Tom at his beloved traffic light.

The affair with the museum had been my fault. The other day we were dragging kids down the street with Gabka, Radim and Lukas; Tommy was demanding to return to a busy intersection so that he could push a button and cross on "a green light". All the rest of us did not feel like running two hundred yards to a light and then the same two hundred yards back, and we crossed on a regular zebra without the lights. Tom was rumbling and I, not thinking twice about it, promised him that we would go play with a traffic light some OTHER TIME. Well, the best traffic lights (from whose nobody pulls him away) are to be found at the Children's Discovery Museum. What more, we go there by means of a light rail train, and Tom had simply smelled an opportunity and did not cease to bother me with traffic lights, museum and the light rail. I resisted for almost a week, but then it became clear that junior would not leave my little blurt forgotten. Thus I had arranged for a visit at the museum with Jana and her twins.

The kids would regularly play with mechanical displays

I have principally nothing against the museum. Only we have to get out of the house soon enough in the morning, never forget anything in the car, and I must arm myself with a holy patience. This time, the first trap appeared in the form of VTA (our local mass transpotter). Two stops were currently closed in downtown San Jose -- one of them being the Children's Discovery Museum. I would have expected such information being posted on other stops, but no -- I learned this detail from voice announcements on the train. We had to walk a long way back. Not that it hurt us in any way, but I had not planned extra time for hiking that day.

The second trap was a school trip in the museum. Two busloads of roughly eight-year olds caused jams near most of the favorite displays, including Tom's beloved traffic lights. My children currently find themselves in a divergent phase, and at exhibitions they routinely disperse in two (usually opposite) directions, which makes me nervous. Eventually we fell back into the section for preschoolers. My juniors know it like the backs of their palms, but at least they were not being pushed aside by someone three heads taller -- and there's no way to get lost in there. Jana and I talked with one of the museum employees, and she assured us that most school groups leave at about eleven thirty, and she was right. By lunchtime the whole complex was half empty and we began to foray into new territories.

The kids were probably most intrigued by a "pizzeria". Plastic pizzas with plastic tomatoes and mushrooms, aprons, an oven, a truck for distribution and a few tables were enough to let them go crazy. Jana and I then had to pretend eating all those pizzas, with which all four little entrepreneurs kept supplying us relentlessly, but we could remain seated and talk. Then all was left to do was to run back to the light rail and travel home. The result matched the expectations -- I was completely exhausted, and the kids merry and full of life.

Pizza needs to go in the oven.

Gabina and I had planned Fremont Peak for Sunday. While pulling out of our garage, we got a call from Bara that they would like to join us. Due to the fact that they live another 35 miles farther north, we agreed to get in touch when they would arrive, and perhaps they could take a shortcut to the summit. Thus we ascended the mountain only with Kubacki's. Lisa did not fall down a ravine this time. Tommy was, as usually, unhappy with our lack of discipline and slow progress of our expedition along the trail, so he kept running ahead. Shortly before the very top, we stopped for a picnic, and that's when Breh's have caught with us. Finishing the last portion of our ascent became a mass transport affair. We had planned to take the paved shortcut down, but since Breh's had brought us a mysterious suitcase for us, we joined them on their longer route back to the parking lot. Only Tommy would protest, who had looked forward to walking down the paved road equipped with cattle guards, which leads along many antennae and telecommunication dishes -- eventually he ran off to check out these attractions on his own.

The invasion continues: three Czech families on Fremont Peak.

Lizzy's knees got quite wobbly towards the finish of our hike, and she became quite obnoxious, simply ready for a return back home. Tommy, too, kept begging to return back home, and be allowed to play with trains on daddy's computer. Thus we had cowardly deserted the larger body of the expedition, who spun plans to visit the Mission, and subsequently a beach, and then have a dinner together. Our juniors were sufficiently outdoored and rather content, and I'm afraid that two more attractions would amount to pure waste of time for them -- they would be simply too tired (and unbearable).

I guess I should take a detour here and clarify the affair with the suitcase. My friend who is currently living in Prague, Czech Republic, had promised to send us some clothes for Lisa that her daughters had grown our of. So she packed the things and arranged a date with Suchýš. He put the clothes in some cheap suitcase and traveled with it to Boston, Massachusetts, where a colleague of his took it over, who continued with the suitcase to their company office in Menlo Park, California. Breh had picked it up here (being an employee of the same company), put the suitcase in the trunk of his car, drove it up Fremont Peak, to finally get rid of the thing. The most surprising fact is that the luggage had survived all this without damage, and there was never any confusion about it. And what joy did the few clothes bring! Now I have a stack of super-slim trousers for Lisa (who needs attire designed for an earthworm), and they'll do good job in the fall. Lisa immediately grabbed a summer dress and a hat, and with an ecstatic look on her face declared that this was her birthday, for she received a dress and a hat. I am fearful that Lisa shall be less demanding on food than clothing.

