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Archive for March, 2006

Is it possible to make your child that little bit too precocious for her own good?

31 March, 2006 at 1:33 pm by belgianwaffle

Me: Sweetheart, please eat or you will fade away to nothing.

Her: Like Echo.

Me: Eh?

Her (patiently): Echo who fell in love with Narcissus and faded away to nothing but her voice.

Me: Oh right.

In the end I was glad that she didn’t eat anything because there was less to throw up. Oh dear, home again with three children, one of whom is pathetically sick, thereby precluding a trip out of the house. In view of this, I have chosen to wear tracksuit bottoms, ancient hoody type thing and scholl sandals with no socks. Oh yes, I am a tremendously appealing sight today. You will be relieved to hear that I did shower; it was easy, really, I put the boys sitting in bouncy chairs in the bathroom while the Princess retched over the bath.

On the plus side, this is an excellent way to spend my last day of maternity leave because it means that on Monday I will leap into the fray with added gusto. Last night I calculated that taking into account our prohibitive childcare costs and my four day week, there will be relatively little left in my monthly salary for fun (yes, I appreciate that I might have done this calculation a little earlier but where’s the spontaneity in that?). Mr. Waffle said encouragingly “well, lots of women in your position have no money over when they pay for childcare so think positive”. Hmm. I feel like some kind of government statistic. And I know that it is a false calculation because, even, if I didn’t go back to work, we would still have to have some kind of childcare to preserve my sanity and I understand that the cost of valium is prohibitive.

I hate to upset Canadians

29 March, 2006 at 8:51 pm by belgianwaffle

Our upstairs neighbour who is a respectable German lady of a certain age (of course I’m going on a certain age myself but she’s definitely been there for a while) appears to have a new man. He is in his 50s with distinguished greying hair and a solid, portly but not entirely unattractive person. We see his large Luxembourg registered BMW in the garage regularly. We run into him on the stairs. Mr. Waffle got chatting to him and he said that he was Canadian. I pointed out that he doesn’t sound as though English is his first language. Mr. Waffle pointed out that this doesn’t preclude him being Canadian. This is mere quibbling as he doesn’t sound as though French is his first language either. I think he is pretending to be Canadian to besmirch the honour of a hardworking and virtuous nation.*

Saturday two weeks ago, Mr. Waffle had gone out with herself and I was home alone with the boys. The doorbell rang. It was the alledgedly Canadian man. He said “I left my wallet in the office early this morning and I have no money, could you lend me 20 euros?” “Of course” I said and handed it over. Then he said “Actually could you make that 40?” “Of course” I said, slightly less readily, wondering why the hell he couldn’t drive in to his office and pick up his wallet. Then he said “How much have you got?” And even though I had in fact 200 euros in my purse, I paused, even though I suddenly realised his office was probably in Luxembourg and that was why he wasn’t so keen to drive back, I paused. Didn’t he have any other friends in Brussels, why was our upstairs neighbour not giving him money? Had he scammed his way to the BMW in the garage? “Um, no that’s it, I’m afraid” I said untruthfully. And boy am I glad, because two and a bit weeks on, despite regular polite meetings on the stairs and in the garage, have I got my 40 euros back? Gentle reader, I have not and I am bitter; clearly I have supplied the start of a deposit on a rolls.

*Mr. Waffle, who, you will recall, holds a Canadian passport himself so is an expert on these things, tells me that they are clubbing cute baby seals at the moment, so maybe the tag virtuous is not appropriate, though I am sure it is very hard work.

Irregular plurals

28 March, 2006 at 2:40 pm by belgianwaffle

Irregular plurals
The Princess is fond of a piece of poetry from this book that goes as follows:

Daddy is a doofus, a doofus, a doofus
Daddy is a doofus, a doofus because…

It goes on to ennumerate reasons why Daddy is a doofus including “belly like a burger” and “combs his hair with fingers”. I think that it would be fair to say that it’s probably not Mr. Waffle’s favourite poem.

Her: Daddy doesn’t like “Daddy is a doofus”.
Me: No, I don’t think so.
Her: It makes him go like this (sticks out lower lip).
Me: I see.
Her: But I say to him “Daddy, you’re not a doofus, all the other daddies are doofi.”


27 March, 2006 at 12:37 pm by belgianwaffle

The boys are 6 months old today. I go back to work next Monday. I have put in place what are quite possibly the most elaborate childcare arrangements ever. I’m exhausted from planning and I haven’t even started work yet. Mind you, the “adaptation” at the creche has been just fine. They seem to love it. Whereas herself was miserable and clingy (as was I, I suppose) the boys and I are very relaxed about the whole thing. While they spend a couple of hours in the creche adapting, I go off and have a cup of tea and read the paper. I seem to remember that when the Princess was adapting I used to sit teary eyed and hunched over a cooling cup of tea counting the minutes until I could rescue her. It’s funny I go to the same café and I remember it as glum and cheerless and this time it seems fine really and the croissants are excellent. When I go to rescue the boys, they are invariably sunny, unlike herself who was almost always weeping. Do you think that children take their cue from their parents, then? Mind you, Breda O’Brien in the Irish Times, always anxious to make working parents feel happy, has an article this weekend wherein she states that her friend who worked “with children dying of Aids that they had contracted through Caeuscescu’s mad policy of blood tranfusions to ‘strengthen orphans [..] was reduced to tears by one Irish creche.” Thank you, Breda, that makes me feel a lot better.

The boys, however, are not faultless. They are very good little boys almost all the time and smile merrily and are generally most endearing etc. etc. but they will not sleep at night and I don’t know what to do. When I was feeding Michael the other morning, I noticed salt trails in his ears from where his tears had dried without being wiped away while he howled himself to sleep in the kitchen (oh don’t ask, but we do appear to have created a situation where, if he wakes in the middle of the night, he feels that he can only go back to sleep in a cot in the kitchen). I feel terrible, how miserable is that? I suppose, I wouldn’t feel quite so terrible, if it were working, but it’s not. We are at our wits’ end. Hours and hours of crying have given us the result that maybe, maybe, both of them will sleep from 7.30 to midnight but after that, it’s up more or less every hour until the Princess rises at about 6.30/7.00. We’re both exhausted. We have received conflicting advice from books and people: never wake a sleeping baby/don’t let them sleep during the day, if you want them to sleep at night/they must have naps during the day, if you want them to sleep at night/feed them when they wake/don’t feed them when they wake (my mother adding her mite to the general misery tells me that she asked my father and he says they might be hungry, humph), oh I could go on but I’ll spare you. What I am intimating here, is that having read two books on the topic and been the target of much advice, I’d be pretty surprised if there were anything we haven’t tried and nothing is working. Oh well, this too will pass, I suppose.

