belgianwaffle

Belgium

To summarise


Posted in: Belgium, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Daniel has been vomitting on and off all week.  On our worst night we got to change his bedclothes three times.  We went into town yesterday (we are your worst nightmare, a double buggy, two parents and a three year old and, yeah, we probably could have gone in during the week) and took ourselves to the Metropole to revive our flagging spirits – I recommend it, it has the cleanest toilets in Brussels.  So, as we sat in splendour here it was inevitable, really, that Daniel would throw up all over the rug.  With admirable calm, we stripped him down to his nappy (which he then insisted on removing but it was hastily restored) reclad him, apologised to the waiter and took ourselves and our kit to the adjoining table.  On the good news front for Daniel, he has started to walk, though, understandably, not very steadily or very fast.  This is unfortunate for him.  Michael has gathered that there is praise to be had for walking so he either out runs Daniel into waiting parental arms or, as Daniel is balancing delicately having just stood up with great effort, Michael barges past him and knocks him over.  It is not easy being a twin.

Daniel and the Princess are cautious children.  I know that this is unusual and I am grateful.  Michael is not cautious, I suppose that this is normal.  It is scaring the bejaysus out of me.  Yesterday I found him trying to surf on the coffee table.  Earlier in the day I heard a tap tap noise and I sent the Princess to investigate “it’s just Michael standing on the chair and rocking back and forth”.  When I sit him on the counter in the kitchen, he is dangling off it by his fingertips in moments.  His sister has sat on that countertop for over three years and when she wants to get down, she still asks me to lift her.   I let him sit at the computer keyboard. He used this opportunity to climb up on the desk and on to the bookshelves.  I’m a shadow of my former self.  On Friday he went to the creche on his own because Daniel was vomitting.  Mr. Waffle stayed home with Daniel and I took Michael in.  He was a bit clingy at first but was lured away from me by a pink buggy and when I went he had barely a backward glance for me as he wheeled his treasure round the premises.  When I collected him he had spent 7 hours in the creche, the longest period he and Daniel have ever spent apart.  I asked how it had gone.  Absolutely fine except when he woke up from his nap and looked around for Daniel.  I have to say, Michael was pleased to see me, but then he always is, in the gratifying manner of young children.  He ran around the room picking up little things for me and handing them over saying solemly “ank u” a noise I believe to be thank you.  Daniel, safely at home with his father, didn’t seem to have noticed Michael’s absence at all.  Perhaps he was doing some work on his walking.

They’re both starting to talk more.  I encourage them to kiss each other and when they do we all clap hands and say “Bravo”.  The other day, I was distracted and Daniel kissed Michael and I failed to react.  “BWABO!” said Daniel indignantly clapping his hands.  He can still say “that” and “the bath”.  They can both say “Hi” as well as “Mama”, “Papa” and “bye”.  It’s maybe not enough to get by in a foreign country but they’re getting there.

An old friend of mine came to visit at the weekend.  He came with a friend of his whom I know slightly.  His friend asked whether I was working with 3 small children.  “Yes” I said proudly. “So am I” added Mr. Waffle indignantly.  I think we have a mountain to climb on this feminism thing.  My friend is gay and so is his friend though they are not partners.  I don’t know why but the Princess was inspired to investigate the whole issue of gay marriage during their visit.

Her: Mummy, can men get married?

Me: Yes.

Her: To each other?

Me: Yes, certainly in Belgium.

Her: Are T and N married.

Me: Um, no, I don’t think so.

T and N: NO!

T (kindly): And if we were, you would certainly have made the cut for the wedding.

The Princess would like to be a flower girl.

She also wants to know who made God.  Any tips?

