An Evening With the Queen

This morning, as I was comparing schedules via e-mail for some Easter Break fun with my friend Anne, she dropped this bombshell, about five messages into the exchange:

"Hey, Chris met the Queen yesterday! He was at the Palace last night for some American Correspondents thing, and they shook hands. Jerry Hall was there too."

That's right sports fans: That's just a typical day of an American expat in London. You're just minding your own business, and before you know it, there's the Queen, with some amazing hat on and she wants to shake your hand!

As Thing One might say, "No, not really."

My friend Chris was at Buckingham Palace for a reception for Americans living in Britain as a warm-up for the Queen's visit to the U.S. in May.

But the funny thing was that when Anne told me about it, my first thought was, "Oh, that's nice." It's the same reaction I had when I was looking at a booking form for Charlton Athletic's (our local football club) football school and there, on the front page, was Prince William kicking around a ball with the team. It took me a moment to register, "Hey, he'll be the King of England some day!" I guess that after living here for more than eight years, the novelty of the royals has worn off for me a little.

But don't get me wrong: I would have been THRILLED to have been invited to Buckingham Palace. I'm assuming that MarathonMum's invitation got lost in the mail.

Internet Shopping

Thing One desperately wants a bird feeder and a bird house for our back garden. The plan had been for us to go to the local pet superstore-- where they have about 100 to choose from-- and buy one. However, after discussing the plan with Mr. MarathonMum, who also serves as chair of this house's uber-stringent Design Committee, he vetoed the plan. He decided instead that we could all choose one together on the Internet.

Thing One and I were driving past the pet superstore, when I explained that we wouldn't be stopping to find the bird feeder and the bird house.

"Daddy just wants to buy them on the Internet," i said.

After pausing for a long minute, Thing One replied, "Oh, I can understand why. When you shop on the Internet, you don't have to pay!"

Happy Mother's Day. Now Get Some Sleep.

Here in the U.K., we celebrated Mothering Sunday last weekend. For MarathonMum, that meant I got a two beautiful hand-made cards, a fantastic bunch of flowers and a chocolate-walnut cake, lovingly made by Mr. MarathonMum.

But the thing I'd love most to get-- but haven't yet received-- would be a great night's sleep followed by a morning sleeping in without any interruptions. It's been a long time since I had a really, really good night's sleep. The type when you wake up and think you can conquer the world. The type where your first thought of the day ISN'T, "How quickly can I make my first cup of coffee?" (which is usually my first thought of the day).

I know for a fact that I haven't had a really good night's sleep since I became a mother. It's one of the biggest dirty-little-secrets they don't tell you in your prenatal classes. Since I became a mother, I hear every cough, laugh, wander, whisper and cry in the house. I used to be a heavy sleeper; Not anymore.

So when I saw the study by the U.S.-based National Sleep Foundation that found women weren't getting enough sleep, I was hardly surprised. The study found that half the women surveyed woke up almost every morning "unrefreshed," and 49 percent were awake a lot during the night at least a few nights in the past month.

Apparently, lots of women feel the same way I do about their morning coffee, because only 21 percent of those surveyed drank less than one or no caffeinated drinks the following day.

So what is it that wakes me up and keeps me awake? A sampling of the things that have disturbed my sleep in the last month:
• When Mr. MarathonMum is travelling, once a night without fail, I will sit bolt upright in bed and think that I haven't yet locked the front door. As my heart races away, I have to wake myself up, and think it through before I conclude that I did, in fact, lock it. Several times I'm out of bed before I'm awake enough to realize I've done it.
• (Variation on a theme, and an unwelcome new development) If Mr. MarathonMum is home, I will sit bolt upright in bed and think that I haven't taken my crucial arthritis medication. (This would be as bad as not locking the front door.)
Also in the last month, my sleep has been disturbed by:
• Thing One being so excited about a school event that he moved (in the night) from his own bed to the guest room.
• Thing Two had a bad dream and needed to come in for a cuddle and a guide back to bed.
• Odd noises in the house that I can't identify.
• Various questions that I don't have answers for, including:
"Why can't I get a £20,000 book contract after someone reads my blog?"
"Will this career break I'm on destroy my career?"
"Will I ever be able to get a job again?"
"What kind of job will I get once I do go back to work?"
"Is my arthritis medicine working?"
"Will I ever run again?"
"Will the arthritis put me in a wheelchair?"
"Does Thing One play Playstation too much?"
"When will Thing Two stop sucking his fingers?"
And on and on and on.