And they are rather fabulous. And also starting on solids. Before. After.

I would like you to know that the end of this post would give some credence to The Onion headline “Internet collapses from weight of baby pictures”, if I could follow Emily’s instructions. Doubtless, it will come.

From India

27 March, 2006 at 12:07 am by belgianwaffle

My sister called on the mobile to say that her furniture delivery was late. As she was phoning from her American mobile to Belgium while in Delhi, this seemed like a lot of technology to use to complain about punctuality. But she was pretty cross “They keep saying ‘oh yes, madam, we will be there very soon, please wait’ but they’re not here.” “Gosh, they sound a lot more polite than the Belgians who would just tell you ‘allez madame, on arrive’”.

I spoke to her the next day

Me: Did your furniture arrive?
Her: Yes, finally.
Me: Did you complain?
Her: No, I couldn’t.
Me: Why not?
Her: It would have made me feel like an evil imperialist – where I live is lorry free so they had to cycle 15 miles to deliver my bed by rickshaw.
Me: They delivered your bed on bicycles??
Her: Yup.

My sister has decided to give her own account of events here, should you be interested in more information on her Indian odyssey.


24 March, 2006 at 10:38 am by belgianwaffle

Her: No, Mummy, I’m a baby tiger, roar, you must call me Princess Baby Tiger.
Me: OK, Princess Baby Tiger, are you going to eat any dinner?
Her: I’m Cinderella.
Me: OK Cinderella…
Her: No, Princess Cinderella Baby Tiger.
Me: Now Madam..
Her: Madam Princess Cinderella Baby Tiger.
Him: I see where Bob Geldof gets his children’s names from.

Hot off the presses

23 March, 2006 at 9:07 pm by belgianwaffle

I got this message the other day from a friend of mine who has just gone on maternity leave:

“Don’t respond to this email as my locum now has access to this and I was only in briefly to catch up on your blog and to do the accounts.”

In recognition of her dedication I called her this morning, I got her husband.
Me: Hello,how are things?
Him: Eh? Who?
Me: Me, Anne.
Him: Oh hi.
Me: How are you?
Him: Fine, great, tired.
Me: Has the baby arrived, then?
Him: Yes, he arrived at 2.00 am this morning.
Me: Gosh, congratulations, what are you going to call him?
Him: I don’t know.
Me: Is his big sister pleased?
Him: She doesn’t know that he’s been born yet.
Me: Um should I get off the phone while you tell the immediate relatives first?

End of an era

22 March, 2006 at 1:08 pm by belgianwaffle

I was at the physio on Monday for my last session before I go back to work. I can’t say that my stomach is exactly restored to its former glory (ahem). As I finished up I said glumly “I suppose I should do sit ups and stuff at home”. “Absolutely not!” said the physio “although you should do the exercises you learnt here”. “Why no sit ups?” I asked. Apparently they are bad for your pelvic floor and when you’ve had three babies (including two at once) you don’t want to do anything that’s bad for your pelvic floor (incontinence, people). I can’t help feeling that it was very prescient of me never to have done a sit up in my life.
As I left, the physio said “I suppose we won’t see you again”. I
live around the corner so I looked at her a bit blankly. “Under
the same circumstances, I mean.” “I suppose not” I said
“especially not, if I remain married to the same husband.”

In front of a fountain

21 March, 2006 at 9:09 pm by belgianwaffle

Her:� Look Mummy, a marmalade.
Me:� A marmalade stain?� Where?
(impatiently): No.
Me: You
know that marmalade is a kind of jam made from oranges?
(Pause) But in the fountain Mummy, a marmalade.
(Peering into the fountain) Do you mean a mermaid sweetheart?
Her: YES.

The Hague -Our Favourite City of Vomit

20 March, 2006 at 1:45 pm by belgianwaffle

Last time we went to the Hague, the Princess was sick, she vomitted on all of our friends’ sheets. All night. This time there were no sick children. There was one sick mother, but it wasn’t me. And she was recovering from the vomitting bug. And, so far, none of my children appears to have caught it. So all in all, city of vomit is an unfair appellation but give a city a bad name and all that.

We had a lovely time in the Hague over the weekend and the problem with having a lovely time is that it gives you no bloggable material. Everything was lovely (except for the Dutch Mama’s illness and she struggled womanfully to conceal it, so it didn’t overly affect us). Mr. Dutch Mama spent part of the weekend building a bike shed in the front garden and all of the time being tall therefore effectively reinforcing all my stereotypes about Dutch people which was deeply gratifying. The Princess was charmed by the toys available for her delectation and, in a high point for her, got to have a bath with her little hiberno-dutch hosts. The Dutch Mama, illness nothwithstanding, spent all of the weekend with one or other of our babies in her arms thereby freeing us up to read, eat, stop our daughter from savaging our hosts etc.

I was struck by what very good little children our hosts were and though their Mama said that it was really down to them and nothing to do with her parenting, I can’t help wondering whether this is actually the case. And they eat everything. The Princess consumed an apple and a morsel of chicken over the weekend. Oh, and plenty of biscuits. Why is my child a fussy eater? I blame her father, I enjoy that.

And we left with a supply of cute little boy clothes; please admire Daniel in Dutch jumper:

Child Safety

17 March, 2006 at 10:49 am by belgianwaffle

For the

Our video shop boasts steep stairs. You cannot return videosthrough the postbox, oh no, you must go down the steps, queue and give them to the cashier. As we work our way through The Sopranos (series 1 down, only 6 years behind now), it is becoming an increasing pain returning the videos and our fines are becoming astronomical. We have turned over a new leaf and intend to return the videos the following day. Last Sunday, Mr. Waffle went out with the boys in the double buggy with the express intention of returning the video.

Me: You’ll never get them down the stairs.
Him: Well, I was thinking that if I saw somebody
who looked trustworthy…
Me: Absolutely, you could leave the boys briefly with somebody and nip down..
Him: No, I was thinking I could ask him or her to return the video for me.
Me: Oh right, yeah.

