unexpected activity in his office. Thanks to the delightful Nicholas for the link.
on 02 December 2005 at 18:51
on 04 December 2005 at 10:28
on 04 December 2005 at 19:06
on 05 December 2005 at 06:57
on 05 December 2005 at 10:27
I took the Princess to the supermarket. I bought a Kinder
Surprise thingy containing Chicken Little to encourage good
behaviour (if you don’t know who he is, just be glad). Not only did this not work, it ensured that I spent
much time lying down in the supermarket aisles trying to rescue the
wretched chicken from under shelves where he was regularly flung by her
majesty in moments of petulance. And she had to take off her
boots. And NOTHING was going right and, by gum, everyone in the
supermarket had to know it.
We bought our Christmas tree in the supermarket car park. The
romance, the glamour. The Princess was mildly
mollified. As I held her hand and tried to stuff the tree into
the car a man came along and asked whether I could spare him any
change. Then it started to rain. We went home.
The Princess was very keen to decorate the tree. So keen that she
lay on the floor weeping until we allowed her to attach baubles.
And then they wouldn’t go on properly. More weeping.
Meanwhile her father was following her around with spoonfuls of fish
which she had refused to eat earlier. This was not the happy tree
decorating environment I had been hoping for. And now all our
ornaments smell of fish.
Her father bundled her off for her nap while I considered lying on the
floor and weeping. She howled hysterically for 20 minutes.
In between sobs she screamed “I want to decorate the tree”. Just
under an hour later when she woke up, still cranky, her first words
were “I want to decorate the tree”. So we let her decorate the
Then we went into the kitchen where she threw herself on the floor and
wept (this is getting repetitive for you??). “What’s wrong
sweetheart?” I asked.
Her: I (hysterical sob) wanted to put the (hysterical sob) soap in the dishwasher.
Me: But, darling, it’s too late the dishwasher is already running, you can do it next time.
Her: Waah, waah (throws herself on floor).
Then she went over to Daniel and casually grabbed him by the ankle.
Me: What are you doing, my angel?
and this was the only insouciance of the day):
I’m hurting Daniel.
Me (appalled): Stop it!
Her (indignantly): But I want to hurt him!
Mr. Waffle comes in to find her crying inconsolably on the floor.
Him (in a vain effort to console, you will recall that she was inconsolable): What’s wrong my little flea?*
Her (in tones of outrage between sobs) I wanted to hurt Daniel and Mummy say “No!”
To try to improve everyone’s mood and the boys’ safety, I took her
out. We went to the Grand Place and arrived simultaneously with
Saint Nicolas, two donkeys, a brass band, 4 giants and a number of
people on stilts all of whom were giving out sweets. We got our
first smile of the day. Then we went for ice cream and the nice
waiter gave her chocolate. All was going swimmingly. On the
way home we looked at the Christmas lights in the Sablon and I said
“Instead of taking the tunnel let’s go down the Avenue Louise and look
at the lights there”. With a return to earlier form, she said
huffily that she didn’t want to and I fail to see why I couldn’t have
let well enough alone and taken the tunnel and zoomed home. As we
inched down Avenue Louise at funereal speed, Madam announced “I want to
do a wee”. “Can you wait, sweetheart?”. “No, I do a wee in
my car seat”. And the lights were rubbish too.
*Direct translation from the French; they have odd terms of endearment.
on 04 December 2005 at 17:55
on 04 December 2005 at 19:09
on 04 December 2005 at 19:13
on 04 December 2005 at 19:43
on 04 December 2005 at 21:05
on 04 December 2005 at 22:16
on 04 December 2005 at 23:29
on 05 December 2005 at 01:33
The screams, the screams i heard the other night when i had the temerity to flush the toilet after the Wee One had finished using it, rather than allow her to do it herself.
‘But I DO IT, MOMMY! I DO IT!’ This also applies to pressing the button to open/close the garage, get clothing out of the drawer, hmmm. Pretty much anything, come to think of it. I wish you strength.
on 05 December 2005 at 10:33
Pog, nah, we’re just guilt ridden modern parents “she’s having a tantrum, it must be our fault..”
Negrito, I know and lovely pictures too!
GPM, well yes, I was reassured by your recent blog on your friend’s child,indicating that she was a demon at 2 and an angel at 3. Hope springs eternal etc.
Minks, so were the other shoppers.
FT, that seems wise and thank you for respecting our whacky European spelling.
GOTG, you are most kind but not as kind as the fab Heather who gave me 2 sweeties. Ta HJB.
on 09 December 2005 at 22:42
on 11 December 2005 at 13:49
on 12 December 2005 at 14:18
on 14 December 2005 at 09:10
The other morning I found that Mr. Waffle had drawn a map of the supermarket and indicated
on it where all the items we needed were to be found.Â I scoffed. I chucked it out.
Then on Saturday morning as I traipsed around the supermarket with Little Ms. Cranky and found that I had forgotten to get garlic in the vegetable section and wipes in the baby bit, I began to wish that I had the supermarket map. What on earth is this happening to me?
Waffle was 7, his parents moved to Venezuela for six months. I was looking at the pictures from Venezuela with him and his mother one day and
there was one of him in a rather twee t-shirt featuring a little boy and girl
fishing together. Â“Oh yesÂ” he said
bitterly Â“my Â‘gone wishingÂ’ t-shirtÂ”. On closer inspection, the words Â“gone wishingÂ”
did indeed feature in faded letters over the picture on the t-shirt. It appeared that because they were only in Venezuela for 6 months, his mother had not
considered it necessary to get all the kit required by the school and instead
of the regulation gym t-shirt, she had issued Mr. Waffle with the Â“gone
wishingÂ” number. This had obviously
scarred his sensitive soul.
this incident in mind when considering the following piece of dialogue.
