happy almost birthday mycroft

It'll be Mycroft's birthday on Saturday. He'll be 16, if you can believe it. I can't. I know I go through this every time one of the boys has a birthday, as if the passage of another year is some sort of once-in-a-lifetime miracle instead of something that happens, unarguably, on a regular (yearly) basis. I suppose, in some ways, time and our ability to perceive it and the changes it works on us and our lives is fairly amazing when you think about it.  

Pretty sure that doesn't give me an excuse to be astounded every single year though.

Anyhow, Greg and I looked into some birthday related things on his day off. I can't mention them here yet, of course, but I'm pretty sure Mycroft will approve. His mum has something in store for him as well-- something that makes me think she has at least partially reversed her position on security following him everywhere, which might be the best birthday present he'll get as far as he's concerned.

I'll try to limit most of the soppiness to your actual birthday, Mycroft, but you're an amazing young man, and I am terribly proud of you.

In other news, work has been mainly things I don't want to talk about here. There has been a decided lack of rats floating around in hatboxes and too many bad situations that could've been prevented. I'm starting to think that all FMEs should have psychological training and seriously thinking about getting some myself.

foxes and peacocks

 A peacock from the park, photo by Mycroft. And L sent me one of his cockney fox, for anyone who was wondering what it looked like...

This post is going to have very little actual content, just to warn you. Apart from the pictures. Which I didn't even take.

Sherlock is completely manic about being off of school, bouncing off the walls, sometimes literally. Races with the dogs, playing with the kitten until she is worn out (which takes some doing), dissecting a stick of butter (don't ask), inserting cloves into the middles of all the grapes (you can ask, but I have no answers). Mycroft retreated to his room by two this afternoon, and I don't blame him. Of course, maybe it was tactical, since I did then get a short break while Sherlock sat outside his door and demanded to be let in.

S: Let me innnnnnn.

M: No.

S: Whyyyyyyy?

M: Because.

S: Whyyyyyy?

Repeat ad nauseum. If it was on purpose, Mycroft, thank you. I sat down for five minutes. It was lovely.

phobos

Watching L watch football is more entertaining (and occasionally heartbreaking) than actually watching almost any sport.

Sherlock's class are doing ancient Egypt related things again, although no one's getting mummified (that I know of) (possibly one of us if we stand still too long). I called Mycroft earlier and got about two minutes to talk to him before Sherlock stole the phone and told him about Egyptian temple architecture for two hours and also discussed what sort of animal head he would have if he were a god. His top options were jackal, crocodile, and cobra. (He said I ought to have a giraffe one, for which I blame my husband.)

I then got two more minutes of Mycroft before he had to go and do his homework. He says he's fine and, if transformed into a god, would like the head of something with no ears. We'll have him and Anthea and the dogs home again this Saturday, which will be very nice.

In his first two minutes, he told me a story about Phobos going after the rugby ball while some of the younger boys were practising and making off with it...all the way back to Anthea. Bounding across the campus with two teams of twelve year old tearing after him and whooping. He laid it at her feet and sat down, proud and panting and expecting a scratch behind the ears. Sometimes I wonder if Anthea regrets meeting us...

long gone

I can't believe how fast the week went, and I seem to mean that literally, the way I keep checking to make sure it's really Saturday. Apart from the bike place, we didn't do anything that exciting - mostly long wandering walks, cooking, talking, hottubbing (I'm sorry, Mycroft, I know how you feel about verbing nouns...), and keeping clear of the wild fowl watching us ominously from the pond.

Yesterday from picking up Sherlock to bedtime, I don't think he stopped talking once - clearly he had a much more exciting time than we did! No one burned down the city. L's back to work tomorrow, and I'm back to work tomorrow night and Tuesday daytime, so that'll be interesting.

