Little Stranger: God Save the Queen! (And the Queen saved me.)

We, along with a million other well-wishers, splashed through the rain to get a glimpse of the Queen on her Diamond Jubilee.

The crowd was so cheerful and unified, and the overall feeling was very British. No screaming, no inappropriate outfits, no thumping bass or advertisements, just a million Englishmen and women, politely waving their Union Jack flags and glowing with pride.

Our own little Jubliee Party

Last April Billy surprised me by watching the entire Royal Wedding while the boys and I were out of town. When I teased him about it, he was unapologetic about his interest in all the pageantry. He said that affection for the monarchy and continuation of ancient rituals are two of the things that makes Britain what it is. Bill and I are both progressive people, but we share a love for traditions and rituals. To us, much of England's charm lies in its ability to celebrate and preserve traditions without being oppressive. Englishmen and women seem to be very secure in who they are and where they come from. To me, their patriotism seems unifying rather than polarizing. The Jubilee was a perfect representation of all this and I'm so happy we were here to celebrate.

Charlie never quite got over his disappointment that we weren't going to personally meet the queen, so he decided to focus his energy on getting us to buy him Jubilee sweets from street vendors and making the day as difficult as possible for everyone.

Charlie's expression pretty much sums up his attitude all weekend

Which brings me to Queen Victoria. But let me back up. Last night I felt so frustrated with the boys' behavior (and my reaction to it) over the weekend, that I wondered if I should change our tickets and fly home early. As I could have guessed, just as Jimmy's tantrums have softened and his sleeping has improved, Charlie is starting to fall apart in his own Charlie way. I can handle Jimmy's sleeplessness, tantrums, and biting, but Charlie's defiance just leaves me so frustrated. In truth, Charlie and I are too much alike to spend this kind of time together. Last night, when the boys had just fallen asleep and I lay in tense silence next to them, I realized that besides the few minutes they're asleep and I'm awake, and the occasional run to the grocery store or hour when Bill takes them to the park, I've been with the kids non-stop for weeks. And I will be with them non-stop for weeks more. The realization nearly brought me to tears. Fortunately, Bill agreed to take the boys out alone the next morning and I decided to spend the morning touring Kensington Palace alone.

While I slowly walked through the palace, reading every sign, staring for minutes at each portrait, trying to make my morning last all day, I came into Queen Victoria's private rooms. I've always thought of her as an old woman dressed in black, so I was surprised to see the pretty pastel dresses, love letters to Prince Albert, and rooms of toys for her children. It was clear that her nine babies and her husband were the center of her world, and portrait after portrait depicted her ideal Victorian domestic life. But in the corner of the nursery I read a page from her diary that made me giggle to myself. It read something like "My children bring me such joy, they are truly blessings. And yet the hardship and frustration of rearing them is as great as the joy. They are as much a burden as a blessing." Queen Victoria, one of the most revered domestic figures in history, with a palace full of servants at her disposal, thought this was hard. Oh, sure, she had nine kids. But considering the servants available to her 24 hours a day and her reportedly natural maternal instinct, I feel like we're even. Thank you, Queen Victoria.