For the Princess:

Me: Tell Daddy about our trip out this afternoon.
Her: Mummy didn’t close the strap on the buggy.
Me: Well, I never close the strap on the buggy now, you’re a big girl.
Him: Gasp.
Her: Yes, but Mummy tipped the buggy up in the air..
Him: Gasp.
Me: Ah yes, ahem, it was an accident.
Her: Yes and I fell on the road.
Me: This is being taken completely out of context.
Her: In front of a bus.
Me: Um, yes, but I mean the bus had stopped to let us cross and we were on the zebra
crossing, it wasn’t exactly thundering down on our helpless child.
Him and Her in unison: But you should have strapped me/her into the buggy.

We’re off to the Hague this weekend to visit the Dutch Mama and her family; I wonder what fresh hazards I can unearth there?

Baby Blues

16 March, 2006 at 8:34 am by belgianwaffle

Daniel is the trendier of our two babies. Michael always seems to be wearing a tracksuit but Daniel tries to make an effort. Already, his grandfather has visions of him propping up the bar of a south Dublin pub in his rugby shirt while sipping on a pint of Heineken. Funnily enough, my vision is a little different, but I digress.

On Friday, we went to visit my friend the orchestra director whom I have mentioned before. She used to advise on, inter alia, policing in Albania, but she chucked it in to do the orchestra thing, unfortunate for the Albanians, but there you go. On inspecting my many children, she asked why Daniel was wearing Cambridge Blues (as she played squash for the University, she is in an excellent position to comment). In response, Daniel wriggled up straighter in his Baby Gap jacket trying to look sporty and dapper while Michael kicked off his socks.

More Bloggers

15 March, 2006 at 3:33 pm by belgianwaffle

On my last day of blogging for the Bulletin, I thought I would mention some other bloggers. Yes, I know, it’s all me, me, me, but look, here’s a little break.

If you want to tune into what Belgian mothers are thinking, may I recommend to you the ever delightful Peggy who is a mother of two with a loving husband and a rotten boss. I should mention Thierry who is responsible for the very limited knowledge of Belgian politics which I boast. Never have so many represented so few would appear to be a good summary. He is also a mine of information on things in Brussels from statues to events. I will also plug Nicholas a fellow Irish blogger who will give you all the information you will ever need about distant parts of Europe (ooh, definitions, definitions, but yes, I think Europe) from his blog based in Belgium; I see he was quoted in the Observer at the weekend, so be impressed that he’s blogging for you. And lastly, I am going to give you a link to someone who is not an expat based in Belgium, so perhaps not very relevant to your life here but, you know, still an expat and writer of a brilliant blog on the joys and horrors of living away from home.

I encourage you to check out Heather. Finally, as Friday is St. Patrick’s Day, I should record that the GB supermarket chain is reinforcing negative stereotypes by doling out 40 Happy Days (don’t blame me, I didn’t think up the name) points on
purchases of beer. Happy Saint Patrick’s Day.

Original Sin

14 March, 2006 at 8:59 am by belgianwaffle

The Princess and I went to the Musée des Beaux Arts recently. Oh yes, we grudge no exertion in dredging up material for readers of the Bulletin’s website.

We stopped in front of the Lucas Cranach picture of Adam and Eve and I told her the story which made a significant impression. We went over it a number of times (“tell me again, again, again about Adam and Evil”)

Later in the day she asked me, “Mummy, what are Adam and Evil’s full names?
Me: Adam and Eve and those are their full names.
Her: But their surnames?
Me: Nope, they haven’t got surnames.
Her: Fancy that! [Pause] But normally (too much exposure to the language of Voltaire) we have surnames, Mummy.

A couple of days after this I gave her an apple and she looked daggers at me. “God will be cross with me for eating the apple,” she said indignantly.


on 14 March 2006 at 09:09

Dr TS, you are funny. Do I know you or are you just a random internet person? 0
Sweetie(s) given ���


on 14 March 2006 at 09:12

She is absolutely fantastic – Adam and Evil indeed.
I suspect she might well have chomped her way through the apple of knowledge already. 0
Sweetie(s) given ���


on 14 March 2006 at 14:57

Why, is your surname Pratt or something? It’d be one hell of a shot in the dark.. 0
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Friar Tuck

on 14 March 2006 at 18:07

I think the good doctor is on to something! It would explain the word “pratfall”. ���


on 21 March 2006 at 20:58

Pog, quite. NO, it is not, Pratt. 0
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on 22 March 2006 at 12:51

I only ask because I’m a quarter Pratt. 0
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on 22 March 2006 at 13:11

You’re only saying that… 0
Sweetie(s) given ���


on 22 March 2006 at 17:06

No, I’m acting it out too. 0
Sweetie(s) given ���

13 March, 2006 at 8:37 pm by belgianwaffle

The Belgians, they drive with such dash and élan. Road signs and markings are advisory not compulsory, if you’’re Belgian. The Princess has a little ditty that she learnt in school which shows the mindset of the Belgian driver:

Dans ma petite auto, je roule, je roule
Dans ma petite auto, je roule à toute vitesse.
Quand le signale est rouge, il faut que je m’arrête (bis)
Quand le signale est vert, je fonce, je fonce.

A rough translation: I zoom around in my little car, alas when the traffic lights are red, I have to stop, however, once they are green, I speed off at a dangerous rate.

A little of this has rubbed off on me over the years. My driving style has been described as “exciting” by Mr. Waffle. My parking is pretty good too, I can shoehorn our ridiculously long car into surprisingly small places. If you need to decant three little people, you like to be close to your destination, trust me. I can tell you, I never thought that I would be able to do this kind of thing when I spent many hours preparing for my driving test by repeatedly trying and abysmally failing to parallel park in the car park of my mother’s golf club while she went and played a round of golf.

I try to keep the worst of my offences from Mr. Waffle, but the Princess has turned out to be a fifth columnist in this regard.
She and Mr. Waffle went out together in the car recently and as they toured around looking for a parking slot, herself kept up a monologue in the back “Lord, will we ever find a space, look that man has got the last space in Brussels. After a bit, she said to her father ““Daddy, if you can’’t find anything, we can always park in front of a garage, it’s a little bit illegal, but it’s alright”.” I hastened to explain to my outraged husband that I would only do this for a short time, like when going in to collect her from school and if I double park, I put on my hazards, which makes it legal. Practically. Yes indeed, if there’’s a large station wagon impeding your exit, it’s probably me. Or, of course, it could be a Belgian.

I wrote this the other day and as some kind of hideous judgement by the gods of parking, all day today a car
has been parked outside my garage preventing me using my gas guzzling behemoth. Alas.


