Michael (pointing to label on freebie toy given out at McDonald’s): What that?
Me: It’s an M.
Him: No, is zips.
Me: I suppose it does look a bit like a zip.
Him: No, zips, sips, tzips.
Me: Chips.
Him (happily): Yes, tzips.
Michael (pointing to label on freebie toy given out at McDonald’s): What that?
Me: It’s an M.
Him: No, is zips.
Me: I suppose it does look a bit like a zip.
Him: No, zips, sips, tzips.
Me: Chips.
Him (happily): Yes, tzips.
Because the one time I had the flu, I could barely struggle out of bed. But I have got a nasty cold.
Yesterday, I spent all day in bed, being poked in the eyeball from time to time by a very bored Princess. Our cleaner kindly agreed to stay all day and keep an eye on herself but I think she (the Princess and probably also the cleaner) has now decided that there is such a thing as too much television. She went off to school today with a spring in her step.
Our cleaner is a very nice woman from the Eastern part of Poland and she disapproves profoundly of my decision to work. Yesterday, she said to the Princess – isn’t it nice to have Mama at home instead of her going off to work? The Princess was gobsmacked; here she was having the most boring day of her life and she was supposed to like it. I was mildly gratified.
And in other whinging about the help news (is there anything more irritating, than someone who does that?) our childminder does not, like me, believe in always telling children the truth. I like to think that it builds up their soft skills. The other day, Daniel, expressed a desire to see the childminder’s daughter C. It was 6 o’clock in the evening, the childminder was just leaving, she said “you want to come with me, you want to see C?”. Daniel’s little face lit up. Why would she torture him this way? As I say, building up their soft skills.
Finally, the Princess has a half day at school today, I rang L’s mother who lives around the corner to ask her, if she could take the Princess this afternoon, in view of my enfeebled state. She croaked on the other end of the phone – no, I have the flu and so has my husband and my two year old. Given that she was just starting to feel ill when she was around here on Friday afternoon, perhaps it is the flu after all.
Back to bed, while I still can.
Michael (combing his hair and looking at himself in the mirror): Michael est belle.
Mr. Waffle: Michael est beau.
Michael (crossly): Michael est BELLE.
Mr. Waffle: Ta soeur est belle, tu es beau.
Michael (furious): MICHAEL EST BELLE.
Mr. Waffle: Michael est belle.
Today is my mother’s birthday. Yesterday, I gathered my children together to get them to sing happy birthday winsomely.
They gathered. I attempted to record them but the camera was out of battery and it kept shutting down despite their winsomeness. Mr. Waffle hunted for more batteries. While he did so, the Princess went to get some plastic cake which would add lustre to the singing display. Daniel wanted the cake. The Princess would not give it to him because he was only a baby. We encouraged her to share nevertheless. She lost her temper and said she would not sing unless she alone held the cake as was only right because only she could hold it properly. She began to cry joining her brother in disharmonious weeping. Michael was beside me for the duration hoping to get his gums around the new batteries that were being slotted into the camera “Can I? Can I?”. We removed the cake from the arrangement, the batteries were safely stowed in the camera and the Princess led her brothers in song. And yes, I know, it’s a bit dark.
Happy birthday, Mummy.
Last night the Princess arrived into our bed, most unusually, at 3.00 in the morning and stayed there alternately chatting and poking until 6.00.
This morning we had the usual chivying, hurrying and harrying to get out the door with an extra nugget of exhaustion for three of the main players. The Princess was, perversely, extremely good. I am not sure whether this is as a result of engaging in charades last night when she got to pretend to be each of us in the morning in turn. It was funny. She enjoyed our appreciative laughter but maybe she finally realised that we would like it, if she would just get dressed in the morning.
Anyhow, Mr. Waffle was tired, sick and short-tempered. Michael came out of the kitchen and said crossly “Daddy, a bit mean”. Daniel sat up in his chair. His lower lip wobbled. “What’s wrong darling?” “Daddy fâché, Daniel sad.” “What that noise?” “That’s the sound of Mummy’s heart breaking”. Alternatively, it could have been Mr. Waffle saying “Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’ll toughen them up”. At least he’s not feeding them Calgonit; you will be pleased to hear that there appear to be no ill effects to date.