So yes, I had a wonderful Mother's Day. But I still didn't get a good night's sleep.

Mudlarking on the Thames

Thing One and I (along with our No. 1 science enthusiast friends Ella and Kirstin) kicked off Science Week in style, by putting on our very best Wellies and heading out to do some mudlarking on the Thames River foreshore.

This was our second mudlarking trip, and we were hoping for some good finds. It is truly amazing what you can find during the low tide of the Thames. The last time around, we found some interesting fish net tags, as well as loads of oyster shells, some old bones and a few broken bits of china. This time, as you can see below, Thing One even found a bike, but as we thought it wouldn't attract much interest on eBay, we left it where we found it.


The reason why the finds are so varied and plentiful is simple: people used to-- and sadly, sometimes still do-- throw everything away in the Thames. Broken crockery, animal remains, the last bits of dinner, industrial garbage: it all wound up in the Thames. During the Great Fire of London in 1666, some families threw their valuables in the river in the hope they'd find them later.

Mudlarking turned into a job-- of sorts-- during the Industrial Revolution in the 1700s when children and old woman would search the shores for things of value. Occasionally, the Great Fire valuables would turn up, but more often than not, they'd be fighting over a single lump of coal. It truly was one of the worst jobs in Victorian times.

While tripping over these old bits of china and oyster shells, I found myself thinking, "What in the world were they doing: throwing all this garbage in the river? Didn't they know any better?" But then I looked ahead 100 years when I'm sure there will be people thinking the same thing about how we live our lives.

By the end of the session, we found some great things: part of a tankard's handle from Medival times, the bottom of a pot from Tudor times, and some pretty pieces of blue Victorian china. The best find of the day, though, was made by someone in our group who found a perfectly preserved piece of a bottle's neck, made during the Tudor period [see above]. The man pictured is Cardinal Robert Bellarmine, a 17th-century Jesuit who abhorred drinking-- as well as King James I-- so his face was put on to alcohol bottles as a joke. You could consider it an olden-times-anti Surgeon General's Warning.

After a very muddy afternoon, we headed home with our Thames treasures.

MarathonMum's Sons Take the Torch

As regular readers of this blog will tell you, running has not featured much in the past year. That's simply because I wasn't doing much, given the excruciating pain in my left foot (and no, I still haven't seen the movie). After several X-rays, one MRI and dozens of doctor visits with a variety of specialists, my problem was finally diagnosed by Google, who told me it was arthritis. Go Dr. Google! In any case, my rheumatologist told me in November that because of my arthritis, and fears that it would spread to other parts of my body, I'd never be able to run again. I was absolutely gutted.

So it is time to pass on my love of running to Thing One and Thing Two. As they are still both in single digits, age wise, it's still early days, but I hope they will love it as much as I did. On Sunday, we had a chance to race together (shh.... don't tell my doctor) in a 2K Fun Run around Greenwich Park. On the day our numbers arrived in the mail, both boys jumped around the house yelling, "Our numbers are here! Our numbers are here!" In the days leading up the race, both boys kept asking, "Is today our race?"

As you can see from the picture above, both boys already looked like champions-- or at least organized enough to get their numbers on correctly (with help) -- before we left the house. Now Thing One is a race veteran, having done a one-mile race 17 months ago. But Thing Two had never done one, and as he's only 3 3/4, just over a mile is a considerable distance for him to run. But he was psyched, so off we went. I figured he'd be one of the youngest racing, and I was right: I saw only one little boy younger than him.

We got there just minutes before the start, so we had enough time to find our friends, exchange some pleasantries, and the gun went off.

Thing One was quick to run off with his friends, and the next time we saw him was at the finish. With runners in front, behind and beside us, Thing Two was happy, excited and thrilled to be racing...Not to mention inexperienced in the art of dodging around people at the starts. So with 30 seconds of the race elapsed, I looked over to see Thing Two....

Do a face scrape across the pavement.

