<![CDATA[The British Are Coming, The British Are Coming]]>If you remember, my 2 “rules” before marriage were 1) No ice hockey and 2) no reenacting. I said the first because I think it ceases to be a “sport” when they allow/encourage fighting. Take up boxing or play the damn game. And I said the last, in part because I thought is was hilarious. Like saying, no space travel on an empty stomach or something. So left field. And yet, here I am. I am the mother of a son who asked me for a colonial birthday party and implored me to keep it “authentic”, I am the mother of a son who said this morning he wishes he had the uniform of a Hessian, I am the mother of a boy who is teaching me all kind of lessons. Lesson #247, you can’t really plan the future. You can plan for it but…

I found myself on the Boston Common yesterday in a “reencampment” (I think I made that term up) a quick Google search proves I am not as clever as I thought I was 3 minutes ago. In celebration of 50 years of the Freedom Trail they staged a reenactment of the encampment and we were there.

It was a pinch colonial mall, a couple of shakes drama (seemingly random cannon fire), a good helping of learning and hella fun!

I know I shouldn’t lead with this and I am not mocking, my mocking days are loooong gone. But this was the first shot I took of the day and it pleases me.

After this crew passed us, my husband said, “That wasn’t really a baby. It was a 40 year old woman reenacting the part of a colonial baby.” He’s funny. And I’m in love with Picnik and am experimenting with my photos. The absurdity of a Polaroid of this scene is the stuff giggles are made of – for me!

This colonial sailor was my favorite costume. There was a time in my life I could have pulled this look off. Minus the hat. There is a colonial wedgie shot but I think posting it wouldn’t be in the spirit of the day. Turning 39 has really matured me.

“Hi, can I take your photo please? Just face the sun. Yeah, right there -that’s good!”

Not my best shot but I wanted to give a shout out to my reenacting women friends-to-be. Drum and fife baby, drum and fife 4 life!

I did not mean to make a reenactor come close to tears. Really. I just wondered what the translation of this flag was in English. Too bad they didn’t have Google in colonial times. Quo-Fata-Vocant = Whither the Fates call. Still not sure what it means but I love the colors.

We saw quite a few men and boys sewing and mending yesterday. I appreciated the good modeling for my boys.

Folks put up these tents and actually slept out on the common. When I was living in DC I came up to Boston to check it out and while walking through the Common saw one homeless man stab another. Just something I’d be thinking about all night if I was in one of those tents.

We bought a tri-corn hat from the man that belongs to these shoes. A nice man up from New Jersey with his family for a summer vacation, reenactment stylie.

I edited to add these photos because I couldn’t help myself.

Something about the orangemanogbanana headed reenacter makes me happy. Even the reenacters have to get their caffinati-ON:

My big little guy sporting his new hat. Coming and Going:

Here is my little history buff. He and I wanted to take the silhouette cutting class but we had to go to a ninja/sword fighting birthday. But that’s a post for another day!


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