Here's Sherlock's chocolate spider (which really looks like half an egg in a Halloween costume if you ask me...)

not good

I just got Sherlock to bed. It was a struggle tonight, but I expected it to be. He was up at least eight times between his bedtime and now, asking for anything and everything, but mostly asking if we could go to see Mycroft tomorrow.

Most of you will have seen it on L's blog, but there was a possible kidnapping at Mycroft's school today. Mycroft is fine, Anthea is fine, the dogs are fine. They're probably shedding all over L right now. He got the case - went there earlier today and hasn't been able to come home yet. Hopefully he'll get some sleep on Anthea's sofa, at least a few hours.

I hope the boy's all right. His parents must be terrified. 

canal ride

We took a bike ride today (bicycles, not motorbikes). We went to the canal, which was a pretty long ride for Sherlock, maybe the longest he's done. You can tell he's getting bigger and stronger though. He wasn't nearly as exhausted as we had feared/hoped. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful place:

We bought sandwiches and things and eat in the grass by the water. It was strange not to have Mycroft and the dogs with us. I missed him a lot today. He would've had a good time. And, obviously, the dogs would've loved it. They also probably would have jumped in the water and then shaken it off all over us, which I didn't mind missing.

Also, Sherlock would like to remind you, me, L, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, and the world at large that his birthday is coming up. 

klein

Klein bottles:

From the website:

This is one of a series of glass Klein bottles made by Alan Bennett in 1995 for the Science Museum, London. It consists of three Klein bottles, one inside another. A Klein bottle is a surface which has no edges, no outside or inside and cannot properly be constructed in three dimensions. In the series Alan Bennett made Klein bottles analogous to Mobius strips with odd numbers of twists greater than one.

I've always liked Klein bottles, and I like these particularly.  The more you look at them, the more confusing they get.

We have been swimming. Sherlock worked on his diving for a while and then worked on hurling himself into the water and making as big a splash as possible. He's now decided he wants to go kayaking, preferably on the Thames, but he says the ocean would do. Just like that. 'I suppose the ocean would do.' I said I'd consider it, but definitely not on the Thames. You would think he's heard enough stories from L by now to not want any chance of getting that water in his mouth.

Mycroft's gone to walk the dogs and invited Sherlock along. When last seen, Mycroft had said he knew more of pi than Sherlock did, Sherlock declared he didn't, but even if he did, pi was pointless...and so on. I'm just going to enjoy the peace and quiet for a bit. 

home again

We have beans! We had a few before. Now we have...a lot. These beans may end up on the evening news by the end of the summer. Two children crushed by massive falling bean pod, film at eleven. 

Here's a site that Mycroft showed me. He says it helps him concentrate at school. And at home when Sherlock's not in the flat. It's called Coffitivity and it plays the sounds of a coffee shop at you. I'm not quite sure whether I like it or not yet. 

I had a long and ridiculous argument with Murray this morning about whether it was rude of me to ask him to be my best man via text. He maintains it was. I maintain if we went around pointing out every time we were rude to each other we'd literally never do anything else. I also said I'd ask you lot - rude or no? He said yes anyway. 

mycroft, tennis, and turtles

Mycroft's coming home today! We're leaving to pick him up in a bit, although not as soon as Sherlock would like. He set all the clocks in the flat forward. I wondered why I was so tired when I got up at seven...it was actually five.

Here, have a baby two-headed turtle. Her name is Thelma and Louise, and apparently she's healthy and 'eating with both heads', which I imagine is a good thing? Sherlock wants one, needless to say.

I read this article the other day, Where Are Tennis's Young Guns?, and while I don't agree with it entirely, it does mesh with some thoughts I've been having. Maybe it's just me getting old, but I find myself wondering who I'll watch when the current crop of players retires - and by 'current', I don't mean those coming up now, because there doesn't seem to be anyone coming up now. I know you can't expect a Federer or Nadal in every generation, but there's no one who really stands out to me.

