Daniel (urgently): My nose is running. Tissue, tissue.
I wipe his nose.
Daniel (crying): No, no, don’t take away the snot.
Me: Eh?
Daniel (crying more loudly): Give me back snot.
Princess (sotto voce):Â For God’s sake, it’s only snot.
Me: Danny, sweetheart, it’s gone, er, why did you want the snot?
Daniel: I want it go to bed in my nose.
The Princess was so delighted to be reunited with her younger brothers after their sojourn in Cork, she began to “read” to them “Thomas Comes to Breakfast”. As I was watching them indulgently I was startled to hear the following:
“Don’t be so silly,” said Percy.
“I’d never go without my Driver” said Toby earnestly. “I’d be frightened.”
“Pooh!” boasted Thomas. “I’ll show you bastards.”
The Princess started school in Dublin this morning. It was very odd to see her in a school uniform. She looked so big. As we are still not in our house (alas) we had to leave the parents-in-law’s at dawn to get her in – they kindly minded the boys who apparently took our absence in good part.Â
It was my first visit to the school (Mr. Waffle having inspected previously) and I liked it. There was a good social mix and the teachers and head seemed very friendly. In contradistinction to Belgium where children are rather left to sink or swim on their own, the teachers were very anxious to introduce the Princess to other children and to give her a friend to mind her. Although it is, obviously, all the same in the end, it did make a difference this morning, I think.
The school is housed in a beautiful (though sadly delapidated) Georgian building. Senior infants are in a large drawing room with elaborate stucco work on the ceiling. Having myself gone to a suburban, socially uniform primary school where I received all my education in a prefab (the baby boom having taken the authorities by surprise) , I like the faded elegance and social diversity of her city centre school. I suppose this is hardly particularly relevant to herself and she did cry pitifully when we left. However, Mr. Waffle has just collected her and the whole thing seems to have gone off peacefully. I will be curious to see how she negotiates the linguistic regime but the teachers seem mercifully relaxed about using English as well as Irish. Hold your breath out there.Â
We are going to Sicily on Sunday. For a week. I have no doubt that, in our absence, the plumber, the painter, the builder, the kitchen man, the carpenter and the electrician will work in complete harmony to create a beautiful home into which we can move upon our return. Then again, perhaps not.
Full details of our Sicilian odyssey will follow at the end of the month (yes, yes, you are on the edge of your seat). The Princess has been studying the Guardian’s supplement on Greek monsters (many of whom resided in Sicily) in anticipation of our trip. It’s never too early to hothouse, you know.
Princess: I am going to sing you a song I have made up.
Me: Mmm, great, let me just get started on dinner for the boys.
Princess [slightly more loudly]: I am going to sing you a song I have made up.
Me: I’m listening…yes, Michael, what is it?
Her [crossly]: I bet Mr. Tchaikovsky’s parents weren’t like this.
When I was a child, little girls did not wear pink all the time. I was a child of the 70s, so orange was the dominant tone of my childhood.
When did pink take over? Little boys don’t have to wear blue all the time. Why should little girls have to wear pink? My loving husband would be the first to point out that when the Princess was a baby, I went out and bought a range of pink things. Well, I’m tired of it now. I note that in Belgium, pink does not dominate in the same way as in Ireland though after spotting a number of girls in hot pink at the foire du midi this afternoon, I may have to reconsider. I am informed that in Italy, it is not uncommon to dress baby girls in black. Trendy but a little alarming, I imagine. I bet they get through a lot of pink all the same.
Is it all Walt Disney’s fault? Is it easier to market to little girls, if everything is pink? Is there a conspiracy? Do I only care because my daughter looks better in blues and greens?
Weighty questions for a Saturday evening while my husband is off emptying out his office. Rather ominously, he feels it will take all evening. Where will we put everything?
In a related packing question, my husband and I were discussing what we would take with us in the car rather than leave to the mercy of the movers. “Only important things” we agreed.
“Like the family photo albums,” I said.
“Like my degrees,” he said simultaneously.
This neatly sums up some sexist assumptions. I don’t even know where my degrees are, I should have left them in Cork with my mother where they were safe. Maybe I should wear more pink.