aftermath of aches, I was happy to be going home. Normally, the trips that we take away from the boys are sacred marriage-bonding moments that refuel every fire and connect all the dots. Hmmm. The good news is our relationship is not in need of anything, all checks and balances are in place, but next time I’m going to rethink combining girlie visions of oneness with a concrete jungle of craziness.

A recent hike in the mountains with a fellow writer got me thinking…

I have almost been many things in my life. Early on before and after college graduation I thought I was going to be a professional actress. It was a heart felt belief that this would be true. My sensibilities told me to hang in there, do the work, stay hungry and that my time would come. You need to have blind faith and tunnel vision and I lived in the tunnel for years. There were enough jobs that kept the dream alive and the closest I ever got to real success was being cast on a day time soap in New York to play a character and her evil twin sister for ABC. Just before contracts were signed, the character got killed off. Needless to say, I never made it to New York and my ambition got a bit killed as well.

I then became a writer. Movie scripts, TV drama series, I was writing with great partners creating shows that the world needed in their box at home. I was being mentored by the industry’s greatest and actually chose which agent I wanted. But over the years, my conflicting commitments between feeding the babies and feeding my creations on paper made it near impossible to be sitting at any round table that wasn’t set for family dinner.

I wrote a novel with a best mate that produced the most wonderfully complimentary letters all unfortunately carrying the transitional paragraph beginning with ‘However…’. Another incarnation unrealized. I trained as a birthing doula which brought together my love for newborns, empathy for the vulnerability of an expecting woman and my underlying ease I feel in a hospital (I seriously could have been a surgeon) and still try and figure out how to lend those services to expecting moms without being on call!

It’s not depressing; it’s my life. And what I wanted more than anything for as long as I can remember is for that life to be different somehow. Different from the way I grew up, however gorgeous and wonderful. Different from any prediction, any rules. Different from the norm. So, with hindsight I can see the need for the two countries; the complications and unpredictability of it all. Steve Jobs is quoted so eloquently in his speech to Stanford Grads saying that you can only connect the dots looking behind you, never being able to connect ahead of yourself. And each experience connects to the next. Which is so true. The relevance of all of my rejections brought me to London, and then London brought me back to LA again and again. And brought me to motherhood in such a significant way.

I never realized I wanted such a big family and yet needed a tribe of boys to feel complete. As we navigate through our two cultures, two homes, I find myself subconsciously trying to give each of my boys the same; a life less ordinary, a life full of differences.

On my hike this morning my friend and I discussed the impending high school applications for our boys and the fear and anxiety it conjures up in the family as you prepare for success and failure for your kid. How to protect our boys? How to maintain their confidence in the storm of potential rejections? Rejections. It’s hitting a nerve in me again. In London we went through this two years ago and it was nerve wracking and quite horrible. The competition for London day schools is fierce and I desperately wanted options for him. He was successful with schools that didn’t seem to fit and it was unsettling.

I can only hope that whatever may be for my son, whichever dot gets stamped on his life, it connects him to the next with a sense of purpose and belonging. As I write this I remind myself to apply to the American School in London; it only feels appropriate.

I haven’t written a huge amount recently about the differences between London and LA because the truth is, once you start living your life somewhere you do just that, live it. And so life becomes less about comparisons and more about daily rituals. This is a valuable lesson for anyone thinking about moving and having anxiety or fear attached to that choice. Once you go, you will most certainly find your mind occupied with your home, schools and friends for you and your kids, your local shops and lifestyle…it’s life as you know it now, but happening there.

I rely forever on the concept of the here and now. I was asked last night what I have learned by this crazy life we live in two countries. In two words; Being Present. You can change one’s surroundings many times, but what needs to be constant is how you live your life, not where. Being in the moment – planning without wasting time waiting for it all to happen, acknowledging how hard it is sometimes and accepting it without letting it destroy too much. These realities have become a source of enlightenment for me and often take me from the darkness into the light.

At the risk of sounding like a spiritual healer or a drunken yogi, I will shift to what I thought was indeed a funny week in the world of Back To School Nights. For a start, I had three to go to. I gave Husband the out not to attend, and he took it. My fault, really. I was in all honesty frightened of what we wouldn’t hear, again, in terms of their curriculum, and of the issues that were talked about, the love of the child and the care of their emotional lives, I wanted the space to bask in the glory of choosing these feel good, progressive schools without the voice of doom in my ear. I made a mistake, however. Three times. Each evening had more dads present than ever before and each event held moments of feeling great about spending so much money on one’s child’s educations, which is something every parent of the independent school system desperately needs!

Seriously. My eldest sons teachers at The Willows Community School rallied the parent body with such enthusiasm and energy for the subjects they teach that they have myself reading To Kill A Mockingbird for the third time. In the same school, I went to the Lower School night – on a different night, of course – where the Head spoke to us on stage with such eloquence, inspiration (the word of the school this year) and education that I would have voted for her for president by the end. When she was finished explaining why we should let our children be uncomfortable, let them figure out how that feels and what to do about it themselves, and went on to show how the ethos of the school is to help create thinking, curious, intelligent and successful children, all moms and dads kept nodding to each other as if to say ‘yes, we are all amazing for choosing this incredible school’. We were putty in her efficient hands. She did then, on cue, talk about the Annual Giving Fund. I had to laugh.

Then my final night was at New Roads school where we have moved to their bigger campus and are now at their middle school. My son had sufficient achievement at their lower school, but to say we were less than excited about their curriculum was an understatement. Thus having Husband stay behind babysitting was more about taking cautious measures in order to decipher just how disappointing the new school is going to be. I know that sounds ludicrous, especially because we are paying for it, but my son got his mojo back with this school and for that, we are willing to roll dice and stay in this school’s game, rather than call craps.

Well, let me just say I spent four hours, yes FOUR hours being tutored in their unique interactive computer program called the Learning Tool and listening to each of his teachers dissect their subjects with focus and innovation. Even the PE teacher had me doing TRX exercises from hanging equipment. Be all you can be, and then some seems to be their motto. I was exhausted by the end and well educated in what is actually at their fingertips at each of these schools. Gone are the days of libraries and letters to the teacher, now it’s international, interactive resources in 3D and a ‘Dear Teacher’ chat box online, in real time.

I can only imagine what a teacher at my boys prep school in London would think if my son wrote to him and said, ‘Hey, Tom, don’t understand question 2, can you explain again? PS I’ll play you at ping pong at break time tomorrow.’