I don't know if it's the baseline play or slower courts or different equipment, but the play itself seems significantly less interesting than it did even ten years ago, and that's sad. 

small growing things

Here are some tiny things coming up in the allotment that may or may not be sorrel. We didn't label things as well as we could have. 

And bleeding heart, which we put in Saturday with Mycroft before we had to give him back to the school. It seems happy so far. 

Mycroft also told me I shouldn't keep abusing my phone's camera apps like this, but I'm  not listening. When I was about nine, our neighbour gave me his old camera, which was cheap and plastic and broke almost immediately (probably didn't help that I dropped it in a pond...a few times...) and it took pictures like this. Which is why the apps sell so well, I imagine. Nostalgia? Of course, fifty percent of mine were of Harry making a face because she'd got between the camera and whatever I was taking a picture of. 

On the job front, I have an interview coming up. Wish me luck. I feel like I might need a better suit. 

Oh, and Muray says to tell you that he's started the process of leaving the Army and should get his 'soul and free will back in roughly seventeen years'. By which he means a few months. 

happy birthday, Mycroft!

(Look, I even capitalised your name, even though I never capitalise my subject lines because...I have no reason. But I know it bothers you to be improperly lower-cased.)

Mycroft is fifteen today. 

Fifteen. 

15. 

That doesn't look like any smaller of a number no matter how I write it. It seems enormously older than 12, which isn't exactly an earth-shattering revelation, but I'm still astonished every time I think about it. 

Mycroft, you're growing up into a wonderful, kind, thoughtful young man, and it makes me proud to know you. Happy birthday, and I hope this is a good year for you. 

Actually, Mycroft probably won't see this at least until tomorrow - he's studying hard as I believe his exams begin next week. Astronomy? I think it's astronomy first. So there can't be any weekend birthday trips unfortunately, but we are stealing him away tonight for dinner and cake and whatever else he wants - hopefully some relaxation, since school must be pretty stressful right now. 'Something quiet' was his request via text a few hours ago. We'll do our best. Might have to go and pick him up before Sherlock gets out of school to accomplish that. 

Sherlock is planning to make him this massive cake that is essentially two enormous chocolate merengues with whipped cream and berries in the middle. He wants to make it 'all by myself but Lestrade can help', which is how he likes to do his cooking these days. 

-

Fridge art on the International Space Station: 

pic by Chris Hadfield, Canadian astronaut

unexpectedly exciting

L's been sent off to interview someone at HMP Frankland, which is much too far away. He'll spend the night there (not at the prison, in a hotel nearby). So will Sherlock. He was begging to go along, L and I were saying no, because where would he stay while L was doing the interview? Sherlock insisted he was old enough to stay in the hotel alone (no), and then one of the security people said his mum lived up there and he hadn't sent her an Easter card and he could go along and look after Sherlock for a few hours while L was doing the interview...

And suddenly, I was packing Sherlock an overnight bag and they were off to the train station. Sherlock was wildly excited, and there were multiple updates from the train, including one about how he could fit into the luggage rack... They're at the hotel now and asleep - at least Sherlock is, and I hope L is by now.

I think Mycroft and I are going to the Soane Museum tomorrow and maybe out to breakfast beforehand - despite having been instructed that we're not to do anything fun while Sherlock's away. It's the house he built for his family to live in but there's also a sort of fake monk's cell and yard:

Soane pretended that he had discovered the remains when digging the foundations of his new house: in medieval times, he explained, this had been the hermitage of a monk named Padre Giovanni. In fact had had assembled the ruin from pieces he had salvaged in his role as architect to the old Houses of Parliament. 

Also:

The tomb itself is is inscribed 'Alas  Poor Fanny!' as if Padre Giovanni had withdrawn into seclusion because of a broken heart. But Fanny was Mrs Soane's beloved pet dog, and its tiny coffin still lies in the Monk's Grave.

