belgianwaffle

Middle Child

Late, late, late


Posted in: Belgium, Family, Middle Child, Princess

I am one of life’s tardy people. My father always says that my mother has no appreciation that time is finite and I have inherited that flaw. I always think things will take less time than they do.

Yesterday I had to take leave to mind sick Daniel (poor Daniel, he’s fine today, thank you for asking) because, alas, my husband is off in foreign parts and I am holding the fort. In between being sick Daniel slept, so it could have been worse. At 5.30 our student babysitter came to mind him (he had been made safe by a motillium suppository and, if you don’t know what that is, you’re better off) and I drove off to pick up Michael from the creche and the Princess from the childminder. The traffic was dreadful and I didn’t get back until (eek) 6.30.

I fed the children and the babysitter (well, otherwise when was she going to get dinner?) and then we bathed the boys and put them to bed and then while K got the Princess cleaned up and ready for bed, I got ready for my dinner with a delegation visiting Brussels for work. I felt mildly self-conscious applying my make-up in front of a beautiful 21 year old but, never mind.

At 7.30, I drove to the school in pouring rain and finally found parking at 7.45 and ran in, late, for the parent-teacher meeting that started at 7.30. This was a mildly depressing experience. Mostly from pragmatism but partly from principle we put the Princess into the school nearest to our house. It is a school with pupils who are overwhelmingly the children of poor immigrants and the remainder are the children of poor Belgians. On the whole we have been very happy with the school and very smug about our choice. However, it is undoubtedly true that we were also aware that a lot of the children in the Princess’s class didn’t speak French but, to be honest, I would have thought that in their third year in the school system (Belgian school starts at two and a half – it keeps them tough) with significant extra language tuition, that problem would have disappeared. Apparently not. Madame Christine tells us that she is still gesturing to get her meaning across. There are children who do not understand “folder” (OK), there are children who do not understand “school bag” (less OK) and there are children who do not understand “put” (not OK at all). Lots of the children don’t know their colours. This is daft, they’re FOUR. I was telling the Princess an edited version of last night’s encounter this morning and asked her did she know her colours and she said “oh yes and when Madame Christine does the exercises on colours, she keeps saying to me ‘stop, you’re going too fast, give the others a chance.'” I don’t think this illustrates that my child is vastly gifted but my smug four year old clearly does.

At the end of last year, the teachers found that the children didn’t know what things were made of. Sample dialogue:

What’s this made of?

A fork.

Yes, I know it’s a fork, but what’s it made of?

Pointy?

Sample dialogue with the Princess at breakfast:

What’s my spoon made of?

Metal.

What’s your spoon made of?

Plastic.

What’s your bowl made of?

China.

What’s the cornflake box made of?

Cardboard.

I’m hoping that this business of what things are made of is not the key learning for the year. I know that she needs to learn lots from school other than ‘academic’ things, how to socialise, how to work out her place in the world, how to become autonomous but I know that the problems her classmates are having are almost certainly not experienced in the posh communal school down the road (which had no places by the time her feckless mother called them).

Funnily enough, the Princess’s school is private (as it’s Catholic) and the posh school is public. The fact that it was catholic was one of the selling points of our school for me until the head ‘reassured’ me that it was Catholic in name only. I see where he’s coming from, although there are lots of statues of ‘dead Jesus’, if the Princess is to be believed, there doesn’t seem to be any religion in the classroom. This is also funny when you consider the situation with faith schools in the UK as outlined recently by the GPmama. In fact there is a (Catholic) friend of Mr. Waffle’s in London who is still doing the flowers in her local Protestant church because she cosied up to them in the hopes of getting her daughter in. Unfortunately, the daughter didn’t get in despite all that creative use of oasis.

So, 8.15, I really had to go though I would have liked to stay until the end because, you know, when you get worried about things like this, you like to have a complete picture so that you can drive yourself insane. Bucketing down and I was supposed to be at the restaurant near the office and was striding womanfully across the school yard. I rang and said, quite mendaciously, that I was circling looking for parking and they should go ahead without me. Oh no, they would wait. Alas. Mercifully parking very easy on arrival so no one was forced to eat the table.

My delegation being on a bit of a break from their day jobs were very relaxed. I meanwhile had my mobile phone on the table waiting for a call from the babysitter to tell me to come home because Daniel had been sick. She didn’t which was just as well because we were paying for dinner and it would have been difficult to do before people had finished eating which they didn’t until gone midnight; you will recall that they were relaxed. I dropped a couple of my Brussels based colleagues home (because I am kind) and pitched up about 12.30 all apologies to saintly babysitter who had an 8.00 am lecture next morning. Called her a taxi, put out the bins and went to bed at 1.00. Up with the boys at 3 and 5 and the Princess prodded me out of bed at 6 so that we could have breakfast alone together before the boys woke up.

