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Archives for November 2007

Why, why, why?

7 November, 2007
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Twins

Yesterday, I went out to dinner at a friend’s house. My father often remarks that my mother has no appreciation that time is finite – I am like her.

17.30 Run out of my office to go to my husband’s office to drive together to the creche to pick up the boys (please add driving rain to get a full picture).

18.00 Arrive at the creche, pick up the boys who are cranky.

18.10 Install boys in the car. Put on “Il etait un petit navire” on the stereo at Daniel’s request.

18.15 Pick up the Princess from the childminder. At the childminder’s request, agree to drop home a little friend who has been there for the afternoon and lives near us.

18.30 Realise that I have promised to bring birthday cake tonight. Why did I do this? Any of the other attendees would have had more time. Why am I always trying to do the impossible? Brilliant husband spots an open patisserie and I zoom through the rain to snap up their two last cakes.

18.45 Drop off little friend. All three of our children begin to wail, calling her name and demanding her return.

18.50 Emerge from car in garage.

18.55 Get to lift with children and gear. Daniel becomes hysterical because he wants to push the button in the lift. Lift him up to do so. His sister becomes hysterical because she wants to do it. Put him down. He pushes her, she bites him.

19.00 Emerge from the lift into the flat. The severely reprimanded Princess retires to the “coin colere” in floods of tears but not before attempting to whack me. Daniel shows everyone his sore finger. Michael begins to demand orange juice. Mr. Waffle goes into the kitchen to cook dinner.

19.05 I comfort the hysterical Princess who is gasping between sobs “HE started it”, Daniel goes off to play peacefully on his own, grateful, doubtless, that the bite marks don’t appear to have broken the skin. Michael comes back with orange juice.

19.10 Michael is keen to avenge the wrong done to his brother and comes to lord it over his hysterical sister. “Mechante!” he says pointing an accusing finger. Then he pushes her. She pushes him back causing him to douse himself and Daniel in juice. Both begin crying hysterically. “HE started it” says the Princess, crying herself for good measure.

19.15 I wipe up the orange juice and change clothes. Daniel calms down and trots off to the kitchen to see how dinner is coming along, the other two continue to howl. I take them both on my lap and each makes spirited efforts to knock off the other while crying hysterically. Daniel comes back with some smoked salmon and solemnly hands each of them a piece. They both stop crying and start eating. I give Daniel a round of applause.

19.20 Dinner is served. It is largely tossed on the floor. I give both boys fruit puree which they let fall on their bibs on the way to their mouths. They angrily demand it be wiped up before they take any more. Daniel is particularly concerned that the large gobs he lets fall between each mouthful be speedily cleaned.

19.30 The bath! Michael comes in first saying “Pipi, pipi” and, when we have removed all his clothes, sits down on the potty which we have just installed in the bathroom in delight. He does not wee in it. After some time, Daniel arrives in and says “Pipi, pipi”. I remove Michael from the pot and put him in the bath where he stands, red in the face, bawling and gasping “Pipi, pipi”. Daniel lowers himself on to the pot with a contented smile. Michael tries to climb out of the bath and fails. The Princess is unwilling to undress and I have to pull off her clothes and put them into the laundry basket.

19.30 Michael finally sits down in the bath and wees in it. We put Daniel in with him (we have NO standards). The Princess gets into the shower. It is too hot and then too cold and we fiddle with the sensitive dial while she abuses us for our ineptitude.

19.35 Michael stands up in the bath and starts saying “Pipi, pipi”, I take him out and wash his teeth despite considerable opposition. I take him to his room while he moans “Pipi, pipi”. While putting on Michael’s pyjamas, I hear a crash from the bathroom and a wail. There was a time I might have run straight away but I am older and wiser now and I put Michael safely into his cot before running to investigate thereby denying him his chance to explore further the charms of the potty.

19.40 The Princess is howling, her father is grim faced and Daniel is gurgling happily and washing his teeth. She slipped in the shower. “Daddy was cross (waaah) with me, even though I slipped (waaaaah) and he said a bad word”. Her father points out, through clenched teeth that, if she would stop dancing in the shower this would never have happened.

19.45 The Princess is wrapped in a towel, Daniel is put to bed. Lights out for the boys.

19.50 The Princess is put into her pyjamas and comes to sit on the couch to discuss today’s smiley face. “I don’t want a smiley face”. Just as well.