(both quotes from In Ruins, by Christopher Woodward)

He sounds like an interesting man... 

home alone

L and I had a very nice day (helped along by the fact that England won the rugby). I lazed about, he cooked, neither of us got much accomplished. We rang our mums, which went all right. We ate, watched the match, I dozed on him... Perfect, really.

Mrs Holmes picked up the boys this morning fairly early. Sherlock had a giant sparkly card for her, and Mycroft had a less sparkly one, and they had their respective instruments because they'd planned a duet for her on guitar and violin. L got a text from Mycroft saying it went well, and I got seven from Sherlock - a sort of play by play.

She's taking Mycroft back to school tonight, and Sherlock's staying the night with her. L's just been called out. I am, for once, alone - although not really, because Mrs Hudson is downstairs, and there's someone down in security all the time now I think since we had that break in. And, of course, two enormous hounds, to be picked up by Anthea tomorrow and return to Harrow with her. And two degus, who I need to feed, and a partridge in a pear tree (no, Sherlock, no partridges. or pear trees). And to think now that's my definition of alone...

I prefer it this way though. I think part of what disconcerted me so much about being out of the army was going from four in a room (or 30 in a tent) to just me, not even a plant. I'm glad it's not like that for most people when they come home.

sofa

Sherlock came and woke me up about half an hour ago. I got him some water, and now we're on the sofa. He's asleep again, sort of draped over me like a small, warm, bony blanket, with his arm propped carefully on cushions. My computer's balanced precariously on the back of the sofa, so this is probably not going to be a long post.

The course was good, despite the lack of decent tea. I didn't sleep well without L's freezing cold feet and his... Well. Just without him, I suppose. It's easier to remember where you are when you wake up in your own bedroom next to someone you love than it is when you wake up in an empty hotel room. This was the first time I've been away on my own since I met him and the boys, and it was strange to see how much I've changed. Even the concept of having a home is unfamiliar, at least since I left my parent's house, and missing it - not just the people in it but the physical place - is a first.

Got home around 7.30, locked the bike up, got hit in the midsection by a Sherlock-shaped torpedo and grabbed as tightly as he could managed with only one arm. There was some sniffling when I picked him up and he told me all about it (for the second time, because of course he told me on skype as well, but that's not the same) while Lestrade and Mycroft came to hug me slightly more gently and help me get my things upstairs.

Tea, biscuits, curry, my favourite people, two large slobbery dogs...a good homecoming.

I'll leave you with some valuable information from the course. One of the things we covered was 'demeanor in court', on which our instructor had this to say:

Consider carefully the proposed response prior to putting one's mouth into gear.

I liked it so much I wrote it down verbatim. I don't think there's any area of life that couldn't apply to. 

birmingham

Want to help name Pluto's moons? (Who wouldn't want to help name Pluto's moons?)

Anyway, I'm in Birmingham. This is the picture I sent Sherlock and L last night of my hotel room.

Unexciting hotel room

disappearing act

If you've read the comments in L's blog, you'll have seen that Mycroft and Carla gave us the slip today. Not just us, but security as well. They lost us in the crowds of manic Christmas shoppers at Harrods. They let us know they were okay after a while, and then apparently went ice skating and had hot chocolate.

I'm...torn on how to feel about it, and what to do about it. He's a teenager now. He's obviously going to want more freedom than he's had, and it's a reasonable thing to want. I don't know how much he can reasonably have. Need to talk to his mum about that. There's got to be some kind of balance between keeping him safe and letting him grow up. Probably should've done it before now, really.

Apart from that, we all had a nice day, despite the crowds. A bit of shopping (all right, more than a bit), lunch out. L spent at least an hour trying to convince me I wanted an earring after we walked by a piercing place. Nearly gave in, but I'm sure I don't need any more holes in my head than I already have.  Pretty sure.

Sherlock asked, idly, if he could get his tongue pierced. We're going to be in so much trouble when he hits fifteen or sixteen. 

andromeda project

Hello, this is Mycroft. 

