belgianwaffle

Archives for March 2014

You Will Always Find Me in the Kitchen at Parties


Posted in: Boys, Cork, Family, Ireland, Michael

I had Michael in Cork for the weekend recently. One evening he, my father and I sat down to dinner together. My father is quite deaf. Michael was anxious to return to the iPad. But we were sitting at the dinner table. I was sitting in my mother’s place and perhaps something of her spirit infused me as I strained my (I like to think) not inconsiderable skills as a conversationalist to breaking point.

Me: Michael, ask Granddad what it was like at school when he was a little boy?
Michael (dutiful but indifferent): What was it like at school when you were a little boy, Granddad?
My father: What?
Me (loudly and in the face of Michael’s manifest indifference): He wants to know what it was like at school when you were a little boy.
My father (testily): I can’t remember, it was years ago.
Me (loudly): Michael, you like school, don’t you.
Michael (quietly): No.
My father: What’s that?
Me (loudly): Nothing.
[Several more minutes pass in vain attempts to promote conversation on my part – the other protagonists remain largely indifferent]
Me: Will we excuse Michael?
My father and Michael (in tones of considerable relief): Yes.

This Week’s Forced March


Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Family, Ireland

The children and I were in Cork this weekend. We went from Kinsale out to Summercove. We visited Charles Fort. This was greeted with reasonable levels of enthusiasm. The nice man at the entrance gave the children a cannon ball to lift and explained in some detail how to load and light a cannon which they enjoyed.

And then we went to the Bulman for lunch. All very satisfactory. Note soulful expression while herself waits for mussels.

The only fly in the ointment was the driving rain that accompanied our walk back to the car. We were passed by a couple of tourists who were readily identifiable by their all enveloping rain gear. Locals like ourselves looked damp and unprepared. [What? Rain? Here? In Cork? Who would ever bring an umbrella on a walk?]

Today was the day the clocks went forward. I wish I had realised this earlier. This morning at 10.15, the Princess and I went to visit my mother in the hospital. I breezily assured my father that we would be back for 11.40 to accompany him and the boys to mass. He looked dubious, as well he might, I realised, in retrospect, as it was 11.15 when I left. No one in my family went to mass today and it was all my fault. Alas.

I was going to bring my mother’s sewing table back to Dublin with me but lost my nerve at the prospect of bringing it and children and luggage. I had a quick look through the contents which included my brother’s report for second year in school, lots of thread, a 70s large capital letter still in its packet that had clearly been destined to be appliquéd to something and this school photo of me when I was about the same age as herself. I am always struck by how alike we look though I think I look considerably less sophisticated than she does.

Michael made me a card for Mother’s Day, herself gave me a paper rose (complex to make, I understand) and Daniel wrote me a poem which he sang aloud despite his embarrassment. Herself said bitterly, “The poem won.” Mr. Waffle said to her, “It’s not a competition; I know you and your mother think everything is a competition but it’s not.” Did you know that Mr. Waffle was brought up by hippies?

Here is the poem*:

I think you are nice even it you have head lice,**
I think you are kind, there’s not a nicer mother I can find,
I think you are calm, I won’t find a calmer person in my whole life span,
I think you’re swell, every time I hear your name it rings a bell,
I think you’re funnier than a magic racing bunny,
I think you’re superb, you’re better than Phinneas and Ferb.
That’s my song done, I hope you have fun.
Goodbye.

*Slightly idiosyncratic spelling and grammar amended.
** Not as far as I am aware but I am feeling slightly paranoid after our recent encounter with lice.

The poem was lovely but so were the rose and the card and the flowers and chocolates Mr. Waffle bought. It turns out that not everything is a competition. I hope that you had a lovely mother’s day.

Confirmation


Posted in: Ireland, Princess

The Princess is in a mixed 5th/6th class and, as a consequence is experiencing confirmation preparation a year early [she’ll get to do it again next year when she actually makes her confirmation which does not fill me with delight, but, small school: advantages and disadvantages]. For confirmation, children get to pick a confirmation name and this is all very exciting.

