belgianwaffle

Belgium

Lasts


Posted in: Belgium, Family, Work

We took the children for a last check-up with the paediatrician (we have become reverse ex-pats – who knows whether they will have paediatricians in our home country?).  As they kissed him goodbye (Belgium is the country of the social kiss, something I find bewildering but charming), I scanned the books on his shelf: lots of books on pediatrics in English and French and the Hachette Guide des Vins, 2006.

We took the car for a last trip to the garage to get rid of all the dents (as Mr. Waffle points out, we are careless with our toys).  4,500 euros later, the man in the garage and the Princess were exchanging polite kisses and we were leading out our gleaming car which we hope somebody may now buy.

Friday was my last day at work.  During the week I had a farewell dinner with my lovely boss who flew in specially to say goodbye, had drinks with my lovely colleagues and got some lovely presents.  Emptied my inbox (really lovely) and handed over my key.  If you think there are too many lovelies in this paragraph, you have never had my job.  Sigh.

On Friday night, Mr. Waffle and I went to a farewell dinner in our favourite restaurant in Brussels.  A place we used to go to long before it got its Michelin star when it bore the considerably less user friendly name of Mieux vaut boire ice qu’en face.

On Saturday we had a farewell party.  At the start of the evening Mr. Waffle made me a stiff gin and tonic and after that it all seemed to go swimmingly.  The next day, far less so.  That was my last gin.

All week we have been getting quotes from moving companies in excess of the value of our furniture.  Highest offer so far is 10,000 euros. I feel faint. Who would have thought that my inability to throw out books would cost us quite so much?  Would anybody like to buy a double bed?

Our cleaner came for the last time today.  She brought little presents for the children who adore her and they had something for her as well.  She has been so kind to them and they are so fond of her, that I felt quite tearful as did the Princess (though this may have been because she didn’t want to go on her sports course).  She was also an excellent cleaner and I am not sure whether the reduced cost lifestyle we will be enjoying in Dublin will permit us to replace her.  Alas.  She is on our Christmas card list.

Yesterday was the last time we will attend Belgian National Day celebrations.  Of course, the same may well be true for everyone else in Belgium.  The Prime Minister tried to resign in despair last week but the King wouldn’t let him.  The pair of them sat glumly in the rain yesterday watching the parade.  We, on the other hand, had a very pleasant time eating waffles and frites (not together, you understand) and meeting the police (horses! spinning cars!), the firemen (hoses! and firemen!), the civil defence (trampolines?), the army (tanks and our optician who used to be in the navy and gave us some new glasses cleaning solution for Daniel), farm animals (pigs, cows, and best of all a horse being shod who kept nibbling the farrier’s bottom) and suppliers to the royal court (Mercedes, Jules Destrooper, Delvaux, Godiva and lots of table ware).  As is the nature of these things, there were lots of balloons for the children and little Belgian flags to wave.  These latter included one (sponsored by a radio station but never mind) which covers my feelings for Belgium at the moment:


Highwater mark


Posted in: Belgium, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc.

I went to see Horton with the children some time ago.  I recognised the voice of Horton as being Dany Boon from Bienvenue chez les Ch’tis.  A film which I understood almost in its entirety (not an achievement to be sneezed at – though I was somewhat helped by the fact that the Ch’tis are essentially Belgian).  And further, I recognised that Horton was Dany Boon based on his accent in French.  This was a proud moment, I can tell you.  Then, I realised that I am probably speaking the best French I ever will and it’s downhill all the way from the end of the month.  I suppose I can pepper my conversation with French words thereby annoying my friends and embarrassing my children.

As part of our preparation to leave Belgium, I am also sorting through our mountain of medical and dental bills.   Before I had children, I never went to the doctor and now I seem to spend all my time going from surgery to surgery with my travelling circus.  It’s all surprisingly complex and, of course, it wouldn’t be, had I done it as I went along.  I wrote a letter to my insurer in my best French and got Mr. Waffle to check it.  The maestro sat down at the computer and made it perfect.  He corrected the French and reorganised the letter so that my various rambling questions were concisely stated and clearly presented.  I was awed:my husband the genius.   “Yes,” he said “I have spent the past number of years perfecting the art of writing in administrative French, I have probably reached the pinnacle of my potential in this field.” Hélas indeed.

