• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar

belgianwaffle

  • Home
  • About
  • Archives

Princess

Why, why, why?

7 November, 2007
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Twins

Yesterday, I went out to dinner at a friend’s house. My father often remarks that my mother has no appreciation that time is finite – I am like her.

17.30 Run out of my office to go to my husband’s office to drive together to the creche to pick up the boys (please add driving rain to get a full picture).

18.00 Arrive at the creche, pick up the boys who are cranky.

18.10 Install boys in the car. Put on “Il etait un petit navire” on the stereo at Daniel’s request.

18.15 Pick up the Princess from the childminder. At the childminder’s request, agree to drop home a little friend who has been there for the afternoon and lives near us.

18.30 Realise that I have promised to bring birthday cake tonight. Why did I do this? Any of the other attendees would have had more time. Why am I always trying to do the impossible? Brilliant husband spots an open patisserie and I zoom through the rain to snap up their two last cakes.

18.45 Drop off little friend. All three of our children begin to wail, calling her name and demanding her return.

18.50 Emerge from car in garage.

18.55 Get to lift with children and gear. Daniel becomes hysterical because he wants to push the button in the lift. Lift him up to do so. His sister becomes hysterical because she wants to do it. Put him down. He pushes her, she bites him.

19.00 Emerge from the lift into the flat. The severely reprimanded Princess retires to the “coin colere” in floods of tears but not before attempting to whack me. Daniel shows everyone his sore finger. Michael begins to demand orange juice. Mr. Waffle goes into the kitchen to cook dinner.

19.05 I comfort the hysterical Princess who is gasping between sobs “HE started it”, Daniel goes off to play peacefully on his own, grateful, doubtless, that the bite marks don’t appear to have broken the skin. Michael comes back with orange juice.

19.10 Michael is keen to avenge the wrong done to his brother and comes to lord it over his hysterical sister. “Mechante!” he says pointing an accusing finger. Then he pushes her. She pushes him back causing him to douse himself and Daniel in juice. Both begin crying hysterically. “HE started it” says the Princess, crying herself for good measure.

19.15 I wipe up the orange juice and change clothes. Daniel calms down and trots off to the kitchen to see how dinner is coming along, the other two continue to howl. I take them both on my lap and each makes spirited efforts to knock off the other while crying hysterically. Daniel comes back with some smoked salmon and solemnly hands each of them a piece. They both stop crying and start eating. I give Daniel a round of applause.

19.20 Dinner is served. It is largely tossed on the floor. I give both boys fruit puree which they let fall on their bibs on the way to their mouths. They angrily demand it be wiped up before they take any more. Daniel is particularly concerned that the large gobs he lets fall between each mouthful be speedily cleaned.

19.30 The bath! Michael comes in first saying “Pipi, pipi” and, when we have removed all his clothes, sits down on the potty which we have just installed in the bathroom in delight. He does not wee in it. After some time, Daniel arrives in and says “Pipi, pipi”. I remove Michael from the pot and put him in the bath where he stands, red in the face, bawling and gasping “Pipi, pipi”. Daniel lowers himself on to the pot with a contented smile. Michael tries to climb out of the bath and fails. The Princess is unwilling to undress and I have to pull off her clothes and put them into the laundry basket.

19.30 Michael finally sits down in the bath and wees in it. We put Daniel in with him (we have NO standards). The Princess gets into the shower. It is too hot and then too cold and we fiddle with the sensitive dial while she abuses us for our ineptitude.

19.35 Michael stands up in the bath and starts saying “Pipi, pipi”, I take him out and wash his teeth despite considerable opposition. I take him to his room while he moans “Pipi, pipi”. While putting on Michael’s pyjamas, I hear a crash from the bathroom and a wail. There was a time I might have run straight away but I am older and wiser now and I put Michael safely into his cot before running to investigate thereby denying him his chance to explore further the charms of the potty.

19.40 The Princess is howling, her father is grim faced and Daniel is gurgling happily and washing his teeth. She slipped in the shower. “Daddy was cross (waaah) with me, even though I slipped (waaaaah) and he said a bad word”. Her father points out, through clenched teeth that, if she would stop dancing in the shower this would never have happened.

19.45 The Princess is wrapped in a towel, Daniel is put to bed. Lights out for the boys.

19.50 The Princess is put into her pyjamas and comes to sit on the couch to discuss today’s smiley face. “I don’t want a smiley face”. Just as well.