A Culinary Chasm

12 March, 2006 at 8:50 pm by belgianwaffle

Saturday – Snails

Sunday – McDos

Also, on a completely separate note, for guilt ridden (i.e. all) mothers only, I recommend this.



on 13 March 2006 at 14:19

The eyes in the second pic say it all… 🙂 0
Sweetie(s) given



on 13 March 2006 at 18:39

those ~are~ escargot, aren’t they? i’m so impressed. and not a little frightened. and what a great link. so true, so true.


on 13 March 2006 at 19:25

Good on that Princess! Excellent progress. Well parented, Waffle and Mr Waffle! 0
Sweetie(s) given


on 14 March 2006 at 09:09

Beth, we don’t have cheerios in Belgium, they’ve had to be replaced by snails and waffles.
JD, um, what precisely…and where’s your new blog mister?
Kristin, yes it IS very comforting, isn’t it?
BHM for the snails or the McDo or the range? 0
Sweetie(s) given



on 14 March 2006 at 17:37

I first missed the delineation of Saturday and Sunday and thought that Belgian MaccyD’s served escargot. Rats.

As for that blog post – more mothers should read it. I have to say for myself, though, that – now I am over the bout of postnatal depression – I have pretty much decided that I am a great mum no matter what I do. This is pretty easy once you realise that all those mums who talk about potty-training at 3 months and bed-sharing without ever losing any sleep and only ever feeding little Cosmo and Arabella organic, grain-fed grains etc are talking a load of bollocks. They are liars and I bet they don’t even have any babies.


on 21 March 2006 at 20:57

Sorry about that KE, that would be excellent, they do serve beer here at McDos, if that’s any comfort… 0
Sweetie(s) given

Wheelchair Hostile

12 March, 2006 at 7:57 pm by belgianwaffle

The Waffles trotted out to the Africa Museum in Tervuren recently. It is largely unchanged since opening in 1910 and it now serves the double function of a colonial museum and a museum of colonialism. It tells you with a straight face how the Belgians saved the Congolese from the slave traders.  It also says that when the museum opened a number of live Africans were imported and put wandering around the grounds for public inspection. It’’s a bizarre spot.  It also boasts a number of stuffed animals including an elephant and a giraffe which the Princess took a real shine to. I thought she might be distressed by the tableau vivant showing a number of leopards chewing on an antelope type thingy but I needn’t have worried. This is the child who says “Hello Mr. Quack Quack” when we buy duck in the supermarket; she is devoid of sentiment.

And while I am speaking of museums, I would like to touch on the difficulty of access for handicapped persons.  I know all about this, because when you have a child, or indeed children, in a buggy, steps are much more challenging. I noticed that in the Africa Museum there is a sign on the double doors facing the road, saying “ring here for handicapped access”. As I watched the other day, the vast double doors swung open and a lady in a wheelchair and her husband emerged blinking in the sunlight. I can’t feel that this is the handiest kind of entrance for the wheelchair user. In the Musée des Beaux Arts in town, the handicapped entrance is much less grand and, apparently more practical, just a glass sliding door on to the street. The only problem is that it is routinely locked and you must ring for admittance and wait.

The Palais des Beaux Arts (or Bozar as, in my view, it rather affectedly likes to be known – I read an interview with the director where he said that he was doing all sorts of radical things including the name change to put it on the map and you could now get in a taxi at the airport and ask to go to Bozar and be taken straight there; frankly, I have my doubts) is built on a hill. You will always end up at the Rue Royale entrance when the exhibition is down at the Rue Ravenstein end. I appreciate that the site presented Mr.
Horta with certain challenges but he seems to have decided to make a virtue out of necessity and built the whole place around steps. I don’’t think there’’s a lift either. The staff are very helpful and always offer to assist in buggy lifting and, one assumes, that, if there were a lift, they might have chosen to direct one to it. In a wheelchair? Forget it, I advise. On the plus side the staff are really lovely and they not only carried my buggy around a large part of the Palais Stoclet exhibition but also a) let me use (free!) the phone in reception when I asked whether there was a public
phone I could use (yes, I am the last person in Europe without a mobile) and b) cheerfully and speedily served myself and the Princess with tap water in the rather swish café. I suppose wheelchair users could always just wheel into the café and have a nice glass of water.

My favourite inaccessible location though is the museum
in the Parc Cinquentenaire
. Access to this museum is via a long flight of steep steps which, even for the able bodied, present considerable difficulties, if not in peak physical condition. The wheelchair user is directed to a door beside the steps (or at least was, I must concede, I haven’’t been there in about a year). When you ring, you wait. You are then brought by an attendant through a number of dirty corridors past numerous dusty and apparently disused rooms and up in a service lift to the museum proper which is, to be fair, well worth your exertions in getting in. Do you think that the museums here just don’’t want children and wheelchair users to visit? Why would anyone object to small children in a museum, no, really?


11 March, 2006 at 12:30 pm by belgianwaffle

I got to write for the Bulletin. My sister asked whether I was abandoning the blog. We discussed as follows:

Me: No, I’m going to post in both places.
Her: The same text in both places?
Me: Yup.
Her: Excellent, that’s the start of syndication where the real money is.


Charles Emmanuel, the Baroness’’s [our landlady is a Baroness, Belgium abounds in minor aristocracy] current agent on earth, came to install a smoke alarm for us the other day. I had never met him before but when a dashing man in his late 20s wearing a fedora hat and black polo neck while smoking a pipe turned up on the doorstep, I immediately guessed his identity. Charles Emmanuel is, in fact, French not Belgian and was anxious to assure me that his stint as the landlady’’s agent was to be brief as he would shortly be going back to Africa. I think he felt that doing the bidding of the Baroness was somewhat beneath him. I said that the Baroness would be sorry to lose another agent and he said, “Oh I haven’’t told her yet”.” I began to warm to him; he was clearly as indiscreet as I am. You will recall that the Baroness and her husband are, to the lasting regret of her tenants, divorced (he’’s the handy one). I asked him whether there was any chance of a reunion. Apparently not, underneath the civil front which their tenants see, the
pair are at daggers drawn.

And while I’’m on the subject of Belgian aristocracy (broadly), I feel it worthy of mention that Mr. Waffle’’s former boss’’s secretary was a Baroness and she regarded him and his colleagues with the greatest disdain. We met her once in the park and she entirely ignored Mr. Waffle’’s civil greeting. He was elated. “Why?” He said enthusiastically that he would now be able to use a sentence which hadn’t been in common currency since the century before last: “The Baroness cut me in the park”.