Me: It says on her school list that we
have to get her a Â“tablierÂ”, what the hell is that?
of a smock thing, but we can just cut down one of my old shirts.
Me: But it gives the name of the shop where we
can buy themÂ…
Him: But thereÂ’s no need, one of my old shirts
will be fine.
Me: But she
wonÂ’t have a smock like the other children.
for heavenÂ’s sake, it doesnÂ’t matter, itÂ’s only to keep her clothes clean when
You will be delighted to hear that, in defiance of my husband, I went to the authorised supplier and
purchased a tablier, pictured below.
Seriously, would a cut down shirt have done? Please note
the pencils and paintbrushes embroidered above the pocket before giving
on 05 December 2005 at 11:00
on 05 December 2005 at 15:33
on 05 December 2005 at 15:42
on 05 December 2005 at 21:36
on 06 December 2005 at 15:21
UC, you have a very cruel streak and you too Kristin.
Ta, FT, LondonM.
on 06 December 2005 at 20:20
on 07 December 2005 at 09:28
on 07 December 2005 at 12:25
on 08 December 2005 at 15:08
on 08 December 2005 at 21:57
I remember the shame all too well
on 09 December 2005 at 08:16
This came from my father-in-law: “Trust all well: [logistics for getting from Dublin airport to the in-laws’ house at Christmas] have gotten a bit complicated as, on the day, Granny is working and brother/sister-in-law are at a christening, of all things. Granny and I have come up with the following. I go to airport with the Opel, with room for all luggage, Parent A and 3 kiddies securely strapped in rear, In the meanwhile whilst car is heading back to Monkstown, Parent B (sans luggage) takes the Aircoach to a south-side destination (say the Raddisson) where said Parent B will be picked up by me after depositing Parent A and threesome in Monkstown. If this seems workable, all you need to do is decide on who A and B are.”
At present, we are trying to persuade my poor father-in-law that it might be appropriate for us to get a cab.
on 06 December 2005 at 15:40From the sound of it, one cab each would be the best bet. 0
on 06 December 2005 at 16:16Charter a coach. It will impress the hell out of the neighbors.
on 06 December 2005 at 16:32I hate to ask, but are car seats a concern? Good Lord, three car seats. I can barely manage Lucy’s, let alone those for two infants and a princess.
on 07 December 2005 at 09:28Oh yes, Kristin, car seats are a serious concern. I’d rather not discuss,it’s just too complex.
FT, good thought.
WP, or maybe 3?
HJB, quite. 0
on 07 December 2005 at 15:39or grandparents can take all 3 children and parents A and B go off gallavanting!!
on 08 December 2005 at 15:09Hmm, is that a bit overoptimistic?
Michael will only sleep in a parentÂ’’s arms, preferably mine.Â Ideally he likes to sleep with his little gums clenched to my breast.Â I feel like an enormous soother.Â Last night he wailed until brought into bed with us.Â Mr. Waffle had earlier been complaining that the bed was clammy (I refuse to change the sheets more than once a week. Who am I? Jackie Kennedy?*Â Did baby vomit ever hurt anyone?) “Â“Obviously, Michael doesn’Â’t find it clammy,” Â” I said. “Â“HeÂ’’s no judge,”Â” retorted my loving spouse, “Â“10 weeks ago he was floating around in amniotic fluidÂ”.”
Daniel loves the mobile that hangs over the cot and whenever it is turned on he laughs with delight.Â He tends to wake up once or twice a night, eat and go back to sleep.Â One night when I
went to rescue a wailing Michael from the cot (What am I doing here? Take me to the clammy bed this instant! WhereÂ’s my enormous dummy?), I noticed that Daniel was wide awake as well
and instead of wailing he was smiling benignly up at the cot mobile.Â Clearly, he’Â’s an easy to please middle child.
* My mother says that she had her sheets changed twice a day.Â Well, wouldn’t you, if you were married to JFK?
on 07 December 2005 at 10:28
Waffly you never cease to amaze. If your hubby thinks you are the inimitable Jackie-O it’s time to ask for a bigger dress / spa / sunglasses allowance x
on 07 December 2005 at 19:17
twice a day????
on 08 December 2005 at 02:25
i heard that was when she was with Ari. Which, really, just echoes your point, Waffley, about wouldn’t you want to change the sheets if you were married to jfk — well, all the more so if you’re married to an extremely small, extremely wrinkly greek shipping magnate.
on 08 December 2005 at 14:40
I don’t know what you are talking about, my sheets are pristine. The duvet, however, is covered in vomit. I wonder what Jackie O’s policy on duvets was?
on 08 December 2005 at 15:11
Beth, I am wild with envy. Cannot say what the policy on duvets was..
Kristin, can’t help feeling that JFK was more likely to have been romping about in the marital bed with third parties, whatcha reckon?
GOTG, see previous.
Bobble, you are so kind, I think this is an outstanding suggestion.
Teverde, SECOND chicken little? You deserve danger money.
on 08 December 2005 at 21:58
Now on THIS one I’m with Mr W.
on 09 December 2005 at 08:15
Hmm, what’s everybody’s problem with clammy?