Middle Child

A Catalogue of Activities with No Real Unifying Theme

13 June, 2023
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

Was it the title lured you in?

Tuesday 23 May

School having been cancelled on the Tuesday, Michael and I went out for an adventure to enjoy the beautiful weather. Daniel sensibly, it subsequently transpired, stayed at home.

We climbed the Sugar Loaf. It was a beautiful, beautiful day for it. I’d told Michael to bring a snack and he had water, a packet of crisps and a packet of water biscuits. He ate the crisps on top of the mountain leaving a whole packet of water biscuits for later.

By the time we got down, it was about 2.30 and we headed to Enniskerry to get lunch. Google Maps, as is sometimes does, sent us by a remote and circuitous route. By 3 we weren’t a lot nearer to Enniskerry and in the middle of nowhere. It was at this moment that we got a puncture.

My brilliant husband had put the emergency number in the glove compartment (you think I can change a tire? think again) and the emergency man when we called explained to us a nifty trick where you can send your exact location via Whatsapp (necessary as we had no real idea where we were). Also I had failed to fully charge my phone in the morning and had only 10% battery which was not charging on the in-car charger. Tense times. I rang Mr. Waffle who was in a foreign airport but able to tell me that the car had a spare tire and where to find it. Not obvious.

Anyway, the car repair man eventually came, fitted the spare tire, pumped it up and set us on our way after a hot, hungry and sweaty 90 minutes in the car. Michael said, “We stress ate those water biscuits like a herd of buffalo”. I ate them like someone starving. Anyway we went straight home. We’d gone off Wicklow in the sunshine.

A busy evening followed collecting my sister from the train station, leaving her with Michael who filled her in on Bulgarian politics (yes, really), deciding it was safe enough to let Daniel cycle into town to meet his friends in the pub and collecting Mr. Waffle from the airport. I was exhausted. That’s what you get for trying to make the most of the fine weather.

Wednesday, 24 May

My sister was up for a project management conference and she sent me the funniest text I’ve received in a while.

Mr. Waffle dropped her to the conference and I collected her. Although the venue is not far from our house, it took forever. I was very glad to get back on my bike to go in to have dinner in town with some old college friends. We are old. Only one of us has any children in school. Surprising.

Thursday, 25 May

We had the school graduation. All things considered a surprisingly good time had by all.

Saturday, 27 May

We visited Mr. Waffle’s mother and the in-laws. I went for a swim afterwards which was lovely. Mr. Waffle was not to be tempted though. We took the boys out for dinner to celebrate the end of school. I am still wrestling with the idea of having no children in school.

Tuesday, May 30

Inspired by my success at the weekend I went for another swim. It was a beautiful day and basically just me and pensioners enjoying it. Hah. Lucky old us, I guess.

I went to a colleague’s mother’s removal. It was in Massey’s funeral home. For years I have wondered what kind of name is “Rom Massey”. I mean is it Ronald? Anyway the removal was advertised as being in Ramon Massey’s funeral home. Ramon? Raises more questions than it answers.

The preliminary census results came out. Michael nearly died of happiness going through them and offering us little insights. It appears that we are now a country of 5 million people having been 3 million for as long as I can remember. The thrill.

Friday, June 2

Mr. Waffle and I went to art school grad show. Yeah, I know, but is it art? And I went out for dinner with a bunch of former colleagues which was very enjoyable indeed.

Saturday, June 3

God, it was baking. Mr. Waffle and I went to a fair of produce from Normandy- I am on the French embassy mailing list and this is the kind of thrill available. Almost all dégustation of French products which, yes, absolutely, I am willing but very little to actually buy. We bought some cheese from Évreux and I told the bored French teenager selling it that Devereux is a common Irish surname and dates back to the Norman conquerers from her town. Was she interested? Are you joking me?

Sunday June 4

In what became a weekend of exploration by public transport, Mr. Waffle and I took the DART to Malahide Castle.

