You Say Tomato...

The six year old is a celebrity. Well not really, but indulge me in my motherly pride. We have been staying at a hotel in a fairly rural part of Scotland. Completely charming with lots of sheep and lambs in the surrounding fields and more lard per square inch of dinner plate than any artery can stand.

The hotel is full of families on spring break. The six year old's celebrity status comes from her American accent. A rarity in these parts apparently. People are coming up to talk to her and ask her about her home. Which part is she from "America silly." What biscuits, knickers and prams are called there "cookies, panties and strollers of course" and a multitude of other enquiries.

In return her vocabulary now includes words like drookit (wet), minging (smelly) and barrie (great.) She can now dance a Gay Gordons and an Eightsome Reel. She has taught her compatriots a home grown version of a square dance.
I feel that as Obama touched down in London today, my 'wee girl' is doing her part to encourage anglo-american relations.

The 10 month old is simply bemused. She has slept in three different travel cots so far. Bathed in tubs of varying size and shape and eaten in highchairs at so many different tables, we've lost count. Poor baby - I'm feeling very guilty about dragging her around like this. On the positive, life experience side - she did do 'The Macarena, Chicken Dance and Limbo' in the hotel ballroom last night. Not many 10 month olds have that on their resume. (Nor should they.)

We're off (again) to Edinburgh tomorrow to meet Grandad - another cot, another highchair.
Hopefully a little less lard......