19.55 Mr. Waffle puts the Princess to bed, I run to the computer to put up a post for NaBloPoMo. While it is cranking up, I clear the table and sweep the floor (yes, I have a PC, why do you ask?)

20.05 I write my post interrupted only by a trip to the boys’ room to hand a bottle to Daniel.

20.15 Mr. Waffle emerges from the Princess’s room, I go to make myself beautiful. I ruefully contemplate my filthy top and decide (after dabbing at it with a facecloth) that I will have to change it before I go out. Spend some time considering options.

20.25 I emerge and kiss goodbye to my poor husband who is doing dishes. “I’ll put out the bins later” he says sadly while I rummage in the cupboard looking for birthday candles.

20.30 I scoot along to my friend’s house which is mercifully close rehearsing my excuses for my late arrival.

20.35 I arrive. I am first.

NaBloPoMo – Welcome to G

But first, I forgot Joshua Ferris under F. “Then we came to the end” was a great first novel. It was funny and (I would love to say zeitgeisty here but I am worried that my father would hear of it and disinherit me) very contemporary evoking the rhythms of modern office life in a hyper real way (goodness, that could go straight into the LRB, I am so proud).

I also forgot John Connolly. I bought “The Book of Lost Things” as a present for my husband thinking that it was about a boy’s youthful reading experience. He didn’t like it. I picked it up and discovered it was a fantasy story – not Mr. Waffle’s cup of tea – about the interpretation of fairy tales (it reminded me a bit of Angela Carter and also “Pan’s Labyrinth”). I really loved it and I will be getting to the rest of Mr. Connolly’s work on the strength of it.

Sorry, let me reiterate – welcome to G.

G is for Gaskell. Mrs. Gaskell, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways – for you are Victorian and believe in long books, for your plots are interesting and your characters engaging, for “Cranford”, in particular. I think I almost forgive you for not finishing “North and South”.

G is for Graham Greene. There are a lot of converts to catholicism among the authors I favour. I read Graham Greene in my late teens and early 20s because my parents had a lot of them about the house. “Brighton Rock” is genuinely creepy and though I know that Graham Greene is regarded as a bit passé, I think that one really stands the test of time. I also have a weakness for “Travels with my Aunt”, so sue me.

G is also for Greer. I have never read “The Female Eunuch” but I will, really. In the interim, I enjoyed “Daddy, we hardly knew you” but no one else did, as far as I can see.

Stephen Jay Gould is an entertaining and accessible science writer and is responsible for almost everything I know about science. I rate his efforts as superior to the not inconsiderable labours of my teachers, parents and siblings. “Eight Little Piggies” is probably my favourite – it’s clever.

Last but not least is Stella Gibbons. I have only read “Cold Comfort Farm” but how I have read it. This book is anything but cold comfort, I have read it when I was sick, when I was sad, when I was desperate, when I was bored, when I was restless. I love it and it still makes me laugh. In fact, I think I might just pick it up now and head off to bed with it.

Can I say how much I appreciate your suggestions? I’m hoping to have a reading list at the end of this, you know.

Pumpkin terror

8 November, 2007
Posted in: Reading etc., Youngest Child

For a child who is physically daring, Michael is a scaredy cat. He was terrified of our pumpkin for Halloween and it could only be deployed for about half an hour before we had to abandon the effort in the face of his terror*. He still points to the windowsill and says “Pumpkin, scared” even though it has now been taken away and incinerated by the bin men. It also extends to a fear of pumpkins on the street or the supermarket. He is scared of the wolf music for “Peter and the Wolf”. He is scared of me, if I pretend to tickle him. He quite likes being tickled, it’s when I wave my fingers about in the air that he gets nervous and has to bury his head in my shoulder and tremble.

NaBloPoMo – H is for Heyer, Hustvedt and Hornby.

H is a fruitful letter. Georgette Heyer is my favourite author. I am not exactly proud of this but I am proud to be at an age where I can admit it. I read my first Georgette Heyer on a camping holiday with my family when I was 12 or 13. My mother remembers me pumping up air mattresses with my nose deep in a book. I remember sneaking round to the back of the tent to be left in peace to finish off “The Reluctant Widow”. I can still remember my surprise and shock when the heroine married the hero. “But she hated him” I thought to myself. I had much to learn in the ways of romantic fiction.

