Her : Je n’ai pas déjà fini.
Him : Pas encore.
Her : Je ne peux pas dire ‘pas déjà ’ ?
Him (diplomatically): Pas encore est mieux.
Her : Je ne peux pas encore dire ‘pas déjà ’?
Princess
Happy Birthday
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.
More mornings
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.
Landmarks
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.
MÃcheál
I have a good friend called Michael and sometimes I call him MÃcheál and I have got into the habit of calling my son Michael MÃcheál affectionately from time to time also.
In recent days, Daniel has started coming up to me and saying anxiously “Daniel MÃcheál!”. I have tried to comfort him by telling him he is Dónal which is the Irish for Daniel or Danny Boy which is friendly but he’s having none of it; “Daniel MÃcheál!” he insists. His sister has, however, decided that the boy suffix is a good one and she now calls her other brother MÃcheál Boy which shows that she really is from Cork.
While I’m talking about slang may I thank those who enlightened me on Australian slang – bonza sheilas.
Sad
The Princess was in foul form after school on Wednesday. Her friend L was mean to her and wouldn’t play with her. All the children were mean to her (inquiry on Y, nice girl I would like her to be friends with, elicits, ‘I don’t like her, she always wants to be my friend’, truly, life is complex) and only the grown-ups were nice and she had to walk around on her own.
“L said that she would kill you,” she said. “Well, that’s a very unpleasant thing to say and I hope you would never say that to another child,” I said piously. She asked, a touch anxiously, “she can’t kill you really, can she?” “Of course, she can’t,” I said. “That’s alright then,” she said, looking distinctly guilty, “because I said she could”. My poor little mite, my heart went out to her in her efforts to get in with L who blows hot and cold. She said, “I want to see my old friends” meaning my children’s friends and I thought, well at least she has them. Then on Friday, L came to visit and all was sweetness and light though I am touched by the way the Princess keeps giving L things to try to ensure her place in L’s affections. As L was leaving, the Princess gave L her helium balloon which she had played with all week and to which she was most attached. I only hope that L is a worthy object of her affection, but I doubt it. Hold the mother-in-law jokes please.
Meanwhile, Daniel is busy reinforcing the idea that Daddy is for Daniel and Michael is for Mummy. “Who wants to come out of the bath to Mama, Daniel will you come to me?” I asked. “No,” he said firmly “Michael Mama, Daniel Daddy”. “I’m Daniel’s Mama too,” I said forlornly. “No, Michael Mama” he reiterated sternly. I was heartbroken.
My husband is very bracing and robust about these things and says, “oh for heaven’s sake, they’ll all be fine”. It’s a relief one of us has a sense of perspective, I suppose.