19.55 Mr. Waffle puts the Princess to bed, I run to the computer to put up a post for NaBloPoMo. While it is cranking up, I clear the table and sweep the floor (yes, I have a PC, why do you ask?)

20.05 I write my post interrupted only by a trip to the boys’ room to hand a bottle to Daniel.

20.15 Mr. Waffle emerges from the Princess’s room, I go to make myself beautiful. I ruefully contemplate my filthy top and decide (after dabbing at it with a facecloth) that I will have to change it before I go out. Spend some time considering options.

20.25 I emerge and kiss goodbye to my poor husband who is doing dishes. “I’ll put out the bins later” he says sadly while I rummage in the cupboard looking for birthday candles.

20.30 I scoot along to my friend’s house which is mercifully close rehearsing my excuses for my late arrival.

20.35 I arrive. I am first.

NaBloPoMo – Welcome to G

But first, I forgot Joshua Ferris under F. “Then we came to the end” was a great first novel. It was funny and (I would love to say zeitgeisty here but I am worried that my father would hear of it and disinherit me) very contemporary evoking the rhythms of modern office life in a hyper real way (goodness, that could go straight into the LRB, I am so proud).

I also forgot John Connolly. I bought “The Book of Lost Things” as a present for my husband thinking that it was about a boy’s youthful reading experience. He didn’t like it. I picked it up and discovered it was a fantasy story – not Mr. Waffle’s cup of tea – about the interpretation of fairy tales (it reminded me a bit of Angela Carter and also “Pan’s Labyrinth”). I really loved it and I will be getting to the rest of Mr. Connolly’s work on the strength of it.

Sorry, let me reiterate – welcome to G.

G is for Gaskell. Mrs. Gaskell, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways – for you are Victorian and believe in long books, for your plots are interesting and your characters engaging, for “Cranford”, in particular. I think I almost forgive you for not finishing “North and South”.

G is for Graham Greene. There are a lot of converts to catholicism among the authors I favour. I read Graham Greene in my late teens and early 20s because my parents had a lot of them about the house. “Brighton Rock” is genuinely creepy and though I know that Graham Greene is regarded as a bit passé, I think that one really stands the test of time. I also have a weakness for “Travels with my Aunt”, so sue me.

G is also for Greer. I have never read “The Female Eunuch” but I will, really. In the interim, I enjoyed “Daddy, we hardly knew you” but no one else did, as far as I can see.

Stephen Jay Gould is an entertaining and accessible science writer and is responsible for almost everything I know about science. I rate his efforts as superior to the not inconsiderable labours of my teachers, parents and siblings. “Eight Little Piggies” is probably my favourite – it’s clever.

Last but not least is Stella Gibbons. I have only read “Cold Comfort Farm” but how I have read it. This book is anything but cold comfort, I have read it when I was sick, when I was sad, when I was desperate, when I was bored, when I was restless. I love it and it still makes me laugh. In fact, I think I might just pick it up now and head off to bed with it.

Can I say how much I appreciate your suggestions? I’m hoping to have a reading list at the end of this, you know.

Hello?

6 November, 2007
Posted in: Princess, Reading etc.

Me: I know that you don’t like salad now, but maybe you’ll like salad when you grow-up.

Her: Maybe.

Me: I didn’t like lettuce when I was little but I’m very fond of it now. Do you think you will be?

Her: Hello? Mummy, I am only four and a half, you know.

Nablopomo

F is for Fforde, Fielding and Fonseca. It turns out that A is for Adams also – thank you C, for pointing that out.

C suspects that my bookshelves are in alphabetical order. Well, sort of, unfortunately, my otherwise brilliant cleaner has a reprehensible habit of reorganising books by size. Onwards.

Jaspar Fforde author of the Thursday Next books. I started off on book 1 with wild enthusiasm but I got less and less enthused and my interest in literature’s oddest police force eventually disappeared by volume 4.

Helen Fielding, author of the Bridget Jones books. You may sneer but they’re clever and funny.

Isabel Fonseca wrote “Bury me standing” and it is one of the best books I have ever read. I’m not a great fan of non-fiction (it’s too much like work) but this book is superb. It exposed to me my own prejudices against travellers and gypsies (I had been secure in my own prejudices and never noticed them) and introduced me to a whole other world.

Douglas Adams, you know “Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” and so on; great fun, well thumbed.