Busy Day


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

The Princess completed her education in Belgium today and I felt quite sad as I walked her to and from school.  She was unmoved.

I took the three children as well as the childminder and her two children (it seemed like a good idea at the time) to the ophthalmologist this afternoon.  We spent an hour and a half there.  Truly, these are times that try men’s souls.  The Princess was excruciatingly badly behaved.   The only crumb of comfort was that both she and her brothers were very well behaved during their longish examinations and didn’t whine about the eye drops which appeared unpleasant.

I noted, by the simple expedient of nosily peering over the doctor’s shoulder as she typed up my children’s results, that the beautifully dressed and charmingly behaved boy who was waiting patiently for his appointment, shared a surname with the woman who will one day be queen of Belgium.  I later pointed this out to the Princess and followed up with the rider that this was, effectively, her first chance to impress a Prince and it had been an abject failure.  I further told her that I did not think that a real Princess would insist on lying (with her brothers) on the waiting room floor with her feet in the air showing off her stripy underpants.  I know what you are thinking; sarky comments of this nature are unwelcome.

On the eye front, the Princess and Michael have identical optic nerves (who knew you could tell); the Princess very deftly manoeuvered letters to reflect those on the screen; Michael mortified me by not knowing what an apple was or any of his colours (“I dunno”) but Daniel redeemed my reputation.  The Princess and Michael, as well as their identical optic nerves, share perfect eyesight.   This was the good news.  Unfortunately, poor Daniel’s eyesight is not improving.  We have been given a prescription for stronger glasses and he may yet have to have an operation.  We will have a long note to take to someone in Dublin.  I imagine we will have to translate it first.

Weekend


Posted in: Belgium, Family

We went to view the restored Porte de Hal yesterday.  It is all very interesting and beautifully done but I would have enjoyed it a great deal more, if the boys and I had not spent some considerable time stuck in the lift.

The button on the side of the lift with a picture of a telephone, yielded no answer; a stricken call to Mr. Waffle’s mobile phone gave me a voice message; and the alarm button though unpleasantly loud to the lift’s three sensitive passengers, appeared inaudible to anyone else in the building.  Meanwhile, the disembodied female voice in the lift continued to announce calmly to us that we were on the second floor.   This was clearly untrue as the lift kept descending.  The best bit was probably when the lights went out in the lift and we whizzed down to the basement.  We emerged physically unscathed to be met by a security guard who said “no need to worry, it happens all the time, we knew you were in there, it rights itself automatically – you see I knew just where to wait for you to come out.”  While this may remove the need for staff to worry, I can’t see it as being ideal for visitors.  It is perhaps something the authorities could usefully look into.

We had people round to dinner last night and I spent today recovering from the unaccustomed alcohol intake (a Kir and two glasses of white wine – contrary to stereotypes, not all Irish people are great drinkers) by going for gentle walks around the park.

As I write, the children are all in bed asleep but they are unlikely to remain so as the large local Spanish community is celebrating Spain’s victory in the European Cup by driving around beeping their car horns and letting off fireworks under our windows.  Sigh.

Trilingual


Posted in: Belgium, Ireland, Princess

The Princess is terrified of going to her Irish language school in September.  She is excited about moving to Ireland, being closer to her relatives and having a house with a garden but the prospect of school is hanging over her like a dark cloud.  Any conversation about moving to Ireland ends with her in tears saying she can’t speak any Irish.

We have begun introducing her to the odd Irish word, though, unfortunately, this isn’t fooling her into thinking that she has an excellent command of the language.   I think that it will be easier for her to pick up Irish because she already speaks two languages but I’m not the one who will have to face a classroom of strangers and interact with them in a foreign language.   When not in the company of her parents, the Princess is, I think, a great conformist and she is concerned that she won’t be able to follow the teacher’s instructions.  However, she can now say “ciúnas!” with great authority.  I have emphasised that this will stand her in good stead as my memory of primary school is that this was the command most used by teachers and the one that they were most anxious to see obeyed.

I assume that it is progress of a sort that this morning she uttered her first trilingual sentence: Can I have a cáca milis in my boîte à tartines, please?

Interesting times ahead, I daresay.