belgianwaffle

Middle Child

Plucky Little Belgium


Posted in: Belgium, Middle Child, Twins

Since Daniel acquired glasses, we have been spending a lot of time and money in the opticians. I’m glad it’s a nice one near home. Mostly we are served by the owner’s daughter, an efficient pleasant woman about my age. The other night, I went in to get Daniel’s glasses repaired (he and Michael had tugged them apart at the creche, it’s nice to think of them having fun) and her father was there. He was dealing with some other people and I settled down to wait, conscious all the same that Mr. Waffle was at home with three cranky children who needed dinner and bed. Finally, it was my turn.

Me: Hello, I wonder could you fix these glasses, I think you have a file on us.

Him: That’s not a Belgian accent.

Me: Er, no, it’s not, I’m from Ireland.

Him (heavily accented): Ireland, Ireland, then we can speak English.

Me (proferring deformed glasses): Mmm. Yes, if you like.

Him: Do you know Hertfordshire?

Me: Um, no, never been, I’m afraid.

Him: My father was in England during the war.

Me: The first world war?

Him (misunderstanding, I think): How old do you think I am?

Me: Um, the second world war?

Him (at cross-purposes): He died in the war.

Me: I’m sorry to hear that. In England?

Him (baffled): No, he was in England in the first world war; when he was 13.

Me (not wanting to be unsympathetic but feeling we are getting nowhere and also conscious of my loving husband and children, home alone): I see, well, I wonder, have you got a file on us?

Him (not to be deterred): He learnt to be an optician and then set up in Dendermonde when he came back.

Me: Oh Dendermonde.

Him: No, in England.

Me: Yes, I see.

Him: He died in the second world war.

Me: I’m very sorry to hear it.

Him: Yes, I was only 10.

Me (mind reprehensibly fixed on the glasses): That must have been very difficult for you.

Him: Yes, he was betrayed.

Me (surprised): By whom?

Him: He joined the résistance straight away immediately and he was betrayed by [not clear, some local perhaps]. They ask me why I do not live in Dendermonde but I know they are traitors and I can smell corruption and racism. Though, his daughter [I think the daughter of the man who betrayed his father] is a very nice woman.

Me (genuinely interested and having put the glasses to the back of my mind): How did your father die?

Him (producing formal black bordered mortuary card showing a handsome midddle-aged man): My father was taken away by the Germans and died of typhus in the camps in March 1945. I went to see him once in prison in Ghent before he was taken away. It was a hard time, the English were very good to us, an English Major and his daughter, she is an old woman now, June, but she is godmother to my daughter.

Pause.

Him: I think we’ll have to send those glasses away to be fixed.

I forget how much these things are just below the surface in Belgium where two world wars were fought. Coming from a country that was neutral in the second world war and where (aside from Northern Ireland which is a long way from Cork and, after all, another country), the last major conflict occurred over 80 years ago, I have never, in living memory, lost a relative except to illness, accident or old age. Sometimes I forget how very fortunate that makes me.

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Posted in: Middle Child, Reading etc., Twins, Youngest Child

We have a copy of Walt Disney’s “Lady and the Tramp” in book form and the boys love it. We also have a book of Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast” and this is also much loved. I’m not sure where they came from but they are among the boys’ favourite books despite our constant attempts to plug works we prefer.

The boys, have, however, totally confused the two works. As a special treat we got out “Beauty and the Beast” on DVD and they were transfixed. At first sight of the beast, they were both terrified and sat there pointing at the screen saying “Ladybeast, Ladybeast!”

I know it’s not the flu


Posted in: Middle Child, Princess, Twins

Because the one time I had the flu, I could barely struggle out of bed.  But I have got a nasty cold.

Yesterday, I spent all day in bed, being poked in the eyeball from time to time by a very bored Princess.  Our cleaner kindly agreed to stay all day and keep an eye on herself but I think she (the Princess and probably also the cleaner) has now decided that there is such a thing as too much television.  She went off to school today with a spring in her step.

