Those Brits

The other day a friend of mine mentioned that her husband really wanted to go live in England for a year while their children were still small. (Uh, let me clarify that--all of them living TOGETHER in England--not "alrighty honey, I'm off to England. Call me in a year or so when our kids are all potty trained and the temper tantrums have subsided.")

"Really," I said. "Just be sure to go visit there FIRST--with all your children." Because once upon a time we thought that sounded like a fabulous idea too. Thankfully, we gave it a trial run, before boxing up the furniture.

I am referring of course, to our three week stay, when only a handful--like a tiny Ava handful--of people smiled and/or said hello to me and my (three) children the ENTIRE time. And my children are cute . . . and most always well mannered. . . even without being strapped into their buggies (strollers) with dummies (pacifiers) in their mouth. Which as far as I could tell, appeared to be the accepted method of keeping children (from infant to first grader, for reals) quiet.However, I am the first to admit that they've got style. They've managed to produce my favorite architectural looks, gardens and I think furniture design too (I am assuming the british colonial look did, in fact originate in Great Britian.) So, I'll put up with it. . . but I am still holding a grudge, mr. lame harrogate man.

And so continues my obsession with the ill-mannered Brits.

(For more of this week's favorite catalog finds head on over to bohemia, my project file.)