Her: Does Santa Claus get sick?
Me: I’m not sure.
Her: We’ll have to ask God, God knows everything.
Me: Mmm but sometimes God’s answers aren’t particularly clear.
Her: We’ll have to ask him to speak more loudly then.
In other news, my sister spent the weekend here. When she arrived, 10 staff stood up and said “Good afternoon, Miss Helen”. She recommends it.
I got home the other day to find the house empty yet tidy. No note, nothing. Logically, I knew that the childminder had probably just taken them for a walk but deep down I thought this is it I’m always whining about the children and their mess and now I’m being punished in a “monkey’s paw” kind of way. Yes, they all came back, since you ask.
The childminder had a friend to help her the other day and the Princess took a real shine to this friend, so much of a shine that when the friend tried to leave the Princess clung to her and begged pathetically to go too. This was not entirely pleasing to me. It also happened when one of our regular babysitters was here the other day. Then when I was collecting her from school the other day, she refused to leave the afterschool fun and games until she had watched the end of a cartoon. How pleasing this is to a mother.
Finally, yesterday afternoon, I had to go to a meeting at very short notice. Regular readers (hi Mum) will recall that I don’t normally work Friday afternoons but part of the deal is that, if they need me, I will be there. It doesn’t arise very often but I would like a bit more notice when it does. So, to be there I had to arrange a babysitter to collect the Princess from school and reschedule an appointment I had made to take the boys to the paediatrician; do you think anyone was particularly grateful? No, of course not.
In non-whiny news, we no longer have lice, rejoice! Also, if you wish, you may hear the Princess recite a cautionary verse in a somewhat alarming fashion.
“Nous avons découvert en P une petite fille charmante, épanouie, souriante, curieuse et appréciant la vie à l’atelier entourée de ses amis. P a un excellent vocabulaire et une très très bonne structure de phrases et fait bien la part des choses par rapport aux deux langues (francais-anglais).
Lors du regroupement au coin tapis, P est la première à s’installer. Elle connaît tout le répertoire par coeur et est capable de reproduire un coin tapis a elle toute seule sous l’oeil admiratif de ses copains. P porte beaucoup d’intérêt aux histoires; elle fait ses petits commentaires et en demande encore et encore.
Elle reconnaît son prénom écrit selon la méthode Cohen. P connaît les couleurs primaires et secondaires. Lors de nos activités artistiques, P tient ses outils correctement. Elle respecte les consignes données par l’adulte, a acquis la psychomotricité fine. Pendant nos séances de psychomotricité, P saute, grimpe, rampe et passe dans le tunnel sans crainte.
Elle connaît les notions spatiales au-dessus/en dessous, devant/derrière et connaît son schéma corporel. Lors des jeux, P aime beaucoup jouer avec les poupées et les poussettes comme une petite maman. Elle apprécie aussi les jeux de constructions.
Nos grandes conversations et moment câlins nous manqueront beaucoup.
Bonne route a toi, P.
L’équipe de l’Atelier”
Can’t say why but it makes me feel a little sad; I chose to go back to work but it doesn’t mean I don’t wish I could have it both ways.
The Princess and I were looking at a picture of animals in a wood in her book.  We named them and the various flora surrounding them. She pointed to a small insect “what’s that?”. “I’m not sure” I said. “Probably an insect” she said wisely. “Yes, probably”, I agreed “what do you think it’s doing?”. “Probably looking for hair to live in”. Indeed.
Please see nostalgic video of Princess reciting a nursery rhyme when nothing lived in her hair, if you are so inclined.
In Ireland and perhaps elsewhere, for all I know, January 6 used to be known as Little Christmas or Women’s Christmas. The idea was that women would get a break at Epiphany from the intense work that Christmas entailed. I was telling the Princess about this today. I explained that the women used to do all the cooking and cleaning and this was their chance for a break. “Amazing” said the Princess. “Did the men just do this?” she asked standing stock still and staring fixedly out the window. I like to think of this as a victory for equal opportunities. I am reminded of the Icelandic woman who told me about her son who was six. For all of his short life, the mayor of Rejkavik and the President of Iceland had been women. When the mayoral election came around there were candidates of both sexes and he asked his mother in amazement “can a man be mayor too?”
Women’s Christmas did not pass off very peacefully for the female members of the household. The Princess and I have been enjoying particularly poor relations recently. She will not do a thing for me, especially when the boys are there and random actions of mine can lead to screaming and hysterical crying from her. For example, this morning when I pulled the blind she began to cry loudly and shout “No, no, I want to eat my breakfast with the blind down.”
Later in the day we had the following conversation:
Her: Give me a biscuit or I’ll kill you.
Me: That’s not a very nice thing to say.
Her: Why?
Me: Well, it’s unpleasant to threaten people and in the long term, it’s probably not worth killing your mother for a biscuit. Think of it, then you’d be like Cinderella and Snow White with no Mummy.
Her: I was saying a joke. Sure, I wouldn’t even know how to kill you and I bet it would be really expensive anyway.
Given the way relations have been going, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised, if she’d been phoning round contract killers to see what their rates are.
Mr. Waffle pulled 18 dead bodies from the Princess’s head yesterday. This is the third application of the patented remedy. They love her. It’s mutual. On Christmas morning, she asked anxiously “will there be presents for the little animals that live in my hair?” Alas, no. Just death and destruction. Lice get very little of the Christmas spirit. My sister-in-law the publishing exec who has glossy hair reaching well below her shoulders was a little alarmed to find the Princess poking and peering at it and only mildly relieved to hear her highness announce “I’m looking for animals in your hair but I can’t find any”.
On Christmas morning, with considerable effort, we managed to get the whole family to mass. Mr. Waffle looked round dolefully and said “I know these people, they look like me, they sound like me and I know what they’re thinking, they’re my tribe; I can just never afford to live near them”. Since you ask, yes, the Dublin housing market continues buoyant. The children’s mass also presented the spectacle of a number of kiddies on the altar whose birthdays were in December. Girls too; I’m sure the pope would be appalled, if he knew. The priest asked “what’s your name?” “Jack” said the scion of the middle classes. “And when’s your birthday?”, he continued “I don’t know” said Jack who obviously hasn’t been hothoused as much as other candidates. The next child did a little better, his name was Adam. “And when’s your birthday?” asked the priest. “I was born tomorrow” said Adam proudly. Do you think they all got lice for their birthdays?