I only like Georgette Heyer’s regency romances, not her historical novels or her detective fiction. I have read these books so many times that the plots are horribly familiar, alas. But still, I suspect I shall read them many, many more times, at least there are about 20 of them so I can alternate my pleasures. If you care, my favourite is “Cotillion”.

Siri Hustvedt is probably my next favourite author in an entirely different way. Whereas Georgette Heyer is a comfortable old pair of slippers, Siri Hustvedt is a slinky black dress. Her books are really, really interesting. I come away from them bubbling with excitement, full of new and interesting ways of thinking about things and desperate to talk about them. She writes beautifully. I took “What I Loved” to hospital with me when the Princess was born. I can’t imagine ever finding a Siri Hustvedt book disappointing.

Nick Hornby completes the H trio. I like Nick Hornby’s books. They’re entertaining and readable. I would always buy a new Nick Hornby but I probably wouldn’t be rushing to reread the old ones.

Any H suggestions? Tomorrow we will have, wait for it, i.

*On reading this post, my husband said that he thought only George Bush was allowed to use the word “terror” that often in one phrase.

Happy Birthday

9 November, 2007
Posted in: Reading etc., Siblings

Today is my little sister’s birthday.

I am seven years older than her. Despite this, we are great friends. She is mature and wise for her years, I am not. When my parents used to go away and leave us to look after ourselves (sometimes for whole days at a time), they used to leave her the money to mind and dole out as appropriate.

She hasn’t lived in Ireland since she was 22 (10 years ago, since you ask) and for a lot of that time, I’ve lived abroad as well. She has lived in England, Germany, China, India and the US. I have lived in Ireland and Belgium. She’s a bit of an overachiever my sister. So we haven’t seen much of each other though she has made Trojan efforts to visit us, even travelling from India for long weekends (if the words carbon footprint escape your lips, may you spontaneously combust). And we are always on the phone.

On Monday, my sister moved home to Ireland. I am so glad that she is back that I am surprised. I had no idea that I was so sorry she was away.

I hope that she has the happiest of happy birthdays and wish to extend a fond welcome home to the returning yank.

NaBloPoMo – I is for Ishiguro and also for Irving

Yesterday, I forgot George Hagen. H is such a marvellous letter. I was a bit disappointed with “Tom Bedlam” but I really enjoyed “The Laments” which was a bit like John Irving only better. Which brings me on to John Irving. I read “The World According to Garp” in my early 20s and moved on speedily to everything else I could lay my hands on but by the time I got to “The Hotel New Hampshire” I was tired of it all and washed my hands of him. Not entirely sure that I am keen to go back in the bear filled waters, particularly when I see that his latest offering, “Until I find you” got dreadful reviews.

I have read “The Remains of the Day” a couple of times, it is cringe making and sad but very real in an odd kind of way. Ishiguro’s “Never Let Me Go” is completely unreal but in a spooky mysterious, science fiction kind of way and I absolutely loved it. I am willing to try others on the strength of it. I should say that I have a weakness for science fiction having spent my youth reading the box of it my mother had brought to her marriage and kept in the attic for her own obscure reasons. I think I read “Childhood’s End” by Arthur C. Clarke a dozen times, lots of Asimov, Poul Anderson and so on;I was bred to appreciate science fiction, it’s possible that you were not. Just a friendly warning on the Ishiguro offering.

Any suggestions?

Glasses

10 November, 2007
Posted in: Middle Child, Reading etc.

Daniel got his glasses today. The poor little mite is +5 and he must have been blind as a bat. I’ve looked through the lenses and it’s pretty blurry. He finds patterns alarming with his glasses and, if there is a change of pattern underfoot, he is reluctant to walk on it. This is unfortunate given that Brussels is heavy on cobblestones.

He has been very, very good about wearing them all day long and not taking them off. I am not sure whether this is because he is a good child or because he likes being able to see. Tonight when we took them off, his ears were all pink. Does anyone know, is this normal? It didn’t seem to bother him. But again, he may feel that it is the price he pays to see.

NaBloPoMo – J is not a good letter.

J is for Henry James whom I am never going to read because I gather he is all about inner agonising and “The Line of Beauty” by Alan Hollinghurst is Jamesian. And, with all due respect to C (who recommends) and the Booker jury, I found it tortuous. Go on, convince me on Henry James.J is also for Joyce; “Dubliners” is fine but everything else is too hard. J is also for Erica Jong who, I would submit, has not aged gracefully. In fact, the only J which inspires even mild enthusiasm is Jerome K. Jerome and I wouldn’t exactly put “Three Men in a Boat” in my top ten. Slim pickings, people. Any suggestions?

