Summer of Succotash

"Mama, can I be a writer too when I grow up? And at the end of every day, when I'm finished writing, I can come over to your house and tell you what book I wrote."

You said this to me as we walked from the Red Menace to your Pee Wee group at Gatchell's Playground this morning, where you are doing a week of day camp run by Parks and Rec. Today is tie dye day. You have grumbled after your first two days of playground camp, but it's only a half day long, and you get indulgent grandparent time after. 

It's been a busy start to the summer for us. After you finished Montessori in mid-June, we took you on your first ever trip overseas, to England for ten days.

We landed in London and stayed at a fancy place near Buckingham Palace, wherein you promptly developed norovirus and we spent a miserable 36 hours surfing on rivers of barf. "I hate England," you said, and we really couldn't blame you. We traded off lying with you in the room while you drifted in and out of sleep and watched Garfield on your travel tablet, while I had a couple of meetings and at one point your dad went to a museum. But! Our inauspicious beginning was soon shaken off.

First, we passed through Paddington Station and obtained a real Paddington Bear on our way to the train to take us to Hereford, just outside of Wales, where my high school friend lives with her family. We stayed at the Green Dragon Inn, which we think was very grand one hundred years ago, and which now is cooled by a lazy oscillating fan and open windows facing the street across from a karaoke bar. We roamed the streets and you enjoyed shouting "pigeons!" and chasing them with abandon and glee. The next day we met up with my friend and her two children for a day that was nothing short of magical. You and Edward both enjoy dressing up. Edward was 11, Imogen 9, and the three of you ran riot in the ruins of a castle in Wales, surrounded by a real moat choked with weeds and lily pads. We explored towers and threw pebbles down sinkholes and climbed crumbling staircases, and then we all stopped for a picnic. We obtained a costume of chainmail (the first in several costume elements acquired on our travels). Then we drove to a hedge maze. You and Imogen disappeared instantly, and I couldn't find you! I stopped by the observation platform to ask another mother if she might be able to see a small boy dressed in chain mail, as I was worried you would be scared being separated from me. HA. Instead you an Imogen solved the maze faster than the rest of us! I was pretty blown away. And THEN we took you to an arcade for the first time, where you discovered some kind of water gun zombie shooting game with your dad, and the pleasures of earning tickets, and Edward and Imogen even consented to ride the tiny spinning teacups with you. That night we adjourned home for pizza and the grownups talked while you introduced Imogen to Peter and Wendy. It was a truly marvelous day.

We also had fun in Lincoln, looking at churches and castles, and then we went on to Nottingham for the full Robin Hood experience. Nottingham castle was torn apart during the Reformation and rebuilt as a ducal estate, but that didn't stop them from having a wonderful Robin Hood exhibit, with interactive archery and stick fighting games, actors hypothesizing about the historical antecedents for the Robin Hood stories, and also a playground nestled in a shady glade. We obtained a Lincoln green Robin Hood tunic and matching hat with a real feather. And we visited Ye Old Trip to Jerusalem public house, which supposedly was a 12th century waystation for knights about to leave for the Crusades. We checked out several Robin Hood statues, chased pigeons in the market square, and read Robin Hood stories on a walking tour. We also stayed in a strange Gothic revival guesthouse on the University of Nottingham campus, also cooled by oscillating fans, with our own dining room downstairs for breakfast. We explored the woods behind the house, and pretended it was Sherwood forest. We didn't find Robin's last arrow, but we looked pretty hard. 

From Nottingham we went on to York (actually, I think we went on to Lincoln, and then York), where we walked castle walls, added a quiver to your Robin Hood costume, explored a mock Victorian streetscape, rode a carousel - your first time on a horse that moves! It was a big moment - and most importantly, went on a time machine (your words) back to the Viking era. This was at the Jorvik Viking Center, where we rode a Jurassic Park like tour ride through highly detailed, uncanny-valley-dwelling Viking animatronics. It was actually better than I expected, and I suspect this might prove to be one of your core memories (that and the zombie water guns, of course). By the time we reached York you had moved from "I love England" to "I'm going to live in England when I'm a teenager!" You and I played in a park while your dad visited another church, and then met us in a funny cafe inside a gatehouse on an ancient bridge. We stayed in a sprawling hotel by the train station, with a pool in the basement where you and I played with Muppet Babies. 

Then it was back on the train to London, where we had dinner with your dad's cousin Eren and his wife, and you and I went to bed early. We ticked off so many things from your "L is for London" book, including riding on a real double decker bus. Then a very long plane ride home where we were bumped to the snazzier class and you were given a free sack with sunglasses inside. 

Now we are settling back into summer in Marblehead, having survived a first week of Devereaux day camp, our July 4 party, and a long visit from Kett and Peter, where you and Peter mostly played together wonderfully but also drove each other slightly nuts. Such are friendships. It's exciting, watching you build these relationships on your own, really for the first time. We have finally reached the point of "you guys go play while we cook," and "hey guys! Dinner's ready!" During our party you and Peter and James up the street all dressed in 18th Century pirate regalia and ran riot with Nerf guns, including periodic bellowing raids delivered from the back porch. 

We haven't taken you sailing yet, as I've been on a varnishing tear and we've had to pull out the rotting plywood in the cuddy. But soon. I have a dissertation to write and you have day camp to attend. Today is tie dye day and I'm curious to see what you come home with, arms painted in stripes. You are growing, and changing, and a wonderful traveler.

"Mama, can we go to Paris next?" you asked. Yes, my Succotash. We can.