Honestly, can’t really recommend the house tour (the house is mildly interesting but the guides are, more’s the pity, not the super knowledgeable OPW ones) but the gardens are lovely.

Portrait above of one of the Gunning sisters who married two Dukes (consecutively) and about whom our guide, sadly told us nothing. And as you will see, it’s a good story.

Monday, June 5

Mr. Waffle and I took the DART again with our bikes and cycled to Kilruddery. I honestly would have thought it impossible but it’s actually quite close to the DART station. On the other hand, do I recommend taking your bike on the DART on a sunny bank holiday Monday? Probably not. I was, possibly excessively, pleased to see bike stands right by the entrance to Kilruddery where we had a nice lunch and a stroll around the grounds.

Needless, to say while Mr. Waffle and I were out gallivanting in the sunshine, that they had so kindly provided, the boys were at home studying. As everyone said, it was real Leaving Cert weather. A friend sent me this.

Tuesday, June 6

After my weekend of exciting cycling and swimming, I decided to cycle to Sandycove and have a swim. I went off in my light summer dress. I nearly froze. Leaving Cert or no, Irish weather does not reward complacency.

Wednesday, June 7

At last, at last after two tense weeks of swotting with increasing gloom at home, the Leaving Cert started. Day 1 was alright.

Still, much stress.

Thursday, June 8

I managed to give away a box of old cables and a broken printer. To think of these items, utterly useless to me and destined for a life in landfill, being reused warms the cockles of my heart. The man who took the printer further filled me with delight as he was a Dutchman and he took it away on a bike. He works at Drimnagh Castle and they are on a shoestring and he reckons that he can fix the printer and use it there. How truly gratifying.

The guys rescued the Nintendo DS from the box of cables and have been happily playing on it for the first time in about 10 years.

Friday, 9 June

Much like the rest of the nation, Michael did not enjoy Maths paper 1. His brother thought it was fine.

Sunday, 10 June

My friend sent me a flyer about a Finnish choir who were visiting Ireland so Mr. Waffle and I went to the pro-Cathedral (for historic reasons, Dublin has two Protestant Cathedrals and no Catholic Cathedral – this is what it got, known to its friends as “the Pro”).

It was all a bit more elaborate than I had anticipated. Not only was there this Finnish choir but it was also Corpus Christi (had forgotten) and the new Papal Nuncio’s welcome mass to Dublin. Many pews were roped off for the Diplomatic Corps and heads of religious orders and Provincials. There were 3 (count them!) archbishops on the altar and loads of priests. All, except for two younger black men, looking pretty elderly and grey, if sprightly. The church had lots of room notwithstanding the ranked masses of diplomats, provinicials etc. I don’t know, if that mass isn’t going to be full, it really looks like the end. I am old enough to remember when Corpus Christi mass was standing room only and there was a procession and everything.

Anyhow, the newish Archbishop of Dublin did the welcome bit and I was curious to see him in action as I hadn’t seen him before. He commented on the recent census results which show numbers of Catholics had declined by 10 percentage points since the last census (to 69%, I am Michael’s mother, I have these statistics at my finger tips) and how heartened he was by the immigrant communities who are, basically, better Catholics. Certainly more devout. Anyhow, he welcomed the visiting choir who were Lutherans from Helsinki Cathedral and made some noises about ecumenicism. As a friend of mine pointed out this was funny on Corpus Christi which is basically a feast day designed to highlight the differences between Catholic and other faiths but I suppose they were there. The new Papal Nuncio gave the sermon and try as I might, I kept zoning out, so what his views might be and whether he conveyed any special messages, I cannot say.

The choir were superb which was just as well as mass was an extended 90 minutes. What are we, Orthodox? Afterwards, the 86 year old nun who is attached to the children’s school whom all the students adore, came up to us. She only lives around the corner it appears and is a regular attendee at the 11.30 Sunday mass. She had no difficulty recognising us and we had a long old chat where she tried to inveigle me into joining the school’s Board of Management. She is in absolutely terrific shape. The children keep her young, she says.