Needless to say, hardly an impressive beginning for his first race. But with a tenacity that would impress even the most seasoned professional athlete, he dusted himself off, took some "I'll make it better" kisses from Mommy, and we continued on our way. When he realized that we weren't going to win the race, he was unhappy, and then when he realized his face really DID hurt quite a lot, that only made him unhappier still. But we forged ahead-- running, walking, running, walking, running.

"This is a long way," Thing Two kept saying. "I'm getting really tired." Then, for added emphasis, "My head hurts!"

Finally, I did what any self-respecting mother would do when she wants to see her son get his first running medal: I promised him that we could go to McDonald's, a restaurant we make a point of visiting only once a quarter (four times a year). "I'm happy now!" said Thing Two, as he raced to the finish line.

I know that the Sports Gods will not be happy that I promised McDonald's in exchange for finishing the race, but I also know that the Mothering Goddesses would fully endorse my approach and understand why I did it.

So now Thing One and Thing Two are race veterans. For the record, Thing One finished in 12:40 (118th), and Thing Two (remember, he's 3 3/4, so his legs are VERY short) finished in 18:15 (159th, and crucially NOT LAST!).
Here's the face of tenacity (when promised lunch at McDonald's of course). The picture, unfortunately, doesn't do the injury justice.

Oscar Night 5:17 a.m.

So after 50 posts, two jugs of coffee, two chocolate chip cookies, one piece of cake and innumerable catty comments, we join "The Departed."

At least until we have to wake up in two hours time.

P.S. If you're reading this on Monday, you might want to scroll down to the beginning (you'll see a picture of two cute boys clutching an Oscar-- we have those sorts of things lying about our house) and read up. Then you'll be able to chart the night/morning as it progresses.

Oscar Night 5:14 a.m.

Best Picture goes to "The Departed."

We say, "Thank God!" But Mr. MarathonMum's alarm clock is about to go off-- if it hasn't already-- so we didn't beat the watershed.

Oscar Night 5:07 a.m.

Now we know what George Lucas is doing there: he's presenting Best Director with Steven Spielberg and Francis Ford Coppola.

And the winner is.... Martin Scorsese!

Good news for him, but better news for me, because, again, I was right. I take validation where ever I can find it.

Everyone is on their feet. God, he deserves it. And he's funny! But he's going on and on.

The directing mafia-- the four of them-- finally exit stage left. Or is it right? I think I'm hallucinating I'm so tired. Anne is so tired she's got nothing to say.

Oscar Night 5:01 a.m.

Sad Reese Witherspoon with the bad hair extensions is on to present Best Actor. It's just getting painful now. We want it to be over. Anne is saying (bitterly) she's not even going to bother to put on her PJs since we'll be getting up in a few hours. Yes, we're bitter.

Yeah! Forest (not Gump, but Whitaker) wins. Please God, I hope his speech is short.

By the way, MarathonMum fans, in the movie of my life, Forest would play my friend Jermaine. He totally looks like him AND he could capture Jermaine's gentle, cool nature.

Forest is choking up. That's sweet, but I'm still tired. This is a fine speech, which I think speaks to the benefits of preparation.

Oscar Night 4:50 a.m.

Ellen comes back on and says, "And that's our show for this evening." If ONLY, we scream in unison.

Philip Seymour Hoffman comes out to present Best Actress. I know he's a guy and all, and probably doesn't care about such prosiac things as HAIR, but it looks terrible and strange. Did they not give him a brush in his goody bag?

Helen Mirren, as predicted, wins! We love her dress. The nice thing about her dress is it goes nicely with her statue. They go well together.

I wonder if Queen Elizabeth II is up with us right now, waiting to see if Helen Mirren will win? Or does she have some underling watching to wake her for the category? Or perhaps, she's reading MarathonMum?

Oscar Night 4:45 a.m.

Just when Anne and I were hoping they were going to skip the "I See Dead People" feature, Jodie Foster strolls up to introduce just that. Damn her!

However, there is a fighting chance that Maureen Stapleton will be featured. And she is! She's number 18 out of 33. If you're curious as to who the most important dead person was, it was director Robert Altman, who won an honorary Oscar just last year. Seems like they gave it to him Just. In. Time.

Oscar Night 4:38 a.m.

Kate Winslet is presenting for something. Anne guesses editing, and she was right! She likes being right as much as I do.

"It's the moment we've all be waiting for," Kate says. No, Kate, the moment we're waiting for is THE END.

