A very happy new year to you. We have been celebrating Christmas offline. Santa came. Everyone got lots of presents. We visited Mr. Waffle’s parents. We visited my parents. We went to our friends’ house in East Cork which has neither computers nor television. We snuck up to Dublin for a new year’s eve dinner leaving my parents and siblings to the mercy of our children. We have no news. I hope that your Christmas was equally delightful and uneventful. Tomorrow the Christmas tree comes down and normal life resumes on Monday.
Archives for January 2011
The Princess cycled without training wheels today. She got the hang of it surprisingly quickly but maybe that’s because she is a little older than children often are when they get behind the handlebars for the first time. For my money, a more exciting moment than when she first walked. Unfortunately, I can’t remember when she first walked so this may contribute to my reaching this conclusion.
Almost all of the tomes are improving. There are many worthy presents (I did not buy “Great Irish Lives” myself), a few bookclub books I still haven’t finished (“33 Moments of Happiness”, I have been looking at you since 1998) and things I found in the bargain basement in Hodges Figgis that I knew, even at the time of purchase, were going to prove challenging (“Ladysmith”, really, why?).
I aim to polish them all off. Except for “Map of the Nation” which is Mr. Waffle’s and I am not going to read it, I know my limitations. And Saki, Father Brown and Myles are what I read at night when I have nothing else on and they are going to stay there forever but everything else is fair game.
Daniel: I’m the best in the class at Irish dancing.
Me: Good for you.
Daniel (after some reflection): The best except for S.
Me: Well, you know, S’s mother is a dancer, so you would expect him to be good at dancing.
Daniel: Am I good at what you do Mummy?
Me: Well, um, you probably have latent middle manager skills.
The Princess was going through the wastepaper basket for her own obscure reasons this morning.
Her: Why did you throw this out?
Me: Because it’s last year’s telephone directory.
Her: But I want it.
Her: Look at this receipt. It’s for books; including the Percy Jackson book I got from Santa. Does this mean that Mummy and Daddy are really Santa?
Me: No, it means that we bought that book as a present for you but when we saw that Santa had bought it we gave it away to someone else.
It’s like living with bloody Sherlock Holmes.