belgianwaffle

Princess

Fanning the flames of ancient hatreds etc.


Posted in: Princess, Siblings

There is a ditty that is familiar to me from my youth, the chorus of which goes as follows:

Some say the Devil is dead
Devil is dead
Devil is dead
Some say the Devil is dead
And buried in Killarney.
More say he rose again
More say he rose again
More say he rose again
And joined the British Army.

I have refrained from teaching this song to my daughter as I have a charming colleague whose father is in the British army and he sounds delightful too and, anyway, doesn’t everyone love the British army now?

It was therefore with some surprise that I heard the Princess intoning as we went around the supermarket last weekend:

Some say the Devil is dead
Devil is dead
Devil is dead
Some say the Devil is dead
And buried in Clarissa.
I say he rose again
I say he rose again
I say he rose again
And joined the British Army.

“Where did you hear that song”, I asked. “Aunty Helen taught it to me on the telephone” she replied proudly.

To summarise


Posted in: Belgium, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Daniel has been vomitting on and off all week.  On our worst night we got to change his bedclothes three times.  We went into town yesterday (we are your worst nightmare, a double buggy, two parents and a three year old and, yeah, we probably could have gone in during the week) and took ourselves to the Metropole to revive our flagging spirits – I recommend it, it has the cleanest toilets in Brussels.  So, as we sat in splendour here it was inevitable, really, that Daniel would throw up all over the rug.  With admirable calm, we stripped him down to his nappy (which he then insisted on removing but it was hastily restored) reclad him, apologised to the waiter and took ourselves and our kit to the adjoining table.  On the good news front for Daniel, he has started to walk, though, understandably, not very steadily or very fast.  This is unfortunate for him.  Michael has gathered that there is praise to be had for walking so he either out runs Daniel into waiting parental arms or, as Daniel is balancing delicately having just stood up with great effort, Michael barges past him and knocks him over.  It is not easy being a twin.

Daniel and the Princess are cautious children.  I know that this is unusual and I am grateful.  Michael is not cautious, I suppose that this is normal.  It is scaring the bejaysus out of me.  Yesterday I found him trying to surf on the coffee table.  Earlier in the day I heard a tap tap noise and I sent the Princess to investigate “it’s just Michael standing on the chair and rocking back and forth”.  When I sit him on the counter in the kitchen, he is dangling off it by his fingertips in moments.  His sister has sat on that countertop for over three years and when she wants to get down, she still asks me to lift her.   I let him sit at the computer keyboard. He used this opportunity to climb up on the desk and on to the bookshelves.  I’m a shadow of my former self.  On Friday he went to the creche on his own because Daniel was vomitting.  Mr. Waffle stayed home with Daniel and I took Michael in.  He was a bit clingy at first but was lured away from me by a pink buggy and when I went he had barely a backward glance for me as he wheeled his treasure round the premises.  When I collected him he had spent 7 hours in the creche, the longest period he and Daniel have ever spent apart.  I asked how it had gone.  Absolutely fine except when he woke up from his nap and looked around for Daniel.  I have to say, Michael was pleased to see me, but then he always is, in the gratifying manner of young children.  He ran around the room picking up little things for me and handing them over saying solemly “ank u” a noise I believe to be thank you.  Daniel, safely at home with his father, didn’t seem to have noticed Michael’s absence at all.  Perhaps he was doing some work on his walking.

They’re both starting to talk more.  I encourage them to kiss each other and when they do we all clap hands and say “Bravo”.  The other day, I was distracted and Daniel kissed Michael and I failed to react.  “BWABO!” said Daniel indignantly clapping his hands.  He can still say “that” and “the bath”.  They can both say “Hi” as well as “Mama”, “Papa” and “bye”.  It’s maybe not enough to get by in a foreign country but they’re getting there.

An old friend of mine came to visit at the weekend.  He came with a friend of his whom I know slightly.  His friend asked whether I was working with 3 small children.  “Yes” I said proudly. “So am I” added Mr. Waffle indignantly.  I think we have a mountain to climb on this feminism thing.  My friend is gay and so is his friend though they are not partners.  I don’t know why but the Princess was inspired to investigate the whole issue of gay marriage during their visit.

Her: Mummy, can men get married?

Me: Yes.

Her: To each other?

Me: Yes, certainly in Belgium.

Her: Are T and N married.

Me: Um, no, I don’t think so.

T and N: NO!

T (kindly): And if we were, you would certainly have made the cut for the wedding.

The Princess would like to be a flower girl.

She also wants to know who made God.  Any tips?