There was one of the Finnish choir children’s mothers on the door when we went out drumming up business for their concert at 3. She was very cross that it wasn’t advertised and I sympathise but what could we do. I said that I had been notified via WhatsApp and wasn’t it busy this morning? “I gather you went to Cork as well?” I said winningly hoping to divert the conversation into happier channels – who wouldn’t love a trip to Cork in June? Apparently only 12 people came to the concert in Cork. I was mortified. “And it was free, unlike when the Palestrina choir came to Helsinki and you had to pay and I put up two boys from the Palestrina in my own house”. Alas. However, the youngsters in the choir seemed to be having a great time. When we came out they were standing beside their bus singing an incredible version of happy birthday – volume and harmony breathtaking – to one of their number.

Tuesday, June 13

The Leaving Cert continues unabated. Maths Paper 2 yesterday was better than paper 1 on Friday. The nation is convulsed by the trauma of paper 1 – letters to the paper, articles, phone in radio shows (you think I’m joking, I’m not). As I said to Michael, “At least you’re not alone”.

While my poor children laboured today, I took the DART off to Sandycove for a very pleasant swim. Somebody has to do it.

Biology and Irish paper 2 today. Dan not a big fan of the biology paper but look, onwards and upwards.

Endings

12 June, 2023
Posted in: Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

The nice young man who gave conversation classes to the boys this year has gone back to France. We had him round for a cup of tea before he left and he stayed for two hours. That is such a long time. We gave him a small present. When we gave him a present at Christmas (a coffee pot and some coffee), he told us he didn’t like coffee while expressing his gratitude with great charm. Our present this time was two books: Dubliners by Joyce and some Yeats poetry. Later he texted me his thanks while commenting that he had previously started Dubliners but had given up. This would give him an incentive to try again he said. During the afternoon when he came around he mentioned in passing that the French regard hypocrisy as absolutely the worst vice. Honestly, this explains a lot. Anyhow, he is the last person who we will be having round to speak French with the children. It’s the end of an era. We have had Francophones (mostly French people) in the house since we came back from Belgium in 2008 talking to them, minding them and giving them the kind of values that mean when Michael hurts himself he still says stoically, “La douleur ça passe”. I’ll miss them.

This year has been a bit of a disaster at school with teacher supply. History and Geography, both of which Michael wanted to study were timetabled back to back in school so he did History outside school. We picked History to study outside because the Geography teacher in school was so good. He had her for fifth year and she was amazing. But – good for her but bad for us – she had her first child at the start of this academic year and over the year her role has been taken over by a range of subs of varying quality. The Maths teacher went on maternity leave in January and since then, the boys have been taught by a number of people with no teaching qualifications. I mean, you would like it to be a bit better. I had a neighbour’s child up the road who is doing a PhD in maths give them a grind. Daniel’s fantastic Physics teacher got a job in a new school at the end of the last school year. She was replaced by a zoom class after school once a week with a less than stellar substitute. I paid for extra physics classes for him on Saturday morning. The German teacher is off on maternity leave too. She was great but both boys say that the substitute is even better. I guess you’ve got to win some of the time. Anyway, all things considered, it has been pretty disruptive for them both. However, now all grinds and extra classes are mercifully over as they have started into the worst exam any Irish person will ever sit – the Leaving Certificate – go on ask any Irish person you know, I’ll wait.

Their school graduation was on a Thursday. They had various mild pranks (they were all going to wear a mustache to school) planned in the run up to it. Monday was “anything but a bag day”. They all brought stuff to school in wheelbarrows or whatever their vivid imaginations suggested. The principal sent a text message to all parents at 10 in the morning saying “6th year students are finishing now in order to prepare for the Leaving Cert. We will see them on Thursday for graduation.” This was news to the parents, students and (rumour has it) the teachers. They got given breakfast and black plastic bags to clear out their lockers. The kids were really upset. I felt it was disrespectful and horrible for them and, apart from anything else, those three days in school with their teachers wouldn’t have hurt given how interrupted their schooling has been. To be fair to the authoritarian authorities, there had been something of an incident with a water pistol in a previous year and it seems to have marked them.