Bereft

3 November, 2007
Posted in: Family, Princess, Reading etc., Twins

The grandparents put in a week of hard graft in Brussels and went home this morning. There were tears (on the Brussels side, the Dublin side remained strangely stoic) as they hopped out of boot camp. It was mid-term and my noble parents-in-law put in a lot of hours with the children while we trooped off to our offices. They also seem to have done all of the cooking.

The grandparents pointed out that Michael and Daniel spent much of their time hitting each other, something we hadn’t noticed so much ourselves. They often do so more in a spirit of enquiry than anger (will this dinky hurt, if I bang my brother’s head with it?) and kiss and make up quite readily before setting off again entirely unabashed. I am not entirely sure to what extent they realise that they are two different people. Michael invariably identifies himself as Daniel in the mirror. The other night when we asked them to say goodnight to each other, they thought it was the most hilarious suggestion they had ever heard.

Back to the grandparents: the Princess’s grandmother spent much of her time here teaching her granddaughter the words to an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical number (not all of the words but she told the Princess the remaining verses could be found on the internet). The wisdom of this I leave for her to decide, but you may inspect the results for yourself here and here. I am the backing singer (I am a less apt pupil than my daughter, you will note).
NaBloPoMo – It turns out that most authors’ surnames begin with C. Below is a selection of my favourites.

C is for Chesterton, Cheek, Christie, Colfer, Coupland and Coe

Chesterton, Gilbert Keith to his friends. Author of the Father Brown short stories, all of which are bound in a large, faded, red volume in my parents’ house and which I have read more times than I can remember. I love Father Brown and even though I know the twist in every single story, I don’t care. Chesterton does suffer a little from the zeal of the convert but as a poor catholic I like that, I always feel a little holier after reading Father Brown. The stories remind me of home and I love them for that too. Funnily enough, I haven’t been tempted to branch out and try further Chesterton. I once read a book of essays called “Tremendous Trifles” and I didn’t enjoy it much even though there was an excellent essay on the joys of lying in bed in the morning. Perhaps I will reconsider when I am feeling strong.

Mavis Cheek writes good feminist fiction. A bit like Fay Weldon only funnier and, I would say, better written. I think I have them all.

Agatha Christie was one of the first “grown-up” authors I read and I have a great affection for her. Sometimes it wavers when I reread. When I had a cold recently, I went to bed early with “The Labours of Hercules” and it was quite shocking. Mind you, it did yield this description of herself by Mrs. Christie on the back cover: “As for my tastes, I enjoy my food, hate the taste of any kind of alcohol, have tried and tried to like smoking, but can’t manage it. I adore flowers, am crazy about the sea, love the theatre but am bored to death by the talkies (and am very stupid at following them), loathe wireless and all loud noises, dislike living in cities. I do a lot of travelling, mostly in the Near East, and have a great love of the desert.” So there.

I have been reading children’s fiction for a long time. I read the first Harry Potter at a time when it was neither profitable nor popular. Eoin Colfer is a hugely successful Irish children’s author. His hero is Artemis Fowl an adolescent genius who discovers that there is a fairyland. It sounds dreadful but it’s hilarious action packed stuff and, if you can’t quite face it yourself, I highly recommend it for your children.

Douglas Coupland has been writing about my generation for a long time. I bought my copy of “Generation X” in 1992 and I have bought almost everything he has written since. He is a bit hit and miss. “Shampoo planet” was awful; “Microserfs” left me cold; “Girlfriend in a Coma” and “Eleanor Rigby” were interesting; “All Families are Psychotic” was probably my favourite but it was very odd indeed. “J-pod” awaits my attention.

Jonathan Coe is the author of the truly excellent “House of Sleep”, “What a Carve-up” and “The Rotters’ Club”. Less successful, if you ask me, is “The Closed Circle”. I have just finished “The Rain Before it Falls” and I am not entirely convinced. Hmm.

Any suggestions?

Know thyself

2 November, 2007
Posted in: Princess, Reading etc.

Me: Can you get the thingy.

Her: It’s all the way over there.

Me: But you’re standing up.

Her: Yes, but I’m too lazy to get it.

NaBlPoMo Books

B is for Bryson, Benson, Boyd, Binchy and Blyton
Bill Bryson: well-written, funny, informative, what’s not to like as our American cousins say. I promptly buy each new volume on publication.

