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Archives for June 2014

Let off the Leash

1 June, 2014
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Ireland, Michael, Princess

May 17 was a beautiful day and I noticed (on the way home from a Communion, of course) that there were quite a few families in the small park near our house. Since, it was “Take your children to the park and leave them there” day, I decided when we got home to send the three children off to the park together alone for the first time. They took an unhealthy picnic and off they went for an hour and a half.

They had a great time. Nobody was run over. Nobody was even sunburnt. They reported back that the boys played soccer with some other children; they all rolled down the hill; and herself lay on the picnic mat and read her book. It was delightfully peaceful at home. Do not mock, if your children spend all day on the green and only come in at tea time. I know that you knew this all along.

Duty, Stern Duty

2 June, 2014
Posted in: Boys, Michael, Mr. Waffle

Michael was sick one morning and Mr. Waffle stayed at home with him. By 11, Michael was fully recovered. To be fair, he had been awake crying in the night with a sore tummy (possibly starvation, I worry, 4 cream crackers do not a balanced dinner make) so it wasn’t malingering but the ailment was clearly not serious.

That night, as we corrected Daniel’s homework (which was also Michael’s homework as they are in the same class), Mr Waffle asked me, “Should we make Michael do the homework?” For me, there was only one answer to that question, namely, “Are you insane?” This little interchange tells you a lot about our respective personalities.

Lights, Camera, Action, Budget

4 June, 2014
Posted in: Princess

The Princess had a fantastic maths class recently. Each group of students was given a budget of €800 and told to produce a film.

There was a range of rules, such as:
Brad Pitt will halve his fee if Rowan Atkinson is in the film but Rowan Atkinson will double his, if Brad Pitt is in the film;
Brad Pitt needs €5 a day lunch money. Comment from herself – what is he eating? Comment from me – how much is Neve Campbell charging? Her – Nothing, she brings her own lunch.

Herself was very well up on the maths but perhaps less so on popular culture – sample conversation as reported to me:
Boy in her group: So, we’re going to need to cast Brad Pitt.
Her: Why can’t we have Adam Sandler; he’s much cheaper.
Boy: We can’t have Adam Sandler in a horror movie.
Her: Maybe he could expand his repertoire.

Boy: And we’ll need an axe.
Her: It costs €30 for a weapon kit. Can we not use other weapons aside from the axe to get value for our money?
Boy: No.

I don’t know much about films but I think that she might be a born producer.

Blood and Gore

4 June, 2014
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess

My loving husband was virtuously cleaning the cooker one morning and managed to give himself a knock on the overhead extractor which led to him bleeding copiously all over the kitchen floor and down the side of his face in a very dramatic manner. The children and I were very alarmed. No more cooker cleaning for him.

In other – admittedly tenuously connected – blood on the kitchen floor stories, the cat caught a blackbird and brought it into the house. A blackbird is quite a big bird to have in the house, particularly when a cat is haring after it in delight. The childminder and the children ran out of the house and shouted at the cat and the bird through the kitchen window with results such as you might expect. The childminder rang Mr. Waffle for directions on opening the kitchen window (trickier than you might think – particularly from outside). The Princess bravely ventured in and scooped up the cat and locked her into Michael’s room to the cat’s intense chagrin. The bird lay behind the kettle with a wing stuck out at an odd angle. The kitchen was plastered with blood and feathers. The childminder and the boys went to inspect the damage and the bird, like something from a creepy horror movie, sprang up on its feet and gave them heart failure. It began to fly again just as Mr. Waffle, feeling that support was needed on the home front, came back so he was able to help usher it out the window. Then he set to clearing up blood and feathers so that by the time I got home from work all that remained was a dramatic story and small feathers which turned up for quite a while in the oddest places. Is he not a saint?

IMAG0233
Cat looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

Foraging for Food

5 June, 2014
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess

Mr. Waffle is away for a couple of days and standards have slipped. The children say, in great excitement, “Are we foraging for dinner?” This consists of staring at the contents of the fridge/freezer and hauling out what appeals. Tonight the Princess, upholder of standards, has promised to make us chicken rissoles from Monday’s leftover chicken. I think, however, we all feel that the return of Mr. Waffle will be a good thing.

Lost and Found

6 June, 2014
Posted in: Boys, Michael

The children did a course over the Easter holidays which was very successful. Somewhat surprisingly, it appealed to all three of them. It was about ecological awareness but they called it “bug camp” as much of their time was spent constructing “bug hotels” in the park. The remainder was spent discussing Good Game Empire and Minecraft with their fellow students.

They also visited the National History Museum where Michael, as is his wont, wandered off to read in the library corner. He didn’t see the need to share information on his whereabouts with anyone. The misfortunate course organisers were looking at video footage from the museum to try to find him when he wandered back to the group. I sometimes think that Michael’s mission in life is to give adults heart failure.

Tenuously related – the phenomenon of the lost child is described rather beautifully by the other belgianwaffle thus:

Lost a child at a packed, boiling hot Mexican fiesta in a museum. Child, as is often the case, had no idea it was lost. 5 men with walkie-talkies and a hyperventilating mother begged to differ.

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