Mr. Waffle came home from football with a nasty cut on his arm from a fall on the astroturf. Daniel asked anxiously whether the physio had been called on to the pitch.
Daniel
Contraband
A friend asked me for book recommendations for her great nephew who is the same age as Michael and Daniel. I consulted with the boys. They had somewhat different recommendations but top of the list for both was Captain Underpants. I reported this back. My friend told the boy’s mother who said, “No thank you, my son has a reading age of 12 and doesn’t need to be reading about farts and poo.” I was sorry all round – sorry for the little boy and sorry for my friend and sorry for me. The boys inquired whether the Captain Underpants had gone down well and I told them my tale of woe. Michael pointed out anxiously that one of the books which features Dr. Poopy Pants has very little farting but I felt that he was missing the point. He took it very much to heart. The next time he saw my friend, he took her aside and whispered in her ear, “I can give you my Captain Underpants books and you can smuggle them to your nephew.”
Tell me, do you have small boys in your house? Where do you stand on the question of the wonderfulness of Captain Underpants? A google search tells me that the internet is somewhat divided.
Like a Fine Wine etc.
Daniel and Michael are reading the Narnia books and they are using the editions I got myself at their age which are falling to pieces due to extensive re-reading over the years. Michael asked me whether they were valuable. “No,” I said, “they’re not first editions or anything, why do you ask?” “It’s just that, if you had them when you were a child they must be really old.”
That’s right, that’s why they’re printed on vellum.
Related: Michael is on “The Voyage of the Dawn Treader and has taken to running around the house shouting “poop deck, poop deck!” See how each generation gets new meaning from these books?
Music to his Ears
Herself: Do you remember that Peanuts cartoon when Schroeder knows all about Beethoven?
Michael: Yes, he knows his date of birth and death and all the things he did in his life.
Daniel: Yes, like how he made himself deaf from listening to his own music.
My Goose is Cooked
We are ready.
Mr. Waffle has picked up the turkey [tomorrow I will cook turkey for the first time – I am hoping the people who say it is a big chicken are right].
The Princess is singing a solo at the carol service tonight [a verse of Away in a Manger] and she is filled with trepidation but at least she is clean and so are her clothes – so a triumph, for me, anyhow. She may also be on television later, or she may be on the cutting room floor [she spoke to camera about what Christmas meant to her but so did winsome 4 year olds so she is pessimistic about making the cut]. We will gather around the television filled with anxious anticipation. Michael is resigned to going to the carol service which he will not enjoy as every time we sing around the house he puts his hands to his ears to “stop them bleeding”. He is also clean. Daniel is singing in the choir. He will be clean as soon as the Grinch is over.
I hope that you have a lovely, lovely Christmas and that at least one of your presents is what you always wanted.
There is NO Pension Crisis or Further Christmas Cheer
Last Sunday we had people around for mulled wine and mince pies from 4 to 6. The invitations specified that children were welcome. Our friends have a lot of children. We totted up that there were 70 odd people here many of whom were 15 or under (nobody between 15 and 35 though, that demographic was clearly at an entirely different party). I quite enjoyed herding mortified teenagers into the utility room and forcing them to speak to each other. We’d put out some beanbags to make it less utilitarian and this was before the pigeon had died a bloody death on the floor so it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Herself had pinned this to the door:
Note correct use of the apostrophe, though clearly following a period of reflection.
I deployed herself and her friends to wend through the crowds offering mince pies and cocktail sausages. A friend of Mr. Waffle’s reports the following conversation:
Friend: Is that panettone*?
Herself: No,it’s stollen*.
Friend: Is it nice?
Herself: Well, it has marzipan; some people don’t like it or are allergic to it.
Friend: I’ll try some.
Herself: On your own head be it.
*It’s far from panettone and stollen that we were reared.
Santa visited the school. Not the real Santa, you understand; just a man from up the road with a luxuriant beard. Nevertheless, at mass this morning when it came to the sign of peace, Michael jumped a mile when the man in the seat behind poked him in the ribs and said “Ho, Ho, Ho”. Yes, indeed, substitute Santa was at mass this morning. Herself had been muttering bitterly that Santa was a sexist cad as he gave the girls knitting and the boys small table footballs but since she had managed to persuade someone to swap with her (unlikely but true) my hopes that she wouldn’t raise the issue with substitute Santa in the church porch were realised.
Last, but my no means least, there is a man I found on the internet who explains wordpress to me. He did a bit of work on my blog [this here is a technical masterpiece, I’ll have you know]. I asked for a bill for his latest labours and this is the reply that I got:
All done. Very easy.
Instead of paying me, could you throw 10 euro to your favourite charity.
It’s been a bit grim for charities this Christmas as there has been a lot of media coverage about money from fund-raising going to top up already large salaries for senior staff. While this is certainly not true for all charities it has hit them all; the man [volunteer] from the Vincent de Paul who spoke at mass last Sunday found himself obliged to say that none of the money raised in the collection would go to top-ups. I felt for him.
All this notwithstanding, I am feeling a definite Christmassy glow. Today it snowed (well, sleeted); yesterday I went to a party and got a blister on my finger while constructing an IKEA gingerbread house with melted sugar; tomorrow is my last day at work before Christmas. Lucky Mr Waffle and the children finished up on Friday so they will be bonding tomorrow and possibly picking up the turkey while I labour.
It’s all good (apart from the blister).