"The Departed" wins. We're both hoping she'll be short in her gratitude. It doesn't look likely.

I recommend "United 93" to Anne. It's one of those films that you wouldn't necessarily choose to watch, but you should watch it. It's fantastic. She duly notes it in her "Films to See" list.

Oscar Night 4:31 a.m.

The commentators from Sky talk about how there was an upset in Best Original Song since "Dreamgirls" didn't win. Who cares.

Will Smith is up to present something. He's talking about America in movies. Is this the film editing award? Oh, no. It's Michael Mann talking about America in the movies. We're bitter about this at MarathonMum HQ because it seems more and more likely that we'll still be up when Mr. MarathonMum awakes. This is just filler. This is also torture.

Oscar Night 4:28 a.m.

Finally! Best Original Song. We must be getting close to the final lap. Please, God, let the acceptance speech be short.

I think we just witnessed an Oscar first: A lesbian kiss!! Melissa Etheridge wins. Al Gore gets thanked. Yawn.

"Caring about the earth" yadda, yadda, yadda. Let's just get to Best Picture.

Oscar Night 4:22 a.m.

We finally figured out what Jennifer Lopez is doing there-- she's doing the introduction for one of the Dreamgirls songs.

Jennifer (we're so tired right now, I just had to look up her surname) Hudson has changed into a most fabulous red dress, but she still is, in Anne's words, "zaftig." I believe she's also got some incredibly serious support work going on underneath that dress that probably deserves its own Oscar.

Anne and I are now quite concerned that with Beyonce on the scene, we're going to be faced with some sort of dueling song thing, ala Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey a few years ago. Maybe one or the other will push the other one down. I'd put my money on Jennifer Hudson kicking Beyonce's ass. But I'm pretty sure they'll save that for the Vanity Fair party.

This must be some sort of medley of "Dreamgirls" songs. All we can say is we hope this award is going to be presented soon. We're getting tired and crabby.

Oscar Night 4:12 a.m.

Spiderman and Mary Jane, I mean, Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst come out to present Best Original Screenplay.

We've altered our opinion on Kirsten's dress. It seems to wash out under the lights. But we still like it, just not as much as before.

I predict this award will go to "Little Miss Sunshine" and then it won't win "Best Picture." Though this one might also go to "The Queen" for the same reason. I'd be happy with either (not that it matters what I think).

I was right. God, I love being right. Just ask anyone who knows me.

I just noticed that the birds are up outside. I think I'll start taking bets about whether or not I'll be up when Mr. MarathonMum gets up. It's looking more and more likely.

Oscar Night 4:04 a.m.

Anne is in hysterics because I've just misstaken Hugh Jackman for John Stamos. I've got John Stamos on the brain tonight. Go Blackie, Go!

Original Score goes to "Babel."

"Great," says Anne, without enthusiasm. We're becoming just a little bit bitter at this point. Don't mind us. Tomorrow-- I mean today-- is going to be a long day.

Oscar Night 3:59 a.m.

We did some checking, and we found that the Oscars started 30 minutes later than last year, which doesn't bode well for our plans for sleeping. It is quite possible that I will still be up when Mr. MarathonMum wakes up for work in one hour's time.

Clint is translating for Enrico. Who knew Clint knew Italian? He truly is a multi-talented man. They just panned the audience, and Kate Winslet's brow is furrowed, as if she's trying to translate it herself. Anne and I just deduce that Clint doesn't actually know Italian, but he's reading it off a telepromter.

They just showed the balcony where Enrico's family is sitting, and I could SWEAR that's Idi Amin sitting next to Enrico's wife. But wait, Idi's dead. So I don't know who that man is.

Hooray. That's over, but it'll be another flipping commerical.

Oscar Night 3:50 a.m.

Clint Eastwood is presenting the honorary Oscar to Enrico Morricone. (Again, I doubt I'm spelling that right. Do you think I care at this point?)

We begin to lose the will to live when we realize we haven't even gotten to the "I See Dead People" feature of the evening.

Oscar Night 3:44 a.m.

Now we're on to the Best Short Documentary. We're hoping to God, that their speeches will be shorter than their short, but we doubt it.