Me: What kind of names are the children in your class picking?
Her: Well, D, has chosen Razor.
Me: Razor as in razor blade?
Her: Yes.
Me: What did the teacher say?
Her: There is no St. Razor.

They are also doing lots of religion. Herself said to me that the she, the two atheist children and the Protestant child have been told that they are to stop answering questions put to the class. I was very indignant until she explained that they had been answering all the questions and the teacher wanted to give other children a chance. To no avail according to herself as, confirmation class or no, none of them seem to know anything about the Bible or catechism or indeed religion. Catholics, we’re not great on knowing the details of our religion; we’re more broad brush people.

When the teacher put the 10 commandments on the board and asked whether anyone knew them. No one, except for the foursome, did. Is this not a little surprising? The teacher explained them to the class [more necessary in an Irish medium school, I suppose]. “How did she get on with adultery?” I asked. “She stopped before she got there and said we’d come back to it tomorrow, but, I don’t think she will,” she said sagely. I suppose, if they can cover even 5 of the 10 commandments it will be a triumph given the low base from which they started. And to think that for my confirmation [or, possibly, even my communion – it’s all a bit of a blur now] I knew a little yellow catechism off by heart [Did anyone else have this catechism?]. We were told that if we didn’t we wouldn’t be allowed to make our confirmations. I now suspect that was a lie. We were told that the previous year a child had failed to answer the question “Who is God?*” correctly [as in word for word from the catechism] when the parish priest visited and she had not been allowed to make her confirmation. This [false, I now realise] tale was much discussed and focussed our minds on accurate memorisation.

*God is our father in heaven, the most wonderful person ever.

The Classics Summarised


Posted in: Boys, Michael, Princess, Reading etc.

We’re having a “Pride and Prejudice” moment here. You may recall that we went to see a play before Christmas and herself has read the novel. We saw the film with Keira Knightly. Mr. Waffle brought home the BBC series from the library and the Princess and I watched it together.

During that last, rather lengthy, process over several evenings, Michael annoyed us both by looking up briefly from playing on my phone [or “our phone” as he calls it] and saying, “So, Pride and Prejudice is basically about a bunch of girls who get married?”

Looking a Gift Piano in the Mouth


Posted in: Family

When we moved to our new house last year, my aunt in Cork very kindly asked whether we would like her old upright piano. I hummed and hawed. Then my brother-in-law generously asked whether we would like his spare piano, currently in storage. Conveniently, the piano was in tune and in Dublin. I said definitely maybe. Then my mother asked me whether we would like my Nana’s old piano currently with my aunt and uncle in Limerick. I kicked to touch.

I kept my options open by not doing anything for the best part of a year. My aunt rang me recently to say that my uncle was coming home from hospital and that they were going to move his bed to Nana’s sitting room and the piano had to go. She confirmed that none of her 6 children (some of whom to my knowledge actually learnt to play the piano) wanted it. I talked to my sister. She suspected that Nana’s piano was probably a good one. I sent in a man to assess it (based on my, admittedly partial, research, piano tuners in Munster seem to be German or American men). I reassured Mr. Waffle that if it turned out to be not particularly good or very expensive to repair we would go with the perfectly good piano (in Dublin) which his brother was offering us.

The man called me. “It’s a really lovely old piano,” he said. “You could pay up to €10,000 for a new piano like this.” That was a really good line because it persuaded me to part with €100 to “weatherise” it so that it will be safe in my aunt’s shed while I make up my mind whether I want to spend €850 on repairing and another €200 at least on transporting it to Dublin. I have six months. But I think I am committed; my Nana’s piano, after all, and I loved my Nana. It’s the piano my mother learnt to play on; mind you, she absolutely hated learning the piano, but still.

Incidentally, I have discovered that I am not the only person to experience the whole, you have a new house, would you like a piano phenomenon. It seems that almost everyone my age had piano lessons growing up but very few children now seem to be interested and there are far more pianos than pianists about.

Anyhow, did I mention that no one in this house can actually play the piano? If we go ahead, all of the children will have to have lessons.