Tommy (up right) even with his red sweatshirt seems to disappear in this abundance of scenery.

Lisa wore her new dress throughout Easter holiday. We celebrated it according to local customs, on Sunday. Children were collecting eggs in our back yard that had been hidden there by the Easter Bunny. What surprised me a lot, and pleasantly, too, was the kids' cooperation. Tommy kept checking the contents of both baskets, and distributed eggs to Lisa as needed for equal share. He also guided her towards the eggs she had overlooked, and visibly let her find the easier ones. Our afternoon picnic with neighbors carried in the same spirit. We had agreed that the smallest children would get their chance first to find some eggs. Lizzy was relatively fast and successful -- towards the end she had accumulated many more eggs than Tom, who was allowed to start searching much later, with bigger boys. Lisa had no problem sharing her eggs with her brother. The only disappointment occurred in the moment, when Lisa brought an egg to Sasha, who, however, broke into tears that she did not want any.

Our kids started looking for eggs in the backyard right early morning.

For Easter Monday we had planned a Czech get-together in our mini ZOO Happy Hollow. Gabina came along despite Luke being in school; Jana came who had a day off (hence without the twins she takes care for), so our kids were suddenly surrounded by a whole bunch of friendly aunts. It allowed me to send Jana to fetch dry shoes from my car when Lisa fell into the local lake, or hand Tom over to Gabina to ride his beloved trains. Tommy would again run ahead of us. His memory is like one of an elephant -- although we had not been to this ZOO for maybe a year, he exactly remembered his favorite attractions and demanded to be let at them.

Tommy is enjoying a Sunday ride on a train.

Our children attracted some admirable attention at the ZOO -- they shared a carousel car, taking turns at the wheel and alternating at the bell operation. Not that Tom and Lisa would not ever fight, but I think they generally cope with each other surprisingly well. Tommy is a care-taker -- when little Maarten banged his mouth on a handrail, Tom gave him a bear hug and began to comfort him. Maarten (who still does not use "I" when speaking about himself), was later home overheard commenting his visit to the ZOO: "You had a boo boo on the mouth in the ZOO by aunt Gabka. And Tommy then comflotted you."

At the end of March, the D day came and our granny with her traveling fever boarded the plane headed west. Her jitters had been amplified by the knowledge of the fact that British Airways had picked March 27, the day of granny's flight, as the opening date for London Heathrow's Terminal 5. I had been promising granny's coming to the kids for several days already, and they were pretty excited. Lisa said, "When granny comes I'll be happy," while Tom wondered how many airplanes is she going to fly on and how big they would be. They both remembered fondly how granny used to take them to the playgrounds and to the library. I promised them unwisely that we would all come to the airport to greet her, and Tom began to look forward to the airport shuttle trains.

Finally a power play in our advantage! More aunts than juniors.

Right in the morning of the arrival day, one of my friends wrote me that her parents were scheduled to travel on the same connection, and that they were already seated aboard a plane in London, with three hours delay accumulated already. Indeed -- according to the website, their arrival had jumped from 17:40 to 20:24, and it remained so for the rest of the day. It was obvious that I could not take my kids to the airport (another hour is needed for immigration and customs, and it's at least half hour drive home - thus the kids would get to their beds by eleven -- and that only in case everything would go smoothly).

Eventually, my Hippo drove there to pick granny up -- he works much closer to the airport. He brought granny home by eleven -- minus her luggage. Now, the longer I've been following news about Heathrow, the more I side with my paranoid Sid. By Friday, an optimistic operator was claiming that the bags would be flown in by next Monday. That Monday has long passed by, and there's no sign of the bags. British Airways stopped bothering to pick up phones, while their internet pages flip-flop between declaring our case number invalid, and a stance where they grudgingly admit those luggage items may exist, but they the whole form has a general decorative theme with repeated notices of No information available. I.e. it seems they are aware that our granny had been deprived of her possessions, but they cannot possibly figure out where those bags are and who - if ever - may dig them out, much less deliver. We had to take granny shopping on the first day to replenish certain necessities -- personal hygiene items and basic clothing. The worse part is, Tommy keeps demanding to know, whether the bags would finally arrive. The other granny had disclosed to him that she had sent a toy helicopter along, and now our Tom is disappointed that the presents are being withheld. I am afraid though that even he began to give up now.