And, finally, does anyone else watch Place Royale? Look, I come from a republic, I get a kick out of seeing programmes
about monarchies and reflecting that that, at least, is one thing we don’t have to pay for in Ireland – “Point de Vue” anyone? Anyhow, I notice that as a sign of the esteem in which the King’’s third child Prince Laurent is held by the programme (which remember is largely devoted to Belgian royalty) they sent a trainee to cover his opening of something in a Brussels suburb. Fabulous stuff.


Friar Tuck
on 13 March 2006 at 17:56

Even if I did share it, it would not belong in this post. Doubly sorry.

belgianwaffle on 14 March 2006 at 09:07

FT, yes, you need to get your own blog up and running. What was that about nagging…


10 March, 2006 at 10:13 am by belgianwaffle

Today is my 37th birthday. Yes, I know, I do sound a lot younger. Thank you. Less of the barracking down the back, please. I am beginning to feel my age. Yeah, I know 40 is the new 30 (or as a friend of mine said on hearing that another friend’s 80 year old father was to remarry, 80 is the new 70), but approaching 40 has come as a bit of a surprise to me. I can see my face thinning out, getting that slightly gaunt and hollow look that trying to meet the incessant demands of a toddler on zero sleep will give you, particularly, if you’re an older mother and you have baby twins as well. Why oh why didn’’t I have my children at 22 when I had the energy for it?

I will be 20 years out of school this summer. My oldest friend attended her 20th school reunion recently, much against her better judgement. She tells me that it was dreadful, “very Cork”. “But wasn’’t it fascinating to find out what everyone was doing?” “Well” she conceded “it might have been, but all anyone talked about was husbands and children”. The oldest friend has a glittering career as a diplomat (this is obviously more impressive in Cork than in Brussels, where there are more diplomats than natives) so I asked whether her former school friends had expressed suitable awe. After various modest disclaimers she said “that no, it hadn’t come up – though they did express amazement that she wasn’’t married with children. I would be the first to say that having children is very challenging and rewarding etc. but, you know, having a glittering career is very challenging and rewarding too (with the added bonus that it makes for more interesting conversation –- toilet training doesn’’t regularly feature). One of her former school mates summed it up by saying to her condescendingly “ oh well, having children is very hard; it’s not for everyone”.

So, clearly, this all made me feel better about my achievements: one husband, three children, one job. I’’m having it all; my life at 37 is perfect. However, at the moment I don’’t feel like I’’m having it all; this lengthy maternity leave has
largely turned me into a housewife and I’’m not at all sure how I feel about that. I was ludicrously pleased when I was able to order a dustbuster and a blender based on my supermarket points. I spent days admiring our new fridge.

The other day I said to Mr. Waffle, ““Great news, I have solved a mystery”.” I think he felt that I had oversold my discovery when I explained that it was how our cleaning lady manages to wipe down the kitchen counters without leaving a water swipe mark (if you want to know – it’s by using window cleaning spray, I hope it won’t kill us all, but they are delightfully sparkly). The final blow came when I was watching an old episode of “Friends” on the telly in which Monica’’s cleaner said to her, ““Mrs. Bing, this tile cleaner is terrific” and Monica said “Really? I made it myself it’s one part amonia, one part lemon juice and a secret ingredient.”” The cleaner asked, ““What’’s the secret ingredient?”” I leant forward listening closely, only to have Monica dash my hopes: “”What you think I’’m going to tell you my secret ingredient?”” Yup, I guess I’’m a housewife now, alright.

A housewife and out of touch with “the young people” as I understand they are known. Let me give you an example. A friend of mine who is a competition lawyer said of a small town in England, ““I went to a rave there.””

Me: What a rave, a rave??
Her: No, a raid, you know, where we turn up at a company’’s office and go through their stuff looking for incriminating papers.
Me: Oh right. Do you go to raves?
Her: No.
Mr Waffle: I don’’t think that they have raves any more.
Me: Really?
Him: No, I haven’’t read about them in the paper in ages.

Roll on 40. And has anyone seen my glasses?


on 10 March 2006 at 10:34
Oops! Hippo birdies!
on 10 March 2006 at 10:46
bon anniversaire waffleroo
on 10 March 2006 at 14:14
Hap’birty, ‘waf… you Oldie you 🙂
on 10 March 2006 at 14:17
You got the Doc to come out of hiding!!
Beth (Homepage)
on 10 March 2006 at 14:35
Happy Birthday! You don’t look a day over 28. You know, I assume.
on 10 March 2006 at 14:51
Happy Birfday. I love the idea that the career diplomat might be taking the easy route out.
kristin (Homepage)
on 10 March 2006 at 15:17
happy happy birthday! you ought to go enjoy yourself and take in a rave. or a raid. either sounds preferable to getting the little men to sleep.
happy b’day!!

Friar Tuck
on 10 March 2006 at 16:24
Or as I once heard someone say, why didn’t you have children when your parents were young enough to take care of them?
on 10 March 2006 at 19:49
Happy birthday. And gaunt and hollow is in, don’t you know- just look at Terri Hatcher xxx
on 10 March 2006 at 20:32
Many happy returns Ms Waffle. You’re not the only person born in 1969 wondering how it is that 40 seems to be galloping up so fast.
bobble (Homepage)
on 11 March 2006 at 00:16
I think it’s only natural to feel ten year younger than you actually are and surprise yourself when you realise you aren’t. I do it constantly. My last rave was 1990 by golly.
on 11 March 2006 at 12:53
>Happy Birthday … I’m younger (by a couple of weeks but still, these things are important) but even so managed to humiliate myself at work by asking my staff what ‘crazy frog’ was. Apparently it’s some sort of popular beat combo for telephones.
Angela (Homepage)
on 11 March 2006 at 13:30
Happy happy Birthday! To celebrate, I will be throwing a huge rave in my basement. We will be serving energy drinks, and will only allow admittance to those carrying a hard boiled egg.
on 12 March 2006 at 00:17
Happy birthday Young Waffle.
on 12 March 2006 at 21:10

Oooh, thank you all for kind birthday wishes and sweetie bonanza. You’re all younger than me, aren’t you? And tell me, do you really need hard boiled eggs to get into raves?
Norah (Homepage)
on 13 March 2006 at 11:13
Happy birthday Waffly. Ibet the secret ingredient is bicarb of soda.
on 14 March 2006 at 09:06
Thank you, thank you Norah. Should I try it or would that just be too sad…back at work this time 3 weeks. Goodness gracious me.
on 14 March 2006 at 22:05
happy belated birthday Ms Waffle – let me tell you, as someone on the down-hill slide into the decade that is being hailed as the new 40’s that the view isn’t too bad at all. (although it’s a fairly gin-fuelled view!)

on 21 March 2006 at 20:58
Ooh gin fuelled, how lovely…

They Love Me

9 March, 2006 at 7:25 pm by belgianwaffle

The intro – I’m going for warm and humourous here.

