belgianwaffle

Princess

Trilingual


Posted in: Belgium, Ireland, Princess

The Princess is terrified of going to her Irish language school in September.  She is excited about moving to Ireland, being closer to her relatives and having a house with a garden but the prospect of school is hanging over her like a dark cloud.  Any conversation about moving to Ireland ends with her in tears saying she can’t speak any Irish.

We have begun introducing her to the odd Irish word, though, unfortunately, this isn’t fooling her into thinking that she has an excellent command of the language.   I think that it will be easier for her to pick up Irish because she already speaks two languages but I’m not the one who will have to face a classroom of strangers and interact with them in a foreign language.   When not in the company of her parents, the Princess is, I think, a great conformist and she is concerned that she won’t be able to follow the teacher’s instructions.  However, she can now say “ciúnas!” with great authority.  I have emphasised that this will stand her in good stead as my memory of primary school is that this was the command most used by teachers and the one that they were most anxious to see obeyed.

I assume that it is progress of a sort that this morning she uttered her first trilingual sentence: Can I have a cáca milis in my boîte à tartines, please?

Interesting times ahead, I daresay.

You must be joking


Posted in: Family, Princess

When I was little, my father refused to explain jokes to me and this was a source of enormous irritation. I still remember one which I puzzled over for years.

Boy: What’s a feebly father?

Father: There’s no such thing.

Boy: There is, I read it in a book.

Father: What does it say?

Boy: He had a feebly growing down on his chin.

The Princess is now interested in jokes but she hasn’t the faintest clue how they work. Determined not to torture her as her grandfather did me, we tried to explain.

Me: Knock knock.

Mr. Waffle: Who’s there?

Me (thinking furiously): Ummm.

Him: Mr. Amnesia?

Me: Giggle.

Her: Why is that funny?

Me: No, no, it’s not, wait a minute what’s black and white and red all over?

Her (crossly): I don’t know.

Him: That’s more of a riddle really.

Me: Hissing noise.

Her (more crossly): I don’t know.

Me: A newspaper. See, it’s black and white and you read it all over, so it’s read all over.

Her: I see, I see. Let me try.

Us (enthusiastically): Ok.

Her: What’s yellow and doesn’t have any pages?

Us: Umm.

Her (laughing): A cushion.

I am beginning to see real merit in my father’s approach.

Anatomy of an unsuccessful evening


Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins

3 – Number of people who cried before dinner: the Princess because I wouldn’t give her a bowl of cornflakes, Michael because I wouldn’t let him have his party bag from the creche and me because the Princess cannoned in to me while I was sitting on the floor and knocked my head into the cast iron radiator (big bump).

3 – Number of people who actually ate any dinner: me, Mr. Waffle and the Princess (reluctantly), dinner boycotted by the boys (determinedly).

1 – Number of people who sat down triumphantly to a bowl of cornflakes at 8 o’clock.

2 – Number of people who howled hungrily and refused to get into the bath.

1 – Number of people who stayed up on the computer until one in the morning.

1 – Number of people awoken from slumbers in the middle of the night by errant spouse blinding him with bathroom light.

No, apparently there is no end to the guilt


Posted in: Princess

Me (while watching “Barbie of Swan Lake”): When we go back to Ireland, I’m going to make you watch all of your DVDs in French so that you don’t forget it.

Her (predictably as she is determined to forget every word of French she knows the second we set foot on Irish soil): No, you’re not.

Me: Why not?

Her: Because I won’t watch any DVDs in Ireland.

Me (knowingly): Oh won’t you, indeed, and what will you do?

Her (simply): I will play in my back garden.

Is there no end to the guilt?


Posted in: Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Michael is sick today.  Nothing serious just a bit of a cold and a temperature but he stayed at home this morning with his father while the Princess, Daniel and I went to mass.

As we were walking along the Princess commented on how fortunate it was that it wasn’t a creche day and Michael could stay at home. The fact that this was precisely what I was thinking myself in no way mitigated my discomfort.

Perhaps we need some further work on theology, for everyone


Posted in: Princess

Princess: Mummy, I am partly a real Princess.
Me: Yes?
Her: Yes. Will I tell you why?
Me: I am agog.
Her: Jesus is a Prince.
Me: Well, Prince of Heaven, I suppose – my kingdom is not of this world and all that.
Her (thoughtfully, ignoring maternal rambling): And Joseph must have been a king.
Me: Well, actually, you know, God is Jesus’s father.
[Some confusion as to whether Jesus and God are or are not the same person – something that it is, of course, a mystery. Do not attempt to explain theological mysteries to a 5 year old, if you are a bit unclear on them yourself; you will find that St. Patrick and his shamrock are not as useful as you had always supposed.]
Her: Well, anyway, when Jesus/God grew up, he was a king.
Me: Umm…yeah, I suppose.
Her: And you know that we call God “Our Father”.
Me: Yes [on safer ground].
Her: So my father is a king, therefore, I am a Princess.