On the Wednesday, a really nice teacher invited them all in for a cup of tea so that was good. And then the graduation itself was lovely. They gave the principal a present while I gritted my teeth. They did an amazing video which made us all laugh and many of us cry. It was really super and helped to make up for the previous Monday’s debacle. It made me feel really sorry for herself who had a graduation with parents watching online.

The children, the teachers and some parents (not us at the urgent request of our children) went to the local GAA club afterwards and stayed late. They seem to have had a great time. One of the other students asked Michael (yes, 17 year old Michael, all the rest of them, except his twin obviously, are 18) why he wasn’t drinking. “Is it because you’re a Catholic?” he asked. There seems to be a fundamental misunderstanding of the rules of engagement among the younger generation.

Anyway, there we are. I have no children in school. What a weird feeling.

Keep your fingers crossed for my guys in the Leaving Cert, they are in the middle of it and they are not exactly having the time of their lives.

No more uniforms though, so there’s that.

Succinct

19 May, 2023
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins

Daniel sent a message into the family group chat the other morning after going through the back garden to get his bike from the shed. It read: Hodge vom garden

Mr. Waffle took a look and said, “Ah the well-known German count.” Honestly, I thought it was hilarious. This is the kind of content I married him for. Also, he cleaned up the cat vomit.

Uh Oh Redux

11 May, 2023
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

I had a busy, busy day yesterday. I began by making breakfast for my husband (in isolation) and packing lunches for my children. I left my misfortunate husband a couple of sandwiches for lunch and went out. He’s still positive, thanks for asking.

I was going for my first swim of the season with a friend. She is an all year round swimmer. I am not. Although I did swim in October and now in May, so I suppose that’s something? After our invigorating swim we had a lovely lunch and I was delighted with myself until we got back to her house and I realised that I had managed to lose my headphones. I cycled on home, picked up the car and drove back to Howth to look for them (not handy) but did not find them. Alas. They were a present and a little bit pricey. Double alas. All this driving around in traffic made me late to take Daniel to his match (near the airport on a Wednesday night, the GAA, I love it).

When I got home from dropping Dan, I made dinner, dropped Mr Waffle up a tray and sat down with Michael while leaving food for Dan warming in the oven. I hadn’t seen much of Michael that evening and he looked a bit flushed. “Are you ok?” I asked. “I’ve had a headache all day,” he said. I instructed him to go upstairs and give himself a Covid test after dinner and rushed back out to the airport to pick up Dan (they won, a win). Michael texted me his test result. He has finally succumbed. How very 2022 of us.

Toujours La Politesse

8 May, 2023
Posted in: Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

We have a lovely young man who comes in once a week and speaks to the children in French.

One evening I got a text from him profusely apologising for disturbing me but wondering whether he had left his headphones at our place. He had looked everywhere else. He had, in fact, left them here and I texted him to tell him so. If it wouldn’t disturb me, he would come and get them the following day. I said that he could come that evening if he liked as we were still up. He was v grateful. Next thing I got a text, he didn’t want to ring the bell, in case he disturbed us but he was outside the door.

I love the reluctance to disturb and the infinite politeness of this young man. I try to teach my children to be like this but I sometimes wonder is it overkill in this brave new world. Perhaps not. How reassuring.

Was It For This?*

6 May, 2023
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc., Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

Your correspondent has had a busy 24 hours. Last night Mr. Waffle and I went to see Bruce Springsteen. I can’t honestly say that standing in a field for about four hours was the finishing touch I needed to recuperate fully from my cold but Bruce does do a good concert. I thought that there might be some kind of…intermission, I mean he is 73 but no, he kept going for three hours solid. He jumped. I was honestly concerned that one of the elderly gents on stage would have a heart attack. Or perhaps someone in the stadium. Just so you know, Bruce Springsteen fans are mainly bald family men in their 50s and 60s. Some of them bring their children to concerts which lowers the age profile. Some of them bring their wives which slightly improves the gender balance. All attendees were taller than me.