The final insult


Posted in: Belgium

I drove into work this morning because it was so cold. On the way in, trying to change lanes (on the little ring, if you know Brussels), I had my wing mirror clipped by a speeding large car. I glared at him balefully and adjusted my mirror which was undamaged. At the next junction an elderly and oddly dressed gentleman came up to my window and tapped on it crossly. “You damaged my car” he said. We pulled in and had a look. Alas, his wing mirror had a small dent. It is so typical of me that as we sat in my car, I decided that, really, it was all my fault. This, despite the fact that he was wreathed in alcohol fumes. He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t entirely sober either. He was retired. And despite his large car, which he confided was a hire car, he looked very poor and was wearing a strange assortment of tracksuit bottoms and tops. We filled in the accident form. This being Belgium, we ended up filling in the form in Dutch which neither of us understood very well because he had no copy in French and I only had an English copy. I dutifully marked that I had been trying to pull into his lane but refrained from remarking that he smelt of drink and had been driving very fast. Partly, it was my wishy-washiness but partly it was because I felt we could probably bear the cost of repair considerably better than he could. Anyway, we parted relatively amicably. However, after he had left the car, I noticed that there was a big damp patch on the passenger seat where he had been sitting. I suppose that we’ll all be old, drunk and incontinent some day.

Reasons to love Belgium


Posted in: Belgium, Reading etc.

Firstly, there is this picture. Then the other day in the Princess’s school I saw a poster encouraging us all to go to something arty which was supported by the “Ministère des classes moyennes”; disappointingly when I found the Ministry site, it is translated into English as self-employed which is not the same thing at all. Finally, do you know that all children who go to school in Belgium whether rich or poor are entitled to a “classe de neige” which is a week of school on the ski slopes? Subsidised by the State, as appropriate. What a fantastic thing for taxes to go on – let’s hear it for the Belgians please.

NaBlPoMo – Still with the mothers and as Paul McCartney said in one of his less successful numbers, “what’s wrong with that, I’d like to know”

Alana

Did you know that teenage boys can sound like their mothers? Just warning you, as is Alana. And I have just discovered that she is a poet too. Yes, I know, that sounds like bad news, but it’s not. Truly.

Dooce

You think I covered this earlier, but no, this is Dooce for alphamom. Funnily enough, they seem to have barred her from talking about motherhood, it’s about music, tv, concerts. For my money, not as good as dooce.com where her daughter, Leta, gets a lot of airtime but perhaps of more interest for those among you not blessed with progeny.

Apparently, I do have standards


Posted in: Belgium

This morning, I was standing on the pavement waiting for the traffic lights to change and standing beside me was a man in a suit holding a well dressed, beautiful looking little girl who was about nine months old.  She had a runny nose.  Her father searched his person for tissue but to no avail (done that).  Then, he wiped her nose with his fingers (done that).  Then, he looked at his snotty fingers, shrugged his shouders and wiped them on her dress (done that).  But her nose kept running. He wiped it again with his fingers and then, absentmindedly, licked them clean (this is where I draw the line).


How did McDonald’s get a toehold in this country?


Posted in: Belgium

I had chips for lunch yesterday.  I went to the Maison Antoine.  It has been many years since I had the opportunity to check out what are, by common consent, the best chips in Brussels and I was not disappointed.  There was a notice in the window saying that, as potatoes are small at this time of year, punters may get the odd small chip in their servings.  The upset caused by this is deeply regretted.

More from the Filipino community


Posted in: Belgium

Our babysitter’s husband has been awarded Belgian citizenship and there was a celebration in the local town hall to celebrate this (knowing Belgian celebrations I suspect that it was accompanied by a vast range of edibles, I digress).  Like me, the local mayor was rather pleased with himself for knowing that they speak Tagalog and asked the newly minted Belgian citizen how to say “welcome” in Tagalog.  In fact, it appears that there are over 170 languages in the Philippines.  Our babysitter and her husband speak Illonggo along with 7 million other Filipinos and their grasp of Tagalog is rudimentary, much like mine of Irish.  Our babysitter tells me that her husband was very flustered and started asking his friends and relatives in the room how to say “welcome” in Tegalog.  You can imagine the mayor must have been a bit surprised that this guy was having difficulty telling him the word for “welcome” in what the mayor believed to be his native tongue.  Our babysitter, however, came to the rescue she advised him to “for heaven’s sake, tell him how to say it in Illonggo, it’s not as though he can tell the difference”.

People, there’s a whole world out there.