B is also for Benson, E.F. Benson to be precise. The son of an Archbishop whose wife ran off with a woman, Benson and all of his siblings were allegedly gay or lesbian. Says something, for nature over nurture, doesn’t it? All the same, you have to admire the panache of those Anglicans. He wrote the Mapp and Lucia books and they are superb social comedies that bear repeated rereadings. I love them; they are comfort reading for when I am fed up and the world seems a miserable place. Unfortunately, I am not half so well able to convey my affection and the novels’ brilliance as this article to which I selflessly refer you. Mr. Benson was mayor of Rye on which Tilling is based and I am desperate to get there on my holidays, even if it is in Sussex.

William Boyd is excellent. I have only tried two of his offerings “Any Human Heart” which was absolutely superb (recommended to me by the Glam Potter to whom I am extremely grateful) and “Restless” which is less good but still very good. He has a huge back catalogue too – oh happiness – and I am going to read them all. Jeremy Paxman is quoted on the back of my copy of “Restless” as saying that he would read anything by William Boyd, let’s not hold that against Mr. Boyd.
I like Maeve Binchy. She does not write particularly well (though I think the critics’ favourite term ‘workmanlike’ could fairly be applied to her prose), her plots are predictable and her characters, no matter what age they purport to be all act like men and women in their 60s. Let me put it this way, I don’t think anyone has ever sent a text in a Maeve Binchy novel. Yet, her endings are always happy and her characters are always nice and never, ever have graphic sex. This is endearing. And she tells a good story. Apparently, when she used to get the last bus home from UCD in the 1960s, everyone wanted to travel with her because she was so entertaining. I imagine also that she is a lovely person and this comes across in her novels. Everything is for the best in the best possible world. I see that on her website, she puts up the odd short story, so you can try her out for yourself.

Enid Blyton was my first love and though I have moved on, I can never forget her. Especially the Famous Five, despite Anne’s role as scared drudge and the St. Clare’s books (in new covers for a new millenium, I note), far better than the Chalet school.

Non sequiter

30 October, 2007
Posted in: Princess

We went swimming with the family on Saturday. All the children love the pool but the boys are very reluctant to leave. We had to wrestle them out and carry them screaming to the family changing room. We attempted to get dry, stay dry, get changed, change nappies and dress children, find liga and wring out togs in the narrow confines of the changing room.

Mr. Waffle: Stay on the towel or you will get wet.
Daniel: Wet, wet!
Michael: Bottle.
Me: One minute, one minute, hand me a nappy there please. Princess (holding up bag of silica gel that came with her new goggles): What is this for?
Me: Michael, stop that.  Stop it, now! Um, it’s to keep the inside of the googles packet dry.
Princess: Why?
Mr. Waffle: Michael get your socks out of the puddle.
Me: Where are Daniel’s shoes?
Princess: But why?  Why does it need to be kept dry?
Me: I’m not sure, sweetheart.
Daniel: Sock, wet.
Princess: But how does it work?
Me: Not really sure, sweetheart.
Daniel: Two sock wet.
Michael (howling): Daniel bold.
Daniel (clutching head): Michael bold.
Mr. Waffle (through gritted teeth): Where is that boy’s bottle?
Princess: Mummy, I don’t think I believe in God.

Discipline

21 October, 2007
Posted in: Princess

Princess: I don’t like C.  I don’t want her to collect me from school any more.

Me: Why not?

Her: I want someone who obeys me all the time.

  • « Go to Previous Page
  • Page 1
  • Interim pages omitted …
  • Page 143
  • Page 144
  • Page 145
  • Page 146
  • Page 147
  • Interim pages omitted …
  • Page 195
  • Go to Next Page »

Primary Sidebar

Flickr Photos

More Photos
April 2026
M T W T F S S
 12345
6789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
27282930  
« Mar    

Categories

  • Belgium (149)
  • Cork (246)
  • Dublin (555)
  • Family (662)
  • Hodge (52)
  • Ireland (1,009)
  • Liffey Journal (7)
  • Middle Child (741)
  • Miscellaneous (68)
  • Mr. Waffle (711)
  • Princess (1,167)
  • Reading etc. (624)
  • Siblings (258)
  • The tale of Lazy Jack Silver (18)
  • Travel (240)
  • Twins (1,019)
  • Work (213)
  • Youngest Child (717)

Subscribe via Email

Subscribe Share
Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.

To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
© 2003–2026 belgianwaffle · Privacy Policy · Write