belgianwaffle

Princess

Transitional object: Doggy October 2003 – June 2009


Posted in: Family, Princess

Still no sign of doggy. Either of them. Mr. Waffle consulted the cleaner and he manfully confessed, upon being shown a picture of the missing doggy, that he had found something under the couch which was very old and very dirty and he had thrown it out. He has offered to buy a new one but we all know that is no good. I think he’s afraid to confess that he chucked two of them. On the plus side, herself pulled down the curtain rail in our room and we got home to find that the cleaner had fixed it; obviously, the guilt is getting us an impressive service.

The Princess got doggy before she turned one and he was her faithful companion every night he could be found. He and his friends gave us great concern over the years. He was practically a member of the family. Unlike travel doggy (who enjoyed trips abroad and has, whisper it, been replaced from time to time), home doggy, the original beloved doggy, never left the house. I had imagined doggy enjoying a privileged retirement on a high shelf in her room to be shown later to children and grandchildren, not thrown out like the remains of yesterday’s dinner (though, in fact due to the complex waste collection system now in operation in Dublin, he should not, under any circumstances go with organic waste; sometimes I worry that the cleaner has not got the finer distinctions of that system).

Since buying travel doggy mark II from Messrs. Zooscape, I have been inundated with junkmail from them. A small price to pay when I was going to get home doggy mark II, or so I thought. When I went to Zooscape today, this is what I found:

Luv Pets – St Pat’s Pups – Dugan / 6″ Beanbag puppies with embroidered accents, holding fabric shamrocks. 4 styles.
UNAVAILABLE. DISCONTINUED BY MANUFACTURER.

Discontinued. How could they? Mr. Waffle says that it is all for the best, but he’s wrong. I think she finds it hard to sleep without him and, in consequence, is roaming the house at midnight. I still have his shamrock that I hadn’t got round to sewing back on. It’s sitting in the drawer in the hall, the last remnant of doggy. I should put it somewhere safe, I suppose.

Mr. Waffle and I sat around the other night exchanging doggy stories: the very high attrition rate; the response of Aer Lingus to our loss; occasional travel soiling; how in surveys she consistently rated him as her favourite family member; the time he was lost in the Netherlands; and, of course, the time I fused the stuffing in his leg by trying to speed dry him in the oven.

I am heartbroken. Of course, I always knew that I would cry when we finally lost him. I guess that she wasn’t the only one with a transitional object. I’m not quite ready to let go, I have just accidentally bought three Ians.

A year at school


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Princess

The Princess finished up in senior infants (or high babies as we used to call it, or naionan shoisear as it is known as Gaeilge – spelling may not be 100% correct there) today.

We got her report card and it confirmed what we knew already: our child is a genius (I am keen to benchmark her against her class mates though, I feel that it’s just possible they may all be geniuses) but kind of lazy. She mostly got 6* out of a possible 6 except in handwriting (3 and lucky to see it) and in one area where she got 1 and an exclamation mark. Punctuality. She had 44 late days; I am appalled. How is this possible? Who knew that they were counting? Mr. Waffle is surprised it isn’t more. Next year we will turn over a new leaf. Especially now that I know that there are consequences.

I take my hat off to the Irish education system. They got a child who couldn’t read, write or speak Irish and one academic year later here she is speaking fluent Irish, reading everything and writing, well, writing dammit. We’ll see how they do with the boys next year.

The longest day of the year


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Up with the lark with the Princess and Daniel to get croissants and the paper for their father (left Michael slumbering). A somewhat bad tempered trek accompanied by grumbling sounds from herself as the chain kept falling off her bike. Children insisted that we buy juice also and had to carry home two bikes, two litres of juice, the Observer and five croissants.

Arrived home to the sound of Michael’s wails. His brother and sister had gone and left him alone. I pointed out that his father was still there. Further tears. Daniel, who is often kind, gave him a big kiss and he wailed all the louder: “First they left me alone and then Daniel covered me in slime.”

