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After returning from Germany reasonably early on Friday, it wasn’t too difficult to muster the energy to journey to Oxfordshire for a visit to the Ai Weiwei sculpture exhibition at (Unesco World Heritage Site) Blenheim Palace.
Blenheim isn’t a National Trust or English Heritage property, so we don’t have memberships that cover it. It’s also an eye-watering £22.50 per adult for a day admission. However, once you’ve paid it, you can convert this to an annual membership and come back any time you like for the subsequent year. Since Humuhumu had a lot of energy to run off by the time we got there (it’s over an hour’s drive from home) and we didn’t get to spend any time indoors, we’re determined to go again in a couple of weeks to at least attempt to see the sculptures that are housed inside the Palace.
It was a blowy, blustery day and Humuhumu loved dashing around the majestic grounds, helping us to hunt down the sculptures. The symmetrical shiny blue-purple stones were the hands-down favourites.
[Image of Humuhumu running through one of Ai Weiwei's sculptures at Blenheim Palace.]
[Humuhumu and Dada peering over the top of one of the shiny blue-purple stones.]
[Pondering our distorted reflections in a shiny blue-purple stone.]
Later in our perambulations, we met a friendly pheasant. Humuhumu, who had been dashing around like a mad thing before spotting it, suddenly became very careful and quiet. It didn’t quite get close enough to take bits of granola bar from her hand, but it wasn’t far off.
[Greeting the friendly pheasant in the palace grounds.]
[Pheasant wasn't amenable to eating oak leaves, but when Humuhumu decided to share her granola bar, pheasant became very interested indeed.]
Hours of fresh air and exercise tired everyone out, so I’m afraid poor Bloke had to drive home with only the dulcet tones of Radio 4 playing “Under Milk Wood” by Dylan Thomas* to drown out the snorkeling of his passengers.
* NB: I do not recommend listening to this whilst dozing unless you enjoy having very strange dreams.
The next day everyone had a lie-in, even Humuhumu, who slept until almost 8 AM. (Note to Daughter: More Sundays like this please.) Once we were up, we went to the garden centre to get wallflowers and pansies to plant in our front pots, as the geraniums were beginning to flag in the cooler weather. We are once again keeping up appearances in our village, to the relief of the neighbours, I'm sure.
In the afternoon, we headed to the Avoncroft Museum nearby for Trebuchet and Cannon Reenactment Day. We texted some other parents on the off-chance that they were at loose ends for Sunday activities, and to our immense surprise, everyone turned up. Humuhumu was delighted at the company. The four-year-old girl pretty much adopted Humuhumu, and cried when her Daddy tried to take her away before she could give her a goodbye cuddle and kiss.
The other children didn’t much care for the noisy cannon demonstrations, but Humuhumu’s response to every firing was a passionate demand for “MORE BANG!” and “Nani do it!” Oh dear.
Also filed under Oh Dear: Humuhumu has got quite a strong Brummie accent at the moment. Here is an attempt to record her pronunciation of a few words/phrases. I need to get some video of this for posterity before she loses it, which she very probably will when she’s older. She doesn’t hear any Brummie at home or from our friends and relations.
Bye Bye = “Buh Boy”
Like a diamond in the sky = “Loik a doymund in da skoy”
Bus = “Booss”
Daddy = “Dah-doy”
[Humuhumu and Dada at the trebuchet & cannon-firing display at the Avoncroft Museum. She’s in the middle of a request for “MORE BANG” here.]
Blenheim isn’t a National Trust or English Heritage property, so we don’t have memberships that cover it. It’s also an eye-watering £22.50 per adult for a day admission. However, once you’ve paid it, you can convert this to an annual membership and come back any time you like for the subsequent year. Since Humuhumu had a lot of energy to run off by the time we got there (it’s over an hour’s drive from home) and we didn’t get to spend any time indoors, we’re determined to go again in a couple of weeks to at least attempt to see the sculptures that are housed inside the Palace.
It was a blowy, blustery day and Humuhumu loved dashing around the majestic grounds, helping us to hunt down the sculptures. The symmetrical shiny blue-purple stones were the hands-down favourites.
[Image of Humuhumu running through one of Ai Weiwei's sculptures at Blenheim Palace.]
[Humuhumu and Dada peering over the top of one of the shiny blue-purple stones.]