Mrs. Waffle is a harassed mother of three small children [one two year old and five month old twins] who is based in Belgium and has been writing a blog for a number of years. Allegations that she got this gig by attending an ante natal course with the lifestyle editor [and his wife and Mr. Waffle, she hastens to add] are not entirely unfounded. Though I am sure that you would agree with her that having a baby is going to extreme lengths to get an appearance on the website of a magazine, however illustrious, especially when
one realises that she could just have emailed and asked.

The text (something Belgian related as requested):

Fitting In

I have spent more time in Belgium than many of my fellow ex-pats. My parents, for their own obscure and possibly nefarious reason, took us to Heverlee for a week’’s camping every summer for many years. My father took us to see the Plan Incliné (a wonder of Belgian engineering – and what little girl wouldn’’t like to see a large lock? Oh, stop sniggering). I shopped with my mother in city2 when it was a sparkling new shopping centre. I worked here from 1993-1995, 1998-2000 and returned here in 2003. Belgium is the country where all my children are born. Mind you, they are not little Belgians; it takes a lot more than just being born here to be a Belgian. I think however, the high point of my integration into Belgian society occurred last week.

I was wandering around trying to manoeuvre my double buggy into the shops at Porte de Namur. I was hindered, not just by the dimensions of the buggy but by the fact that it appeared to set off security alarms in the shops; truly I am blessed. I was perhaps a little crabby with the pleasant man in a scarf who approached me with an outstretched hand. ““Hello,”” he said. ““Whatever it is, I’m not buying it”,” I thought crossly. ““Remember me? I’’m the waiter from the Rose Blanche“”. And then, I did remember him, he looked a bit different in his civvies, but he had made the Rose Blanche our regular stopping point in the Grand Place.

Like all foreigners, we used to go to the Roy d’Espagne but despite the presence of high chairs, the place is horribly child hostile (if you are childless, you might like to make a mental note of its suitability for you). The waiters hate you, your buggy and your offspring and make no effort to hide it. The Rose Blanche is an altogether more sophisticated and less draughty establishment boasting no high chairs and a large open fire. You might, therefore, be forgiven for thinking that children would not be particularly welcome, but you would be wrong. The staff there are lovely. This particular waiter once gave the Princess seven pieces of chocolate (you know, the piece of chocolate that is your statutory right with every cup of tea served in Belgium) which she promptly stuffed into her mouth before her horrified mother could relieve her of them – but his intentions were undoubtedly good and earned him a disgusting chocolatey smile from herself.

Anyway when this waiter finished cooing over the boys and saying he hoped to see them soon in the café, he took himself off leaving me feeling all warm and fuzzy towards the Belgians. Yes, they love me, of course I fit in, they’d be lost without me….

on 10 March 2006 at 09:29
And was madam running up the curtains after all that chocolate? My nephew used to go doolally after much less than that.
on 12 March 2006 at 00:20
Never mind the CURTAINS.
But the danger – for sure – is that they’ll grow up believing chips need mayo.
{WHAT? There are other Belgian traditions? Nah}
on 12 March 2006 at 21:11
Thank you Bobble. Pog, yes. BHM, at a birthday party at McDos this am (too hideous to speak about) chips were served with mayo and ketchup. Felt you should know.


9 March, 2006 at 12:39 pm by belgianwaffle

For most of the next week I will be here. You are free to guess whether this is because:
a) The Bulletin magazine did an extensive trawl through potential expat bloggers based in Brussels and selected me to do a week’s guest blogging on the basis of my entertaining writing and penetrating insights; or
b) I know the lifestyle editor of the Bulletin.

If I am feeling energetic, I will also post my entries here. I may even meta-blog and talk about the challenge of thinking up material for the Bulletin. You’’d enjoy that.


on 09 March 2006 at 13:00
Well done by the way!
on 09 March 2006 at 13:06
Gosh – fame!
expat in california
on 09 March 2006 at 16:44
After reading your blog for the last year and thinking “I wonder who’ll play the Princess in the movie version?” – your big break is imminent! Congrats and keep it up – I am hooked on the adventures of the Waffles!

Friar Tuck
on 09 March 2006 at 16:54
I suppose you won’t be associating with the likes of us anymore, not now that you’re famous and all.
on 12 March 2006 at 21:07
Thank you Chintzy. Um, yeah, pog, you lived here, the Bulletin? Hello Expat lurker, thank you, are you Irish, just curious. That’s right FT, when is your blog going live?
on 13 March 2006 at 09:00
I didn’t live there, waffley – just visited a few times when the FFF was working over there …
on 14 March 2006 at 09:05
Well, pog, I think all the same, you probably know what the Bulletin is like…

on 14 March 2006 at 09:09
I probably do, waffley – I’ve lived outside the UK quite a lot and I don’t think those expat papers vary much ..

Fiat Lux

8 March, 2006 at 2:49 pm by belgianwaffle

The lightbulb blew in the kitchen the other day. I spent most of the day wondering whether I would get a chance to stand on a chair and change it before darkness fell. I’’m a busy woman, I can tell you. Not too busy to blog, obviously.


on 08 March 2006 at 15:22
I have just failed miserably in the change a lightbulb stakes. After having successfully removed the poncy little downlighter bulb (by dint of much swearing, a cut finger and injudicious use of a screwdriver to prise the damn thing out), I then spent a good five minutes trying to work out where the little prongs plug in in the fitting. Does it work now? Does it buggery.< kristin (Homepage)
on 08 March 2006 at 18:20
the lightbulb in my closet has been out for a month. i’ve been choosing my outfits by feel.
on 08 March 2006 at 20:46
When lightbulbs go chez lilo, it is usually my job to change them. Sometimes, for amusement, I wonder how long it will take for my H to stand on a chair and change them.
on 08 March 2006 at 22:54
Lilo, waiting in the dark, I assume. Kristin, excellent. Pog, I am most disappointed, I think of you as alarmingly handy (and now grey haired as well).SSC, worry not, I am just the bees knees.
on 09 March 2006 at 10:30
I am usually alarmingly handy, I must confess (she says completely immodestly) – but the little downlighter has defeated me. I plan to call in the electrician, who will wiggle his eyebrows and do that snort-down-the-nose-at-the-little-woman thing. Pah. And as I and lovely-temp-girl nipped out for ‘just the one’ after work, we both failed miserably in the covering up the grey hairs stakes last night. (If bonkers boss mentions it again today, he is toast ….)
Friar Tuck
on 09 March 2006 at 16:49
How many waffles does it take to change a light bulb?