Honestly, the environment was, entirely wholesome, family fun. I did enjoy it – what a show – but I was quite surprised by how many songs the Boss has written since the mid-80s when I was last paying attention.

We cycled to and from the venue and I was delighted with myself and slightly smug (doubtless I will burn for this) as we sailed by traffic chaos on the way in and on the way home. I was a bit worried about our bikes but the fans were all round polite pillars of society, so I really needn’t have been. All was well, not so much as a light missing on our return to where the bikes were locked to Sheffield stands right beside the venue. This was not a crowd that goes in for utility cycling much I’d say, so bike parking was readily available.

When we got home about 11 (Bruce is 73, he played for three hours, what more do you want?) Daniel, who had gone to the beach with friends, still wasn’t home. In fairness to him he’s pretty good to answer when you call so my inevitable panic was of short duration. He was coming home – he and his friends had had dinner in town. I waited up. There was mild drama. One of his friends had got the bus in the wrong direction and ended up in Crumlin when she wanted to go to Clontarf (these places are far apart). She texted the group and said her father was furious and had told her to get home by herself. She had missed the last bus. I was outraged and dithering about what to do but mercifully her father relented. All this took time though so I was late to bed and not at my bright and beautiful best next morning when I got up at 8.

“Why 8?” you ask. I was going to a coronation brunch. I am not proud but a friend of mine offered and off I went. Leaving poor Mr. Waffle cleaning up cat vomit from the kitchen floor, I went to my monarchial extravaganza. I mean look it’s free pageantry kindly paid for by the old oppressor. As you may have guessed, I am a little ambivalent. But, I have to say, I really enjoyed it. I thought the ceremony was great – surprisingly moving – and the music terrific. Who knew there were so many functionaries in Britain who could speak so well to an audience of thousands in the church and lots more on TV? Man of the match had to go to the young chorister who had the first words in the whole ceremony and delivered them as clearly and collectedly as if he’d been practicing every day of his life. Perhaps he was, I wouldn’t put it past the British to have someone who is trained from birth.

I could have done with more focus on women’s dresses but still very enjoyable. And brunch was superb. We didn’t crack open champagne at the moment of coronation because 1) it felt a bit like mass and drinking in mass feels so odd and 2) it was probably a bridge too far.

I suppose, it’s a big thing that has happened in my lifetime. I remember my father talking about when the old King died (George V to you) and we do have a relationship with the neighbouring island with their big events, willy nilly, being a bit ours too. I well remember when Charles and Diana got married we went over to my mother’s friend’s house and watched it on TV. And, I might add, my mother’s friends were an Irish speaking family. Am I protesting too much? I guess, as they say, relationship status: it’s complicated.

When I got home, my brother was packing up to leave having stayed for a few days. Michael said wickedly, “We should tell Uncle Dan where you were.” I would suffer unmerciful slagging, if my brother heard about this, so I managed to persuade Michael not to tell (what will be the end of this?). “But it is here, on the internet,” you protest. To my lasting chagrin, my brother does not read my blog. “I must,” he says weakly, but he never does. Bitter? Moi?

And how was your own coronation experience, if you partook? Did anyone make the quiche? And how about Penny Mordaunt’s scene stealing sword gig?

*The title comes from this poem by WB Yeats and is general shorthand for doing something which is perhaps not totally worthy of the Republic. Has wide application.

The relevant stanza is:

Was it for this the wild geese spread/The grey wing upon every tide;/For this that all that blood was shed,/For this Edward Fitzgerald died,/And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,/All that delirium of the brave?/Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,/It’s with O’Leary in the grave.