[Pondering our distorted reflections in a shiny blue-purple stone.]
Later in our perambulations, we met a friendly pheasant. Humuhumu, who had been dashing around like a mad thing before spotting it, suddenly became very careful and quiet. It didn’t quite get close enough to take bits of granola bar from her hand, but it wasn’t far off.
[Greeting the friendly pheasant in the palace grounds.]
[Pheasant wasn't amenable to eating oak leaves, but when Humuhumu decided to share her granola bar, pheasant became very interested indeed.]
Hours of fresh air and exercise tired everyone out, so I’m afraid poor Bloke had to drive home with only the dulcet tones of Radio 4 playing “Under Milk Wood” by Dylan Thomas* to drown out the snorkeling of his passengers.
* NB: I do not recommend listening to this whilst dozing unless you enjoy having very strange dreams.
The next day everyone had a lie-in, even Humuhumu, who slept until almost 8 AM. (Note to Daughter: More Sundays like this please.) Once we were up, we went to the garden centre to get wallflowers and pansies to plant in our front pots, as the geraniums were beginning to flag in the cooler weather. We are once again keeping up appearances in our village, to the relief of the neighbours, I'm sure.
In the afternoon, we headed to the Avoncroft Museum nearby for Trebuchet and Cannon Reenactment Day. We texted some other parents on the off-chance that they were at loose ends for Sunday activities, and to our immense surprise, everyone turned up. Humuhumu was delighted at the company. The four-year-old girl pretty much adopted Humuhumu, and cried when her Daddy tried to take her away before she could give her a goodbye cuddle and kiss.
The other children didn’t much care for the noisy cannon demonstrations, but Humuhumu’s response to every firing was a passionate demand for “MORE BANG!” and “Nani do it!” Oh dear.
Also filed under Oh Dear: Humuhumu has got quite a strong Brummie accent at the moment. Here is an attempt to record her pronunciation of a few words/phrases. I need to get some video of this for posterity before she loses it, which she very probably will when she’s older. She doesn’t hear any Brummie at home or from our friends and relations.
Bye Bye = “Buh Boy”
Like a diamond in the sky = “Loik a doymund in da skoy”
Bus = “Booss”
Daddy = “Dah-doy”
[Humuhumu and Dada at the trebuchet & cannon-firing display at the Avoncroft Museum. She’s in the middle of a request for “MORE BANG” here.]
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We are getting a lot of "Nico do!" at the moment though. He is determined to master dressing.
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I hope N is getting on well with his dressing attempts? Humuhumu can do socks and trousers, but shirts are still too complicated.
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He also needs a bit of help sometimes getting the leggings/trousers up over the nappy.
Socks are a bit random as to whether the heel of the sock ends up on the heel, but they're all elastic enough for it not to matter too much.
I bought a load of pull-up nappies, even though they are about 50% more expensive, because it's worth it not to wait 15 minutes for "NICO DO" to give up on putting on a standard nappy.
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*jaw drop* OMG IS THAT THE SOLUTION TO THAT PROBLEM?!
We've recently started struggling with Humuhumu re: nappies. She still needs them, but she has become quite resistant to the idea of lying down on the changing mat and letting us do it. She often tries to get up before the, er, process is finished, and we end up chasing her around and putting on the clean nappy in some very odd ways. She could put the pull-ups on herself and that might make the whole process so much less painful. THANK YOU.
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The clincher will be if she refers to Impending Younger Sib as "the Babby"
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She says "Baby" as "Beebee" at the moment. So I think her pronunciation is still in flux...
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What a wonderful weekend.
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It was a great weekend. It's certainly making up for the way this week is shaping up so far. /o\ (I do not expect it to get better.)
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I married a man who occasionally still mocks me for saying something more like 'Bas' than 'booss' for 'bus'. One of the reasons I am delighted my brother is marrying an American (besides that she is lovely and makes him very happy) is that hopefully she'll be able to bypass all this nonsense.
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I predict she'll be interested in learning about your accent and hearing the ways it's different from others. And the interest will be devoid of all the baggage and value judgments that seem to accompany the British perceptions of one another's accents. I've learnt a bit about this over my time here, but feel very fortunate that it's not been ingrained in me. It makes me sad that my children won't be able to escape it. :/
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I am at the same time fascinated by this and enraged by it.
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