I've just been reading about the Andromeda Project, and I thought some of you might be interested. It lets you help astronomers identify star clusters in the Andromeda galaxy, as well as distant galaxies viewed through it. 

The project aims to identify star clusters in our neighboring galaxy, also known as M31. All it takes to find the clusters in Andromeda is an Internet-enabled computer and a desire to help, said Anil Seth, the team's lead investigator. "No special training is required," he said.

The Andromeda galaxy is the one nearest to our own and also the most distant object you can see in the night sky without a telescope. It was first mentioned in writing in 964 by a Persian astronomer named Abd al-Rahman al Sufi, who described it as a 'little cloud' in his Book of Fixed Stars. 

It's also on a collision course with the Milky Way, destined to arrive in roughly five billion years. Not particularly relevant to us, since our sun will most likely have cooled and expanded by then to a point where it will have swallowed up Mercury, Venus, and possibly our planet, too, so if we're not off Earth by then, Andromeda will be the least of our worries. Still interesting though. 

This is a picture of the Antennae Galaxies colliding. They intersected about 200 to 300 million years ago, and the process is still continuing today.

friday

Lestrade and I dropped Sherlock off at school this morning, completely failed to run afterward, went home and had coffee until it was time to go and get Mycroft. It's always such a mess when it's time for them to go home - boys, bags, parents, and cars all over the place. The dogs generally clear some space around us, but even so, it's quite an experience. 

L got cornered by a boy a couple of years older than Mycroft who wanted to know every single thing about his bike's engine. I wouldn't have thought there was that much to say (it's a small engine!), but they were talking the entire time we were packing up luggage and dogs. Just before we left, the kid said my bike was nice too, but that he thought Triumph made a 'superior product'... 

Oh, and if you missed the comment, Anthea said she might ride with one of us next time. Nice to be preferred to two large, slobbery dogs. ;)

It's lovely to have Mycroft home again. Sherlock is, of course, once again outraged that he's still in school while Mycroft's not, but the Christmas show is distracting him. Mycroft wants to see the Churchill War Rooms, so we'll probably do that sometime in the week when Sherlock's at school. He's reading Churchill's history of the second world war right now, and I may be reading it too, soon. The parts he's shown me are interesting. 

He showed me this, too: bombsight.org, which marks where the bombs fell in London during the Blitz. When you zoom out, it looks like a solid red splotch and seems a miracle the city wasn't entirely wiped off the map.

And now, as they say, for something completely different:

"When a magnitude 6.8 earthquake shook Olympia, Wash., in 2001, shopowner Jason Ward discovered that a sand-tracing pendulum had recorded the vibrations in the image above."

la belle dame sans merci

Mycroft rang this evening and told me off for never admitting I was ill and trying to carry on regardless even though I won't let anyone else do that. Probably tells you all you need to know about my day. I honestly don't feel that bad, just tired, scratchy throat, etc. I plan to be better tomorrow, but meanwhile Drs Holmes and Lestrade have made me promise to rest. 

And this still isn't Greg the Florist because I can't find the last bit of it on L's blog and search box won't load. I don't suppose anyone has a link to it? 

-

No laughing at 'her elfin grot', I know you people. 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci
John Keats

siege

I'm stealing L's question again, which was: 

what I wish someone had told me when I was 7 and 14, that I'm making sure the boys know now...

Fourteen...that the world was bigger than I thought it was, bigger than I could even understand, then. That things always change, not always for the better, but they always change. That my whole life would not be decided based on my marks at school. 

Seven...that my sister wasn't as horrible as I thought she was and that she had her own problems, and so did my parents. That very little of what happened between them was my fault. 

I don't know if those are really things Sherlock and Mycroft need to know, or, if they are, if I'm getting them across. I think they're both more grown up and aware of the world than I was at those ages. 

Siege

Edna St Vincent Millay