Jerry Seinfeld shows up. It makes you think what he's doing at the Oscars, but I tell Anne he's got a new movie coming out this summer-- "Bee Season." He's doing a funny bit before he presents (yawn) Best Documentary. I wonder if he wrote it himself. We're both laughing. Then again, we're punch drunk, so perhaps our comedic taste can't be trusted at this point.

Al Gore wins! I just realize that our friend John Heasly worked as an intern for David Guggenheim before he went to Medill. So while David Guggenheim is holding the Oscar, I'm sure he was inspired by the fantastic photocopying of our friend John, which means we're only two degrees from holding an Oscar ourselves.

So Al Gore has won an Oscar, but didn't win the presidency. And he just got cut off, to which we say, "Thank God! We're tired!!"

Oscar Night 3:35 a.m.

We're perking up here at MarathonMum HQ.

Our man George Clooney shows up to present Best Supporting Actress. It's a heterosexual woman's dream: Clive Owen followed by George Clooney. I could be so lucky.

Jennifer Hudson wins, gets the Oscar, and even better for her, gets a kiss from George! What a lucky girl.

Lucky for you, the Academy and the millions of people watching, she had the good sense not to put her Judy Jetson jacket back on. Now, lucky for us, they cut her off. We're getting tired and grumpy.

We just noticed that George Clooney is going grey. We still totally fancy him, though. (But we both like Clive Owen more).

Oscar Night! 3:30 a.m.

I've just perked up a great deal: Clive Owen is presenting Best Foreign Language Film.

An upset! "Pan's Labrynith" doesn't win. (Listen, readers, I'm pretty sure I'm misspelling Labrynith, but do you think I care at 3:30 a.m.??)

Winner: "Blah, blah, blah." Look! There's Clive Owen standing behind him, looking as cool as all get out while he listens. (And having been within ONE FOOT of him, I can say with authority he is-- I must be tired, I'm at a loss for words.)

"It's men like that who make me realize I could never be a lesbian," Anne says.

And then, wouldn't you know it-- a lesbian shows up! Our host, Ellen. I guess Clive isn't doing anything for her. Oh, god, and she's doing soem interpretive dance now too. Please, save us. It's late, I'm tired, and that just isn't as funny as it should be.

Oscar Night! 3:16 a.m.

OK, first some more interpretive dance, and then a commercial break. Now we can check how much longer we have to stay up.

I've just realized we have yet to see our heartthrob George Clooney.

Oh! No! Claudia Winkleman just told us we're only HALF-WAY THROUGH. You've got to be kidding me. Does that mean we'll be up until 6 a.m.? Good God, I hope not. I need to check back and see how late I stayed up last year. It was 4:26 a.m., about an hour from now. That doesn't calculate, if we're only half-way through.

Naomi Watts is presenting now. She's definitely up the duff. I mean, pregnant. No less than authority than Us Magazine told me so.

She and Robert Downey Jr. are presenting the Best Visual Effects award. I've decided these boring technical awards of the vegetables of the night. You have to eat them-- I mean, watch them-- before you get to your dessert.

Oscar Night! 3:08 a.m.

Tom Cruise is presenting an honorary (I have to use the U.S. spelling, since it's a U.S. award) Oscar to Sherry Lansing. We scan the audience to see if Nicole Kidman is clapping. Lucky for us, she's wearing red, so she's easy to spot-- and she's clapping!

We like Sherry's dress, and even better, her speech is short, so Anne doesn't have to yell at the T.V.

Gwenyth Paltrow is presenting Cinematography. I hope "Children of Men" wins, because (and not that I'm an expert) the cinematography was amazing. But the juggernaught of "Pan's Labrynith" continues and they win.

So Anne's not yelling at the TV, but she is making fun of Gwenyth Paltrow's spanish. I think we're both getting drunk on caffiene. I'm not even tired!

Oscar Night! 3:01 a.m.

An Oscar first-- a Corgi is on stage!!

Anne Hathaway and Emily Blunt are presenting Best Costume Design-- a total girl category is there ever was one. Although, if you think about it, this is a girl's Super Bowl, so maybe they're all girl categories. Except for the Sound Editing awards, those are definitely boy awards.

"Marie Antoinette" wins. Of course it did-- it's a costume drama! How can you lose for Best Costume Design if you've got a costume drama about Louis XVI and his court? (Thanks to my co-host Anne, who told me Louis' number.)