on 09 March 2006 at 17:49
*glowers at FT*
on 10 March 2006 at 20:36
Spot on. Actually, both the kitchen and sitting room are lit by 4 spotlights. It usually takes 2 of the lightbulbs to go before any action is taken (unless I do it, of course).
on 12 March 2006 at 21:08
FT, har. Pog, thank you for glowering, am relieved to hear of confirmation of handiness. Lilo, we’re down to one of 3 spotlights in the hall. Shortly, we’ll be going to bed in pitch darkness.

Perils of Parenthood

7 March, 2006 at 10:45 am by belgianwaffle

We sat into the car the other day and the Princess said to me, ““I’’m sorry, hon, but I just did a wee in my car seat”.”

UndercoverCookie on 07 March 2006 at 11:58

oh that is sweet and er, yuck all at the same time.
on 07 March 2006 at 12:15
She is absolutely priceless. Hon.

on 07 March 2006 at 13:42
Where did you FIND her?
a href=”http://www.20six.co.uk/pog”>poggle
on 07 March 2006 at 13:58
Now there’s a question ….

on 07 March 2006 at 20:11
Ezra has taken to calling me by my first name with exactly the same condascending tone that his dad uses. It’s eery.
on 08 March 2006 at 09:23
Caption: In training!

on 08 March 2006 at 22:53
Loot, are you Jimi? I’m impressed that he can say Minkleberry, particularly in that tone of voice.
Thank you, I think, UC, pog, Kristin.
a href=”http://www.20six.co.uk/loadofoldtosh2″>loadofoldtosh2
on 09 March 2006 at 08:45
(picks a pale Jimi up off the floor) nope am not Jimi; the giveaway being that I was out of the country for a bit whilst Jimi was looking after a heavily pregnant Minks.

on 12 March 2006 at 21:06
OK, Loot, I believe you…

The Old Ones Are the Best

6 March, 2006 at 8:33 pm by belgianwaffle

A man in a hot air balloon over the Belgian countryside realised he was lost. He reduced altitude and spotted a woman below. Descending a bit more he shouted, “Excuse me, can you help? I promised a friend I would meet him an hour ago but I don’t know where I am”. The woman replied, “You’re in a hot air balloon, approximately 30 feet above the ground, between 40/41 degrees latitude, north, and 59/60 degrees west, longitude”. You must be a middle-grade Commission Official”, said the balloonist. “I am”, replied the woman, “I’m a Grade A*8. How did you know?”

“Well”, answered the balloonist, “everything you told me is technically correct but I have no idea what to make of your information and the fact is, I am still lost. Frankly, you’ve not been much help at all. If
anything, you have delayed my trip.”

The woman below responded, “You must be a Senior Commission Official”. “I am,” replied the balloonist, “But how did you know?”
“Well,” replied the woman, “you don’t know where you are or where you are going. You have risen to where you are due to a large quantity of hot air. You made a promise which you have no idea how to keep, and you expect people beneath you to solve your problem. The fact is you are in exactly the same position you were in before we met, but now, somehow, it’s my fault”

Doctor’s Visit

6 March, 2006 at 1:53 pm by belgianwaffle

Conversation with the doctor:
Him: They’ll need two booster shots on the meningitis….
Daniel: Scream, scream, scream.
Michael: Scream, scream, scream.
Princess (at top of voice): Stop screaming Daniel and Michael.
Me: Sorry, I didn’t catch that.
Him: Has the Princess had a meningitis shot?
Me: No [I’d remember, it’s 68 euros per shot – they’ll each need 3 shots; the doctor charges 40 euros per child per visit so that makes it approx 660 euros for the twins; I think I’d have remembered even half
that expenditure for her Highness].
Him: No, it has been developed since she was a baby.
Me: Actually my brother works for the pharmaceutical company that developed it; I like to think that I am contibuting my mite to his bonus.
Daniel: Scream, scream, scream.
Michael: Scream, scream, scream.
Princess: TALK TO ME!
Him: I’m afraid that I didn’t quite catch that.

Further entertainment was provided by a broken lift which meant that I had to carry Michael and Daniel up and down the stairs while getting herself to join us by powers of persuasion rather than brute force. Needless to say we only discovered the lift was broken by squeezing into it and waiting in vain for it to move. Did I mention that I forgot to bring the boys’ nappy bag? Oh happy morning. Oh yeah and that it snowed on us on the way back to the car.

When we arrived home, it was to discover that the boys had fallen asleep in the car. The Princess instantly remedied this by screaming in their ears. Fab.

on 06 March 2006 at 16:27
How you keep your hands off of them I don’t know. I shall be a very bad mother.

on 06 March 2006 at 22:27
Kristin, how comforting.
Bobble, and who says I keep my hands off them? In fact, these days, I seem to spend half my time physically wrenching herself off her brothers.

Introducing my Brother to Feminism

5 March, 2006 at 1:07 pm by belgianwaffle

Him: I can’’t visit you before you go back to work in April; I have various social commitments and then I’’m going to Switzerland for a couple of weeks to ski and visit friends.
Me: Well then, I’ll maybe see you in May, although we may we’ll be in Sicily at the end of the month for the new cousin’’s christening.
Him: Humph, no dimunition in the lifestyle then.
Me: Speechless indignation.
Him: Are you sad that your holiday will be over soon?
Me: Further speechless indignation.
Him: Will it be a bit complicated with the children when you go back to work?
Me: Yes [launch into explanation of elaborate childcare arrangements]
Him: Aren’’t you annoyed with me?
Me(cautiously): Um, yes, generally, why in particular?
Him: Because I’m assuming that you will be taking care of all the childcare and you’’re the woman.
Me: But you’’re on the phone to me.
Him: But still, all those years of banging on about the glass ceiling. Something’’s rubbed off.
Me: You mean that you feel you have more effective tools to annoy me?
Him: Well, yes. What is the glass ceiling anyway?

on 06 March 2006 at 13:27

Your bruv is a wind-up merchant extraordinaire ….

on 06 March 2006 at 22:31

DMTS, yeah, he’ll love it…Pog, yes, and it’s only regrettably recently that I’ve started to ignore it.

