Checking for horns

We flew our three year old to New York to meet the schools. Interviews seemed to go well, since both offered her a spot.

C and I had flown out earlier to view four schools that still had places available for this September, and narrowed it down to two. They were all incredibly warm and inviting, but explained that they would need to meet the child before they could offer a place. Presumably to check for horns.

T loved spending three days and nights alone with both her parents, while her little sister stayed behind. Found her a hilarious set of black Hello Kitty children’s headphones for the flight. They were so big C had to wad up some paper hand towels to perch them on her head. She never blinks when watching TV, so that giant tears well up and it’s astonishing she can see anything at all.
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Poxy Chickens

Met another mum at a local Greenwich playgroup this morning who’s just back from a year in Manhattan with two kids very similar ages to ours. I invited her round for tea and she’s reeled off lots of useful information, including fact that some New York schools require a chicken pox vaccination certificate.

I didn’t even know it was possible to get vaccinated. Only last week I saw a notice on the nursery doors warning of chicken pox going round, and thought “Oh goody, so they can get it young”. Surely a vaccination is much better. Made some calls. Turns out it’s actually not possible to get it done in the UK anyway, since one of the two vaccines is no longer stocked here.
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“Has she got a tail?”

C flew home this morning, we were all up and dressed and waiting by the window at 7.30am. T went berserk with excitement when the taxi pulled up, and B toddled over pointing a podgy finger and saying “Da, Da, Da, Da”. So lovely. And I have a present, a shiny new iPad with which to write this blog and also keep in touch with everyone once we’re gone. Brilliant. Feel like a smart, sophisticated, technologically savvy woman of the world. Wonder how long that’s going to last.
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Houses and kettles

Apparently Americans don’t really use kettles. How can they not use kettles?? It doesn’t even bear thinking about.

Friends tell me it’s tricky bringing British electricals to America unless they have a transformer. What is a transformer, though? How can you tell if the kettle, juicer, baby monitors, slow cookers and so on will work? Am going on the assumption that basically no electricals will work and we should just buy everything new on arrival. New for New York, has quite a nice ring to it…
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The Big Toy Purge

With the NY move looming, we’ve begun The Big Purge. Challenged the girls to choose their favourite toys that would fit inside their toy hampers. Anything that wouldn’t fit, goes to charity.

Braced for tears and pleading, it was actually fairly painless. We’ve kept all the baby dolls, wooden toys, and anything – naturally- involving a princess. It was actually C and I who found it the hardest to let go of some of those toys. The book that T first smiled at. The bunny rattle that B enjoyed waving on the nappy changing table. C even argued to keep a few favourites back.
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Greenwich, London to Greenwich, New York

So. We are moving to New York. C’s boss is heading over and wants him to come too, so all four of us are heading over for the next few years. It’s the perfect time, really, since our two girls haven’t started school yet, so we won’t be disrupting them too much. The eldest one, three year old T, currently has a touch of an East London accent and refuses to believe that “somefink” should actually be pronounced “something”. Heaven knows how she’ll sound in a few years. The littlest one, B, is only a year old so I suppose an American accent is inevitable for her. For both of them, probably. Strange to think our children won’t sound like us.
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