Arrived into work this morning to hear young colleague complaining that she is exhausted; jet lag from her trip to LA. Firmly buttoned my lip.

Middle Child


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins

I often feel poor Daniel gets neglected between the histrionics of his drama queen sister and action man brother. He is the most placid child and very stoic. When he was vacinated, he didn’t flinch; Michael brought the house down. When he is sick, he is stoutly uncomplaining. He is happy to sit in the corner and flick through a book (often upside down) while the others demand attention.

20 April - Day off 014

 

He does, however, have a temper. When he is frustrated, most often by Michael whipping something from his hands and using his superior speed to carry it away, he will crawl into a corner and bellow or hit anyone who is to hand (usually not Michael who has nipped sharply out of the way). If Michael is foolish enough to stay within range he will generally get a bite on the hand from Daniel. This means that Daniel ends up in the coin colere or, at the very least, is spoken to sharply. Despite his macho appearance, Daniel is a sensitive soul and reprimands of any kind are a source of great distress and, once he fully understands that he, yes he, is being reprimanded, lead to copious tears (Michael, in similar circumstances, just glares balefully or laughs).

Spain 011

 

Daniel is always anxious to make amends and with his rolling walk (like a cowboy after a long day in the saddle) will go over to Michael and give him a big kiss. They tell us that in the creche, he often looks for Michael saying “calin, calin” (hug, hug) and gives him big hugs.  He has great fun with his brother and he loves it when they poke and push each other and try to close the door on each other’s fingers.  Oh yes, it’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

11 May - Europe 029

Daniel loves to talk and the Princess has taken his education into her hands. “One” she says. “Two” he replies. He will repeat almost anything she says to him and can make good efforts on most things. He still hasn’t strung many of his words together though.  He has a really lovely smile but he does not dole it out easily.  Mostly when I try to get him to engage with people he says “a shy” and buries his head on my shoulder.  For all that, he is often more courageous than the other pair, wading into water and patting strange dogs while they cower.

Cork and Kerry 103

One night when he would not sleep and I was desperate to get to bed, the two of us ended up watching a nature programme about barn owls on the BBC.  He loved it.  It was a gentle ten minute look at the owls and various other farm animals (quack, quack, baa).  I have one question for the BBC – why would you schedule this at 9 in the evening?  I digress.  Now he makes hopeful hoo hoo sounds at the television screen in Brussels in the hope that somehow the magic owls might come back but, so far, no joy.

Because Michael spends most of his time welded to my hip, Daniel gets much less time in my arms.  He is devoted to his Daddy.  Do you think I should worry that he occasionally says “Mummy, Mummy!” to my loving husband?  Poor neglected mite.

6 July Stage 005

 

 

Poor Daniel


Posted in: Middle Child

Belgium in May is a cruel place. Weekends consist of one bank holiday after another and loving parents run out of ideas as to what their delightful offspring might like to do. On Monday afternoon, we decided to go to the pool. We rang to check it was open on the bank holiday, it was. We herded our children into the car. Half way there, Daniel vomitted copiously getting himself and his seat. We pulled in, in front of a garage and stripped him down to his nappy while the other pair complained vigourously. We wrapped his vomitted on seat in a towel while he sat in the front seat, turned on the radio and waved his arms around happily to the music and the man waiting to get out of the garage (of course) waited. We then went home to change him and regroup amid howls of protest. Then, we set out again, all smelling somewhat of vomit, though, only one of us had to sit in the vomit covered chair wrapped in a towel. Poor Daniel looked a bit pale and interesting as he was driven around the back streets of Brussels inhaling at very close quarters the odour of the regurgitated contents of his stomach. We got to the pool and disgorged everyone. Do I need to tell you that the pool was closed due to a technical fault. What do you think that might be? We drove to another swimming pool. All the roads round it were sealed off but eventually we found the one road which was open. Unlike the pool. Closed for the bank holiday. We all nearly cried on the way home after a singularly unproductive hour and a half in the car.

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?

Ms. Malaprop


Posted in: Middle Child, Princess

Daniel: UH OH

Me: What did you drop sweetheart?

Princess: He didn’t drop anything, he’s lining.

Travelling back


Posted in: Middle Child, Princess, Reading etc.