Reformed Character

11 November, 2007
Posted in: Family, Reading etc.

A quiet Sunday, here on the ranch. We went to the revamped Dinosaur Hall in the natural history museum this morning and the children were fascinated by a 3D dinosaur in a cage effect. They were also terrified, particularly when it banged its head on the glass and cracked it (immediately restored by the wonders of technology). Jurassic Park, how are you?

This afternoon we walked, very, very slowly to the park and when we got there it started to pour down; a particularly icy shower too.

This is what happens to your blog when you write every day.

In other news, we recorded, for posterity, the Princess singing a song my brother taught her.

Finally, thank you all very much for the glasses advice. Most helpful.

NaBloPoMo – K is for Keyes, Keillor, Kellaway, Kingsolver and Klein

I like Marian Keyes. Irish romantic fiction (no sniggering at the back, please). I have bought all of her books. They are readable and funny. Unfortunately, she suffers from the same problem as Maeve Binchy, her 20 year olds are not 20 they are the same age as she is. That was less of a problem when she was in her 30s but she’s well into her 40s now and her younger characters aren’t cutting the mustard for me (am I or am I not the queen of cliche?). I think she should bite the bullet and have her main characters all be in their 40s. To hell with the 20 somethings. If you want to give her a go, I recommend “Watermelon” as your best bet. It may interest you to know that my husband’s family lived second next door to the Keyeses when he was growing up (fame!) and he says that the kitchen described in “Watermelon” as “the kitchen that time forgot” is very familiar to him.

It was Garrison Keillor who first alerted me to the fact that a whole swathe of North America is actually Scandinavian. I love the gentle humour of his books and their timeless quality. I suppose they might be a bit annoying, if you are actually from the prairie.

Lucy Kellaway writes the “Martin Lukes” column in the Financial Times and for, at least, the last seven years, my loving husband and I have dutifully shared his highs and lows. Of course we bought the book when it came out. It’s hard for “Who Moved my BlackBerry?” to have the hilarious immediacy of the column, but it’s not bad. If you care, Martin has just been made chief exec of A-B Global and his new wife is expecting triplets. For a taste of marvellous Martin, try this.

I enjoyed “The Poisonwood Bible” very much as did Oprah’s book club. I also liked “The Bean Trees” but I am slightly reluctant to attempt Ms. Kingsolver’s latest offering which has been so positively reviewed. I mean, really, is it likely to endorse my choice of fishfingers as a foodstuff suitable for my children?

I wouldn’t say that I am a Naomi Klein fan but I did enjoy “No Logo” and it briefly made me stop in my consumerist tracks.

You won’t understand this

12 November, 2007
Posted in: Belgium, Reading etc.

At least, not unless you have lived in Belgium for a long time, ideally all your life.  But this is funny.  Also, I see that the long disputed Brussels Halle Vilvoorde (BHV to its friends) constituency rated a mention in the FT the other day.  And I have kept a supplement that came with Le Soir on the linguistic regime in Belgium.  I may put it up on my wall.  All this on the day that the French say they wouldn’t mind Wallonia being tacked on to France.  Sigh.  This is all beginning to take its toll.  As is NaBloPoMo.

Onwards.  L is for Lewis.

C.S. Lewis, of course, another convert.  I read “The Magician’s Nephew” when I was in second class (7/8).  I can still remember how hard it was to read and stumbling over the unfamiliar words.  I got it from the library at the back of the classroom and I sat at a sunny window and read and read.  I think it must have been by far the hardest thing I had ever read and I took long breaks to look at the picture on the cover and wish that there were perhaps a couple of more pictures accompanying the text.  I can also remember having real difficulty in imagining how “Digory” might be pronounced.  It is probably still my favourite Narnia book.  They are all wonderful although I find “The Last Battle” a bit depressing now.  I remember having a lengthy argument with my (11 months) older friend (now an Ambassador to Vietnam) about how “The Magician’s Nephew” was the first of the Narnia books, which it was.  Very annoyingly, using her 11 months of knowledge to the full, she was able to inform me, quite rightly, that “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” was written first and “The Magician’s Nephew” was thought up to explain it.   I still have, here on the bookshelf, the full set of the Narnia books that my father brought me home from London as a present in the 1970s and I still read them very regularly.  I hope that my children will love them too.

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