On Friday afternoon, the Princess’s schoolfriend L came round to visit. We had arranged that L’s mother would take both girls back to her house around the corner later in the afternoon while I went to collect the boys from the creche (Mr. Waffle being stuck late at work). As she departed (in her Cinderella dress), L asked whether the Princess was staying in her house. This was something L’s mother and I had discussed but not for that evening. L’s mother said that she could, if I agreed. Upon being importuned, I agreed and send her off with her toothbrush, doggy, a pair of pyjamas and the confident knowledge that we would have to collect her later when she realised the enormity of the undertaking. She has only spent one night apart from both parents in her whole life.
At 8.10 we sat together on the sofa and telephoned prepared for a tearful Princess. Not a bit of it, she was having a wonderful time and would see us in the morning. Goodnight. We were dumbfounded. Through the night as we got up to ply the boys with milk and to implore them to consider sleeping as a viable alternative to shouting, we passed her empty room with the curtains still drawn and we worried. We needn’t have. I collected her in the morning and she was perfectly composed. Yes, she had a lovely time, thank you.
Saturday afternoon was not satisfactory. Daniel did not nap and our normally sweet tempered middle child was transformed into a screaming nightmare. We went to a toyshop to buy a present for a friend and Daniel fell in love with the model train.  We could not get him to leave. In the end his father had to carry him out struggling and bellowing. He’s a big boy, when he struggles it is not a pretty sight. We decided to go to a café. When we came in with our brood, the other patrons looked at us warily, as well they might. I couldn’t get the double buggy past the tables and that was when we should have left but we didn’t. A kind man came and picked up the various items that we had dropped on the floor very slowly. Mr. Waffle controlled the bellowing Daniel. Michael and herself made a bid for freedom. Everybody stared at us. I thanked the kindly customer while silently cursing him for not letting me pick things up myself which would have been much quicker. We installed ourselves. I took Daniel upstairs to change him. He screamed. Michael would not be separated from me. He screamed. I brought the two boys up the narrow winding stairs together. I changed Daniel he perked up and stopped howling briefly. We were on a knife edge though. We got back to the table. I took off his hat. He screamed. I put it back on and he stopped but not before, to my mortification, a kind American lady at another table had given us a book to read to him. We decided that I had better take Daniel home. Michael refused to countenance my leaving without him. I left with the boys. Daniel would only leave on condition he got back to the train. We went back to the toyshop. Michael was very good about leaving. Daniel was not. It took all of my strength to put his writhing person back in the buggy. We went home. All very tiring.
On Sunday morning we went to Mass where the Princess informed me in loud tones, just after the consecration, as the church was silent that she hates Mass. While, I can sympathise, I am not yielding. Not yet, anyway. Also, I’m hoping to cure them of the habit they all have of shying away when I put holy water on their foreheads. Why is it only Protestants have Sunday school?
On Sunday afternooon, we dropped the Princess off for a party at a friend’s house or, more accurately, at the house of friends of ours whose daughter the Princess could probably not identify in a line out. I felt a bit nervous about this as almost all the other guests were from the birthday girl’s class in school but it passed off peacefully. I am now quite impressed by my daughter’s independence. While she was at the party, her father and I briefly regained our sanity and then woke the boys from their nap and took them to the park on their tricycles. When we collected the Princess, I was particularly struck by the utter lawlessness of the little boys at the party. There were two who were screaming and jumping on balloons and a number who were thumping. I am not sure whether this behaviour is unique to boys in this school (it’s one of these schools that encourages the development of the whole child – I have a traditional view about these things, so sue me) or, as I fear, absolutely typical of four year old boys. I can’t wait until I have two of my own to let loose on an unsuspecting world.
And finally, this afternoon, our childminder called me to say that she was sick, so I took the afternoon off and came home to mind the troops who were suitably gratified to see me.
I was in the kitchen dispensing food and I heard Daniel say not nice. I turned around and to my horror saw that he and Michael had bitten through a packet of calgonit and ingested a quantity of same which Daniel was spitting out. It’s not clear to me whether Michael tried it or decided against.
Much panic ensued. The Princess was saintly and entertained her brothers while I rang their father, the paediatrician and then the poisons helpline (he had the number to hand). The lady on the poisons helpline was very helpful (much more so than the Calgonit website which I have been scouring since) and said that it was more an irritant than poisonous. I said that they both seemed fine but she said that the effects might not be visible immediately and to watch out if they started to cry or wouldn’t eat. Not conclusive symptoms, I fear.
I am watching them like an anxious mother hawk.