Saturday, April 4, 2009
Taking my children to my childhood home is a beautiful thing. (Jet lag aside.)
I have shown my daughters my old school. Taken them to feed ducks where I fed ducks 30 (aaagh) years ago.
We have listened to bagpipes on the high street and danced a wee jig. Eaten sweets and treats so filled with nostalgia the actual taste is irrelevant and the six year olds personal favorite - rode the bus.
Edinburgh is a stunningly beautiful city and I am filled with the pride of being from here.
Everything is just different enough to be of wonder to us and the six year old now has a lovely Scottish accent.
Grandad has been endlessly entertaining and watching them together is lovely.
In the wonderful way that children are so open and honest, the six year old has taken him to task for using foreign words, "You must speak only in english Grandad." Grandad is speaking in english - just with a brogue.
Since spelling words we don't want her to understand is no longer an option we may have found a new way to discuss secrets.
The ten month old finally slept a seven hour stretch last night so I am less frazzled and a little more in love with her today.
She does still carry an expression of bemusement on her face - I'd love to know what she makes of it all. Maybe she'll tell me one day. Maybe I don't really want to know.
Today we hope to see Muckle Coo - the top pic should clue you in - and then in great Scottish tradition I would think we'll find a tea room and eat some more incredibly unhealthy and delicious treats.
Aah it's good to be home.