Me: Look, look, your key role as publicist has been acknowledged.
Her: Is that the same person who said in her twitter feed that I am 9 when, in fact, I am 8?
Princess
High Standards
Michael: What’s an ego?
Herself: Well, there’s an ego and a super ego.
My sister: A super ego?
Herself: It’s the rules of society that stop you jumping the queue or taking another person’s sandwich. A baby, for example, doesn’t have a super ego.
My sister (faintly): Oh.
On relating this to the Princess’s loving father, he said, “Oh yes, I remember explaining that to her in some context or other. It doesn’t sound like she added much to the original lesson.”
A Day Out
As I mentioned we were in Cork at the weekend. I decided to take the children to Charles Fort.
Me: Tomorrow, we’re going to see a fort!
Daniel: I don’t want to go.
Me: It’ll be great, it’s a really big, impressive fort.
Daniel (dubiously): But forts are invisible.
Me: Not this one, it’s huge.
Princess: A fort Daniel, not a fart.
The next day we set off to walk two long kilometres to the fort. We did not get off to a good start. Daniel had a sore knee which I thought would go away, but didn’t. He just limped there and back uncomplainingly. My saintly middle child. Michael meanwhile dragged himself along saying “My legs are so tired”. He was the first to realise that once we got to the fort we would have to walk back again. He wasn’t pleased. I wasn’t so pleased myself, I had three unhappy children and I was carrying two guns – a pistol and a nerf gun – and a light sabre (to attack the fort).
However, once we reached Summercove, things began to look up. We were fortified by lunch at the Bulman (which I cannot recommend highly enough – herself had an enormous bowl of mussels, I had crab claws and the boys a portion of chips each – in our own way, we were all happy). Then the fort was great. And it didn’t rain on us. Always a plus in any Irish outing. And, as always, the road back didn’t seem quite so long.
Herself:
Saintly middle child:
Patrolling with Nerf Gun:
Scenery (obligatory):
This Week’s Theme is… Leprosy
I got a book about madness out of the library last weekend. The first chapter deals with leper houses and I was talking to herself about this. Don’t tell me you don’t torture your children in similar ways. A lengthy discussion followed about the symptoms of leprosy. Then about leper colonies and how there is a Dublin suburb called “Leopardstown” because the land was used to fund a lepers’ hospital. The following day we visited Dublinia [we had tickets saved from a promotion on milk bottles – are you getting a picture of our home life?] In the, always popular, death and diseases bit there was a wax figure of a leper.
Then today at mass, the readings and the gospel featured -oh yes- leprosy. Herself was listening closely because she was up on the altar doing a try out for altar girl (successful). And the priest was fresh back from his visit to a leper colony in Africa so we covered that in the sermon.
There may be a lesson here somewhere but you’ll have to work it out for yourself.
Parenting Fail
Children’s dinner yesterday:
Princess – nothing;
Daniel – spoonful of canned sweetcorn with ketchup;
Michael – reheated Yorkshire pudding.
Children’s dinner today:
All – Domino’s pizza.
You Don’t Get That Much
A couple of weeks ago at mass, we had a priest who was home from the missions. He was very struck by the change in Irish society. My thoughts flew to the economy and immigration, infrastructure…but no, he was referring to sexual mores. In fairness, he had a lead in to address this as the second reading was about fornication. But considering it was a children’s mass, if it had been up to me, I would have gone for the first reading which came from the book of Samuel – you know the one, where the child is asleep and the Lord calls to him.
Nevertheless, despite my qualms about the audience, I did think he made some fair points. Children of 12 who finish primary school put on make-up and head out in high heels. There’s definitely something wrong there. My daughter who is a habitué of the €2 shop where she spends all her pocket money on cheap plastic tat has been surveying with alarming thoroughness the range of adult goods on offer and bringing her queries home to me. I am not sure I am entirely comfortable with a shop that sells plastic toys for children also selling plastic toys for adults. I see shoals ahead.