Anne just yawned and now she's getting a little bit snippy toward the winner. "Cut her off!" she's yelling at the screen. Perhaps she's feeling so grumpy because I just estimated that this marathon won't end until 5 a.m. GMT. "So we're going to have two hours of sleep then," she calculated.

I just made some fresh coffee for her, so there's not much more I can do from this end of the sofa. Maybe I should suggest some comfy slippers for her. Oh, wait, she still has trousers on. What she needs is some elasticated bottoms, like sweats or PJs.

Oscar Night! 2:49 a.m.

Helen Mirren and Tom Hanks are presenting "Best Adapted Screenplay."

This is Anne's category, because she is only TWO DEGREES away from one of the nominees. Her boys played with Patrick Marber's boys. Marber was nominated for his adaptation of "Notes on a Scandal," which I've read, but my boys don't know Patrick Marber's boys. I did read Zoe Heller's book, but that puts me about 20 degrees away from the nominees. So if Patrick wins, it's as if Anne wins, and since Anne is sitting on my sofa, it's as if I've won too.

Bummer. Anne-- I mean, Patrick-- didn't win. She'll just have to console herself by holding our fake Oscar. Anne seems a little sad. I should point out where our Oscar bar is, so she could comfort herself with liquor.

But "The Departed" wins, which might be a good sign of things to come for Marty Scorsese.

Oscar Night! 2:49 a.m.

Helen Mirren and Tom Hanks are presenting "Best Adapted Screenplay."

This is Anne's category, because she is only TWO DEGREES away from one of the nominees. Her boys played with Patrick Marber's boys. Marber was nominated for his adaptation of "Notes on a Scandal," which I've read, but my boys don't know Patrick Marber's boys. I did read Zoe Heller's book, but that puts me about 20 degrees away from the nominees. So if Patrick wins, it's as if Anne wins, and since Anne is sitting on my sofa, it's as if I've won too.

Bummer. Anne-- I mean, Patrick-- didn't win. She'll just have to console herself by holding our fake Oscar. Anne seems a little sad. I should point out where our Oscar bar is, so she could comfort herself with liquor.

But "The Departed" wins, which might be a good sign of things to come for Marty Scorsese.

Oscar Night! 2:43 a.m.

So I've made coffee, cleaned up the kitchen a bit, and done some other things and I missed NO awards.

But now on to a category we actually care about in this house: Best Animated Feature.

"Happy Feet" wins and I was right again! I'm 2 for 2!! I'm sorry for Pixar and all, but Happy Feet was better. Thing One and Thing Two will be disappointed at breakfast tomorrow-- I mean later today. If there was any question as to where their loyalties lay, check the picture at the beginning of all the Oscar posts.

Note to MarathonMum fans: I dreamed that Happy Feet would win. Next I'm going to pay attention to stock tips when I sleep.

Oscar Night! 2:22 a.m.

Rachel Weisz, wearing our favourite dress of the night, is presenting Best Supporting Actor. At last! Some stardust!!

Yeah! Alan Arkin wins, just as MarathonMum predicted. He's reading his acceptance speech. I can't decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing. He's choking up, which is sweet. I like the speech.

Now ellen is trying to make Mark Wahlberg feel better for having lost. Nice try, Ellen, but I'm pretty sure he's going to be at the bar at the next commercial break.

Ellen has just told us we're going to get to see Interpretitive Dance THROUGHOUT THE SHOW. That's more than we can bear. They just did "Happy Feet." Pretty impressive, but it's still interpretive dance.

Oscar Night! 2:14 a.m.

Steve Carrell and Greg Kinnear are presenting the Sound Editing award. Why is this not given out in the technical awards?

Oh, Anne just yawned. It might be time for another pot of coffee.

But before we get there, we have a short discussion on the merits, or the lack thereof of "Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest." For the record, she didn't like it either.

That discussion slides nicely into one about John Stamos, now starring in "ER." Now I need to IMDB him to find out how old he is. I used to think he was about 10 years older than us, but that would make him about 50 now, which just isn't right. Will check later.

On to another boring award, this one presented by Jessica Biel and James McEvoy. Anne just told me this is the "Sound Mixing" award, which is somewhat different than "Sound Editing," but she doesn't know how.

Hooray! An acting award!!