Lenten Fast

4 March, 2006 at 11:44 am by belgianwaffle

I have given up biscuits for Lent. Last night I asked Mr. Waffle whether he would like a square of chocolate with his tea. ““Eh?” ““I bought chocolate because I can’’t have biscuits. I’’m off biscuits for Lent”,” I explained patiently. “”I think that you’’re missing the point somewhat”.”
God these lapsed Catholics are such nitpickers.

By the way, we’re not in the Hague. The Princess is still not better and she was so miserable and cranky that we decided that we had better stay put rather than packing her up and taking her to another country. Unpacking when you haven’’t even got to where you were packing for is very distressing. As far as I can see, the only upside is that I can now eat the box of Belgian chocolates which we had been planning to give the Dutch Mama. With my post dinner cup of tea, should I so wish.


on 04 March 2006 at 12:57
It’s Lent already!!

on 04 March 2006 at 18:08
poor princess. kisses to her, and enjoy your lenten chocs. *chortle*

on 04 March 2006 at 23:19
Good reasons to be lapsed, part three.
Friar Tuck
I believe this requires an expert opinion. Ahem. If your Lenten penance makes you irritable and unkind, THAT is missing the point. I know that going off chocolates makes me irritable so I can only imagine what it does to less saintly people. Eat up with a clean conscience. Now, go get that expert opinion I mentioned earlier.
on 06 March 2006 at 13:26
Has Mr Waffle no compassion at all? Tch.
on 06 March 2006 at 22:30
Thank you LM. Yes, Buffy, you may rely on this site for ecclesiastical guidance. Thanks Kristin. BHM, nitpicking? FT, it’s all clear now. Will you start your own blog? If not will you use your IT skills to help me set up my own website? Pog, none, he has a heart of stone.

All the Flowers of Arabia or Something

3 March, 2006 at 7:27 am by belgianwaffle

The Princess has special fruit flavoured toothpaste. Emblazoned in large letters on the tube are the words “’sugar free””. Meanwhile, for her bottom she has special wipes in their own special box (parents, we’’ll buy anything). Designed specifically for the needs of toddlers, or so the blurb tells me, they are melon scented. Why do toddlers need to have melon scented bottoms?

Anyway we will be packing our sugar free toothpaste and our melon flavoured wipes and two prams and God knows what else and departing for the Hague at lunch time. The excitement.


on 03 March 2006 at 16:22
Oy! Does this mean our toothpaste has sugar in it?

on 03 March 2006 at 19:05
have a lovely time in The Hague. Work on some international treaties while you’re there, OK? And we have the special toddler-bottom wipes as well. I was sitting there with the Wee One the other night while she created her masterpiece, and i pondered why on earth she got special flushable wipes and the rest of us have to make do with Charmin.
Travel safe.

on 04 March 2006 at 11:45
Bobble, how do you know this? As a non-parent, that is odd…Pog, terrifying. Kristin, ah thank you for your good wishes but it was not to be. Sigh…


2 March, 2006 at 3:34 pm by belgianwaffle

From my brother:
How’s it going? This is the game I’m hoping to get tickets for Munster v Perpignan, Lansdowne Road Apr 1 Semi final of Heineken Cup (they call it H Cup in France as alcohol advertising is banned). Couldn’t really make out what the story with tickets was from the Perpignan site was, below are their details. http://www.usap.fr/ Tél : 0 892 68 66 15.

If they are in fact offering tickets the more the better, if they’ll sell six, I’ll buy them….any at all would be
great. They may ask for prospective ticket buyers to join a supporters’ club, lots of places do, if it’s less than 50eur that would be cool, and would even stretch to 100eur, if I could get 4 tickets.

Thanks a mill for helping.
Talk to you soon.

Mr. Waffle’s response to his brother-in-law’s impassioned cri de coeur:

Bad news, I’m afraid – the web site says that you can only collect the tickets in person at the club in Perpignan (no e-mail, no fax, no nothing). The sites says max 10 tickets per person – there is a phone number if you want to order more than 10 tickets but I suspect you’d want to be from Perpignan… Sorry about that, but full marks for ingenuity !

Am awaiting news of my brother’s next move with some curiousity.

on 02 March 2006 at 22:06
Yes, in his own interests, he can be quite enterprising.

Women in the Workplace

2 March, 2006 at 12:34 pm by belgianwaffle

A friend of mine is thinking of setting up in business on her own. I asked her whether her, soon to be former, partners had put a restraint of trade clause in their contract. “Funnily enough, she said, “I pushed for that but none of the men seemed to care, they were too busy trying to work out how to include a clause which would ensure that they could fire any woman foolhardy enough to get pregnant.”

Friar Tuck
on 02 March 2006 at 16:05
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
on 02 March 2006 at 22:05

Pog, correct. FT, well, lukewarm in her case.

Sleeping Arrangements

1 March, 2006 at 1:08 pm by belgianwaffle

9.20 Michael stops crying. Most upsetting. Thought we had cracked it when the night before last they only cried for ten minutes but obviously, they’re made of sterner stuff than I had realised. Very traumatised. Mr. Waffle less so “they don’t remember it”. “Well, if that’s so, why do they start to cry when they see their little sleeping bags laid out on the bed. The heartless one started to laugh “clever little boys”.
10.00 Bed
10.30 Mr. Waffle in to tend to screaming child.
11.40 Princess up and crying (yes, still sick, no have not been outside the house since Sunday)
11.45 I take over from Mr. Waffle, he puts herself back to bed.
12.00 – 5.30 Mr. Waffle on Princess duty (up several times) and me on baby duty;D (up constantly as far as I can recall).
5.30 Mr. Waffle on baby duty.
5.50 Princess comes in to our bed.
6.20 Mr. Waffle puts Princess back to her own bed.
6.30 Baby wakes up -am back on baby duty until 7.30 when they fall asleep.
7.30 Mr. Waffle gets up.
8.00 Boys and I get up.

Minks, all appears to be um improving. Why am I tempting fate this way?
Sarcastic Journalist on 05 March 2006 at 04:35 That’s something like my life, just with one less child. And uh, less of my husband helping.
on 06 March 2006 at 22:28 SJ, not really, because your older child is at home with you ALL DAY. Hideous thought, I think I might die, if this happened to me.

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