Poor me


Posted in: Princess

I haven’t had a sick day since the boys were born. It’s not that I haven’t been sick, it’s just that it’s always been more peaceful in the office than at home. All weekend I have had a miserable sore throat and this morning I just couldn’t face going in. I couldn’t face staying in either. Mr. Waffle offered to ask the upstairs neighbours for the use of their spare room but in the end I just barricaded myself in our bedroom. The cleaner said she would not clean it and the childminder, very kindly, said that she would take the boys to her house. The problem with the latter is that I now have to collect the Princess from school and have just dragged myself from my sick bed to do so. Not too sick to blog though, just thought you’d like to know that.

The trip to Ireland was relatively uneventful but I think Shannon to Cork to Dublin to Brussels is a lot of travelling to ask a little girl (and her sick Mummy) to do in three days and I don’t think I would try it again. The Princess was a little bewildered by it all and yesterday morning when I explained that we would be leaving that evening she said dolefully “but we’ve just arrived”.

Travelling with one child is delightfully easy. I could have wished that, as we queued to get on the plane at Shannon she hadn’t announced loudly “Jesus” (getting everyone’s attention) “Mummy when we went to the toilet, we forgot to wipe my bottom”. I was able to reassure our amused fellow travellers that, in fact, we hadn’t. Dublin airport was a drag as we landed at pier D which meant a trek through miles of prefab to get to baggage reclaim but otherwise uneventful. The Princess has her own bag for travelling and she likes to fill it with random items. This meant that on the way back to Brussels her bag contained a couple of books, a sandwich, a wicker cat, two finger puppets and an array of shells and stones which she had picked up on the beach with her loving grandparents that morning. I represented to her strongly that these would be better off in Dublin but to no avail. The bag weighed a ton. I relied on security to come to my rescue. After all we couldn’t take through a half bottle of water, surely they would insist that we remove our rocks, sufficient in number to bury the pilot but, alas, no. We could have stoned the pilot to death with our supply but they didn’t care.

So coming in to Brussels airport I was carrying her coat, my coat, doggy, her enormously heavy bag and my handbag. I suppose I was better off than Charlie McCreevy who was sitting in row 1 on the plane. The air hostess had solicitously packed his bag into an overhead bin in row 5 and he was impatiently watching the plane empty while hoping that he would eventually be able to get it. Oh how the mighty are humbled by the disappearance of business class.

That is all. I am off to collect herself, place her tenderly in front of “Barbie of Swan Lake” and return to my sick bed.

Hello there cruel world


Posted in: Princess

Please don’t make me beg. The children already do that. At 10.30 pm, I negotiated as follows with the Princess:

Me: You need to go to your own bed.

Her: Silent clinging.

Me: Daddy wants to go to sleep.

Her: Silent clinging.

Me: OK, you can sleep in our bed until I come into bed.

Her: Silent clinging.

Me: Do you want me to come to bed too?

Her: Silent clinging.

Me: OK, look, I’ll lie down with you for a bit in Mummy and Daddy’s bed.

Her: Victorious smile.

So, ahem, I see from the Irish Times that there are Irish blog awards. I mean fancy. If you were to nominate me, I would be pleased, I would be grateful, I would promise faithfully to reply more regularly to the odd commenter who comments here (just to let you know, your comments are the sunshine of my life), so, that’s it then, except would you call this a specialist blog? I’ve decided that it is. This is not a hint or any attempt to influence potential voters should they exist. Should you choose to do so, you could nominate me here, or not, of course. It’s a delightfully straightforward process, honestly. Would you prefer, if I slept on the floor?

She sings


Posted in: Princess, Twins

Yes, I know, more videos of my children, well you don’t have to look, if you don’t want to. I’d like you to know that her devoted aunt thinks she may have perfect pitch. Ahem. What do you think?

Wish me luck, I’m off to collect herself from school, thereafter we go to the creche to collect the boys and then on to the doctor’s where at least two of them will have to have jabs. I quake with fear, people.

Choices, choices


Posted in: Princess

I have often employed the tactic of offering the Princess, unpalatable choices, for example, she will say “I don’t want to go out” and I will reply “well, it’s either go out or go for a nap; you decide”. She is then temporarily stuck and I use the pause to press home my advantage. She seems to be getting the hang of this game, though. The other day she asked me to read her a story as I was getting Daniel out of the bath. “I can’t” I said. “Well, it’s either read me a story or get a smack; you decide”. I should point out that although she personally is a big fan of corporal punishment, we have never smacked the Princess, though we have often been tempted. She does not appear to have imbibed our values and believes in the “spare the rod and spoil the child” maxim, particularly, insofar as it applies to her brothers.