We came back from Dublin yesterday. I am still a shadow of my former self. On the plane back, the Princess sat by the window, Mr. Waffle sat in front of her with Michael on his lap and I sat beside her with Daniel on my lap. As we were sitting on the runway taxiing about, the Princess and I had the following conversation:

Her: I want to do a poo.
Me: You can do a poo when the fasten seatbelts sign goes off.
Her: But I want to do a poo NOW!
Me: I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.
Her: But the poo wants to come out.
Me: Well it will just have to wait. What is that awful smell? And those funny damp brown marks on Daniel’s back?
Her (giggling): I think he did a big poo Mummy.

Once airborne we retire to the toilet where the Princess sits on the toilet while I try to stop Daniel eating anything dangerous. When she is finished, I change Daniel’s nappy and all his clothes. He wriggles. The toilets on planes are small. That’s probably all the detail you need. When we got back to our seating, the long-suffering man on the outside stood up to let us troop in.

Him: Three children – a lot of work, eh?
Me: Hmm. I suppose. Princess, sweetheart, can you get up off the floor please.
Him: I have two sons 27 and 29.
Me: That’s nice. Are you from Belgium?
Him: Yes from Mechelen.
Me: I like Mechelen.
Him: It’s handy for my work. I travel a lot. I was in Ireland for work. It’s very expensive.
Me: Yes, isn’t it? Sweetheart, what are you doing down there?
Princess (muffled but indignant): I’m picking up papers to put them in the bin.
Him: Are you working in Brussels?
Me: Yes, what do you do yourself?
Him: I’m a businessman. I sponsor the IMPAC literary prize.
Me (vaguely aware that this is the largest literary prize in the world): Goodness, that’s very impressive.
Him (pleased): You’ve heard of it?
Me: Absolutely. Daniel will you please stop pulling your sister’s hair? You must be very interested in literature.
Him: No, it’s really for the publicity. My passion is art collecting. When I’m in my New York office, I like to go to the art galleries.
Me: What kind of art do you like to collect? Are you biting him?
Princess: NO, I’m kissing my little brother.
Him: I like Cobra and I have a lot of these works.
Me (faintly): A lot?
Him: Yes. I also collect….[inaudible]
Daniel: Waah, a bottle, waah, I need a bottle, also she did bite me.
Him:…and a small Picasso that I keep in the kitchen.
Me: Good for you. Here, sweetheart, have a bottle.
Daniel: Glug.
Princess: I WANT a bottle.
Me: Well, I haven’t got a bottle for you.
Princess: Can I have some crisps then when the “any drinks or snacks” lady comes?
Me: OK, then.
Him: I’m also really interested in the symbolists.
Me: Oh yeah, did you see that whatshisname, Belgian symbolist, um..
Him: Khnopff?
Me: Yes. Horsey, horsey don’t you stop, just let your feet go clippety clop…
Daniel: Big grin.
Princess: When will it be MY turn to sit on your lap?
Him: Did you see that picture of his sister in the dress with all the buttons?
Me (warily, considering that almost all the pictures were of his sister – Khnopff appears to have a number of issues here): Yeees.
Him: Do you collect at all?
Me: No, not really, no.
Him: I had my house repainted in the colour scheme on that painting. Why not, eh?
Me: Why not indeed, um, do you have a very large house for your large collection?
Him: Art nouveau house, 600 square metres.
Me (swooning from envy): Lovely. Sweetheart, look out over England, see all those things sparkling, they’re fireworks (it was November 5 and the English like their fireworks for Guy Fawkes – it was an extraordinary sight).
Daniel: UH OH.
Me: Princess, could you pick up your brother’s bottle?
Her: No, I’m looking at the fireworks.
Him:Have you been to see the Spilliaert exhibition?
Me (holding Daniel on the chair with one hand while rooting round on my knees on the floor for the missing bottle): No, not yet, though I do like Spilliaert. He’s interesting in a weird Belgian kind of way.
Him: You think Belgians are weird?
Daniel: The bottle woman.
Me (inserting bottle in indignant mouth): The home of surrealism, I think so, yes.
Her: Can I see Aunty Publishing Exec’s house?
Me: No, sweetheart, we’re too high up and anyway, we’re over Belgium now.
Him (pensively): Having children, it’s a lot of work; I’m not so sure about having another baby. I think I will offer a million to the first of my sons to have a grandchild.

I’m not sure whether he was serious or not but I bet he wished that aer lingus hadn’t dispensed with business class for the weekend flights.

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Peggy (in French)

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