belgianwaffle

Princess

Simple Pleasures


Posted in: Princess

The Princess is doing a course after school on Wednesdays so her father and I decided that she could make her way home on her own. She has previously got the bus home alone but since we put her on the bus and collected her from the bus stop, I’m not sure that it really counts.

She set off this morning with her travel card in her hand and a great sense of anticipation. I picked up the boys at 2.30 and we headed home in the car. She came home at 4. She was absolutely delighted with herself. She had walked to the bus stop with two other children from her class who stopped off on the way to get hot cookies in subway [she has made a mental note to bring cash next week] and met one of the classroom assistants at the bus stop but then she was on her own. She said that she felt very sophisticated upstairs all by herself. But, alas, when it came to her stop, although she pushed the stop button the bus did not stop. It didn’t stop at the next stop either, she was beginning to panic and decided that if it didn’t stop at the following stop, she would say something to the driver even if she had to pay a fine. Discovery: 11 year olds are the only people who believe that sign by the bus driver saying ‘talking to the driver may lead to a fine’, I have told her not to hesitate in future. Anyway, she trekked back the couple of stops on foot and made it home without further incident and she is feeling very capable.

Lenore Skenazy would be proud.

21st Century Parenting


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins

We went for a walk on the west pier in Dun Laoghaire this afternoon. I said to the children that we might see seals, which we did. My evil genius prompted me to ask, “Does anyone know what the French for seal is?” They didn’t. It’s le phoque. I thought that Daniel was actually going to choke with laughter when he heard.

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This by way of background to conversation on the way home in the car.

Mr. Waffle: If we’re going to listen to your music, we’re going to have to listen to some of mine also.
Daniel: Oh French seal!
Herself: Bruce Springsteen? Is this part of your mid-life crisis again?

A Hairpin


Posted in: Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

When I was little, if I was a bit too smart, my father’s relatives would call me a hairpin. I’m not sure whether that is unique to Cork or unique to them. It came to my mind when I discovered that the Princess has made a complete list of all of her Halloween loot which she is carefully checking against the remaining items every morning. No unauthorised mini malteaser packs for me.

In other hairpiness, consider this.

Me: Would you like a grape?
Michael: No, you know I don’t like grapes.
Herself: It’s hard for Mum to remember because we spend far more time every day with school and the childminder combined than we do with her.

And this example of metahairpiness.

Her: NabloPoMo is so hard.
Me: Why do you say that?
Her: I have to keep thinking of witty things to say so that you can write about them.

I await the teenage years with interest.

A City Child


Posted in: Princess

We have been visiting secondary schools with a view to finding somewhere the Princess might like to attend next year which would also have room to have her. More challenging than you might imagine.

She and I went to see an establishment set in the middle of several playing fields. “Ah,” I said inhaling, “the smell of school: grass and chalkdust.” She sniffed dubiously, “I don’t think so, school smells of tarmac and spit.”

Learning by Example


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Princess

I do not like to keep things in the attic. My parents’ attic is full of stuff. Mr. Waffle’s parents’ attic is full of stuff. He said that when he was growing up, broken things were put in the attic to “self-heal”. I know what he means. I have never been in the attic of my house and, as far as I know, it is entirely empty. And I’d like it to stay that way.

I love things to be tidy. Colleagues have been known to recoil when entering my office. It’s tidy. My family are not tidy. If you don’t give things away, you cannot be tidy. I am like a changeling. I have been trying, with absolutely no success, to make the Princess tidy. She suffers from the twin issues of loving stuff and believing that it is not a problem, if you let stuff lie where it falls. She and I fundamentally differ in this regard.

For some time she has been waging a campaign to get into my parents’ attic. I have been a regular visitor as I have been looking for the leg of a table, the top of which is at the back of my parents’ wardrobe and the whole of which I am hoping to get to my house in due course. You would think that a large Victorian table leg would be easy to find, but you would be utterly wrong. I looked – several times; my sister looked; even my brother looked. To no avail.

On this last adventure, the Princess finally got her heart’s desire and came up to the attic with me. Her objective was to retrieve my Great Uncle Dan’s gas mask [given out during the war and definitely in the attic – but where?]. I didn’t hold out high hopes as, if a whole table leg could disappear, then finding a gas mask was a practically insuperable problem. We did not find the gas mask. We did, however, find the table leg under the eaves on the left. Rejoice. Here’s a picture of the table leg [currently residing in the utility room until the top can be brought up from Cork].

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I stood there in the attic looking at the mountains of stuff and I said to my daughter, severely “Look around you; this is what happens, if you never throw anything out.” Then, I realised that her eyes were shining and the attic was possibly the most magical place she had ever been. She brought back to Dublin: an old dial phone, a mug with a rose, two boxes and a china bowl with a hole in the bottom. She is desperate to get back up. I may not quite have conveyed to her the message I was hoping to get across.

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An Irish Education


Posted in: Princess

Herself: I need an uillinntomhas.
Me: A what?
Herself: You know for measuring angles.
Me: A protractor?
Her: What?
Me: It’s the English for uillinntomhas, I think. Uillinn is an angle isn’t it?
Her: Yes.
Me: What’s tomhas.
Her: Guess.
Me: I can’t.
Her: No, guess.
Me: Really, I haven’t a clue.
Her: No, tomhas means guess.

Bonus information: Uillinn also means elbow, now you know why uilleann pipes are so called. Would you prefer if I stopped now?