Our cleaner is a very nice woman from the Eastern part of Poland and she disapproves profoundly of my decision to work.  Yesterday, she said to the Princess – isn’t it nice to have Mama at home instead of her going off to work?  The Princess was gobsmacked; here she was having the most boring day of her life and she was supposed to like it.  I was mildly gratified.

And in other whinging about the help news (is there anything more irritating, than someone who does that?) our childminder does not, like me, believe in always telling children the truth.  I like to think that it builds up their soft skills. The other day, Daniel, expressed a desire to see the childminder’s daughter C.  It was 6 o’clock in the evening, the childminder was just leaving, she said “you want to come with me, you want to see C?”.  Daniel’s little face lit up.  Why would she torture him this way?  As I say, building up their soft skills.

Finally, the Princess has a half day at school today, I rang L’s mother who lives around the corner to ask her, if she could take the Princess this afternoon, in view of my enfeebled state.  She croaked on the other end of the phone – no, I have the flu and so has my husband and my two year old.  Given that she was just starting to feel ill when she was around here on Friday afternoon, perhaps it is the flu after all.
Back to bed, while I still can.

More mornings


Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

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.

Mícheál


Posted in: Middle Child, Princess

I have a good friend called Michael and sometimes I call him Mícheál and I have got into the habit of calling my son Michael Mícheál affectionately from time to time also.

In recent days, Daniel has started coming up to me and saying anxiously “Daniel Mícheál!”. 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 Mícheál!” he insists.  His sister has, however, decided that the boy suffix is a good one and she now calls her other brother Mícheál 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.

Daniel and Michael – State of Play


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

Daniel is increasingly speaking in sentences. He finds the formulation “can I?” very useful. Can I look? Can I see it? Can I do it? He’s beginning to get to grips with grammar. Before when he needed help he would say “help you, help you” urgently. Now he says “help you me”. Since Christmas both he and Michael have learned to say “yes” and he has a particularly forceful and sibilant yes.

He loves dental floss and reaches a chubby arm for it the second he gets into the bathroom. He will pull out metres of it, if let. He loves getting his teeth flossed as well. I would like to put this on youtube for my dentist but I cannot. The second I pull out my camera, Daniel runs around to the back and says “can I see?” Remember waiting weeks to get photos and they were all the tops of people’s heads?

He does not seem to need much sleep. This is a matter of considerable regret to everyone; particularly Michael who shares a room with him and needs lots of sleep.  Often of an evening, Daniel will be bellowing for room service (‘more milk woman, make it quick’) and Michael will be rocking in his cot moaning with his hands over his head.

Michael seems to be a born leader and Daniel is happy to follow him into whatever mischief he proposes.

A couple of weeks ago, Michael wore an underpants for the first time. He showed it proudly to Daniel and got a hug for his achievement. This was short-lived as he wet himself about 5 minutes later and we were disheartened and decided to hold toilet training for another day.

Michael is, according to the creche, ready to be toilet trained. At home this manifests itself as follows:

Me: Michael before you get into the bath, do you want to do a wee?

Michael: Yes, Michael the pot.

Michael sits on the pot. Nothing happens and I put him in the bath where he, invariably wees straight away.

Michael (gleefully): No the bath Michael, the pot!

Both of them are obsessed with sticks, Daniel particularly so and he likes to pick up a stout stick when we go out for walks and attack innocent saplings with it.

They are both counting, Daniel with rather more success than Michael – getting to 10 more or less (usually less 5 for some reason) and learning colours. This latter is proving more challenging and they constantly point to items and say a colour at random “red!” “no, sweetheart, that’s black”, “yes, black!”

They both spend a lot of time saying, “c’est qui ca?” which means (to them) who or what is that?  Mr. Waffle found himself held up for several minutes outside the newsagents identifying Johnny Halliday, Carla Bruni and the like while Daniel pointed persistently at pictures saying the magic words.  I was at home with Michael at the time confirming in response to repeated requests that each of the 16 bottles on the windowsill in the kitchen contained milk.

Our paediatrician says that we mustn’t compare; oh dear.Â