Their father arrived down to Father’s Day breakfast and expressed suitable gratitude. Attended mass accompanied by children lolling in the pews. Went home and tidied the Princess’s room with untoward vigour in the hope of unearthing a missing doggy. No joy but I did discover that she has already packed three large rucksacks for the holidays. Didn’t have the heart to empty them.

After lunch out to the GAA where (with all the other contestants) the children all won medals (hurrah) together with lollipops, bags, footballs and sliotars. Our ball needs are met for the foreseeable future. The afternoon was rendered hideous by the Princess who after her own match and medal ceremony came to watch the boys. The boys, despite getting very little action on the ball, were pink and broadly cheerful while tearing around the pitch. The Princess had had her school play again last night and was exhausted this afternoon. A refusal to buy sweets was enough to tip her over the edge and she spent the rest of the afternoon keening at the edge of the pitch occasionally rousing herself to pink faced abuse when particularly moved. I was mortified. By the time the boys medal ceremony came round, I was sitting in the back of the car berating her thinking to myself “I am sure this is not what Supernanny would do.” I hate Supernanny. Sigh.

Home again where we played with the new toys in the back garden and then round the corner to our street party. It really reminded me of the kind of thing that we had in Brussels but it was, as the Princess kept running up to tell me in delight, completely free. They had two bouncy castles, a barbecue, face painting and a clown who made balloons. It turns out that the neighbourhood is awash with kids. The children dived in but I hung around a little nervously; it appears that I don’t know many of the neighbours. Fortunately, Mr. Waffle met a colleague. She was lovely and knew other people and lived nearby (by definition, I suppose). She brought company, chairs and prosecco and we sat around chatting as the children played (very nicely – or, at least, nobody cried). This is the kind of thing I remember from my childhood. The grown-ups chatting while the children play nearby perfectly happily. Could this herald a new phase and very welcome phase? Mr. Waffle’s colleague lived in Brussels as a teenager on exactly the same street as we did when we lived there up to last year. She and I found this fascinating but the rest of the group seemed, somehow, less interested. But seriously, isn’t that a little odd?

So, now it’s quarter to eleven and nearly dark outside; I think I might go to bed. Long day.

Thrilling Spectacle


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Princess

Last night my sister and I went to the show that the Princess’s school put on to celebrate its 20th anniversary. The Princess was a munchkin with one line in the “Wizard of Oz” but she delivered it with great panache (Féach ar na daoine sin. Tá siad an ait). As my sister said when the first child opened her mouth (Dorothy): “Oh God, it’s not in Irish is it?” It was in Irish and the overall effect was a little odd.

When Dorothy was told “Níl tú i Kansas anois, a Dorothy”, my sister hissed at me “In more ways than one, Dorothy”. As well as doing the “Wizard of Oz”, there were little cameos by the teachers (seeing the múinteoirí doing a scene from “Sister Act” was memorable), parents and past-pupils – all very appealing. The big show of the night was “Oliver” by the senior school (9-12). They took some considerable liberty with the story and, as far as I’m aware, “The Sun will Come out Tomorrow” is not a song from the musical Oliver, however, who am I to quibble? A past pupil, now 25, was a suitably intimidating Bill Sykes and, to my untrained ear, pulled off a reasonable cockney accent leading to unlikely phrases such as “Cá bhfuil sé, the little blighter?”

What can one say only – an ait ar fad but surprisingly enjoyable for a school production.

Illicit Activity


Posted in: Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess

Recently Mr. Waffle and I both took a day off work while the children went to school. An excellent idea and something I fully intend to repeat. We did not share details of our illicit outing with the children. We didn’t say that we were going to work but we didn’t say we were not going to work either. Jesuitical. We went for low key, nearby pleasures: a walk around Glendalough and a cup of tea in Hunter’s with the paper. I was, however, made to squirm for my fun when, in the morning getting the children ready for school, herself who is an expert on guilt said to me “Mummy, I know that you are in a hurry getting ready to go out to work but I wonder could you get me another bowl of cornflakes?” Her normal form of address is “More cornflakes, minion!” so it was unfortunate that she chose that of all mornings to ramp up the politeness quotient. Oh well.