This arrived from my father-in-law yesterday: The suspect is definitely on the mend, with the medical team talking of a release into the tender mercy of her husband this coming week-end. Improved life signs include normal insatiable curiosity about other patients on the ward (sociological background, what the Polish girl thinks of working in MacDonalds in Tallaght etc) [see men do marry women like their mothers]. On balance this is a good sign. How small Dublin is – I was accosted in the supermarket today by a hill-running guy who is involved in mountain rescue to find him asking me “how is your wife?”. Apparently he was on call on the day in question and would have plodded up into the hills had not the helicopter boys scooped the pool
beforehand.”
Family
Nee Naw
On Friday, my poor mother-in-law fell and broke her hip while out walking in the Wicklow hills and had to be airlifted to hospital where, mercifully (and slightly incredibly), she seems to be her usual perky self and she tells us that she is scheduled to start walking about tomorrow. Can this be right? We’re all most relieved but a trifle unnerved all the same. The Princess is torn between worry about her Grandma (sore leg, poor Grandma) and excitement that her Grandma has had a ride in a helicopter.
She does seem to be extremely well all things considered. I guess trekking about the mountains has made her tough. Still, all a bit grim.
Maternity wear
Mother: And how are you feeling darling?
Me: Well, actually, still a bit nauseous and sore back and, a thing I didn’t have last time, swollen ankles.
Mother: Why do you think that is?
Me: I suppose I’m heavier, I weigh 66 kilos, you know.
Mother: 66 kilos!!� That’s more than me. [You should know that my mother is considerably taller than me].
Me: I am six months pregnant WITH TWINS.
Mother: Do you look pregnant then?
Me: I refer you to my previous answer.
Mother (nostalgically): When I was pregnant no one ever knew that you were pregnant until right at the end.
Me: Well, that’s the late 60s/70s for you mother, flowing kaftans and maxis have their uses.
Mother (in tones of disapproval): I suppose you wear those figure hugging things that I see pregnant women around town in.
Me: Yes. No kaftans for me.
Mother (sighs audibly): I suppose it’s the fashion.
on 20 June 2005 at 16:49
For what it’s worth, i weigh 66 kilos without the benefit of carrying twins. Onward and upward. Take yourself and Princess Waffle out for a nice pastry.
on 20 June 2005 at 18:07
I imagine in those 70s kaftans everyone just thought you were getting a bit hefty. We all hear stories about how ‘no one knew X was pregnant until she had the baby’, but have you ever known one of these women personally? I frankly don’t think they exist, unless of course they are massive to begin with.
on 20 June 2005 at 21:27
Did your mother say that if you cut your hair you won’t attract a man either?
on 21 June 2005 at 12:31
At the weekend my stepmother asked me, ‘Don’t you feel uncomfortable wearing those tight clothes?’. My reply; ‘At this stage, clothes are the last things making me feel uncomfortable.’
on 21 June 2005 at 16:50
I never saw you as the blatant bump revealing type. How…interesting. You have the matching pink tracksuit bottoms I assume?
on 21 June 2005 at 19:57
Pog, Minks, I dunno, those maxis were very flowing…
Kristin, thank you for your words of comfort. Jack, I’m ignoring that.
Lilo, well at least you’re nearly there…
BHM, a terrifying insight.
Locotes, you will recall that you are me in drag or vice versa. I rely on you to advise.
on 21 June 2005 at 22:03
What?! What have I done now?!
[looks back through comments]
Oh. Well anyway, be like that if you must I was just being encouraging and supportive. You know: indicating that despite your Aunt Marge-ish dimensions there are some who still find you interesting and attractive…. 😉
Besids it’s not fair. Locotes gets away with that most lewd, chav-like comparison and I’m ignored just because I’m being emotionally supportive. Like a kind of digital / bloggosphere 40 denier opaque…
on 21 June 2005 at 23:11
I shall always think of you Jack when I’m in the M&S Hosiery department.
on 21 June 2005 at 23:24
Bobs: my life would thus be complete….
Though I’d rather hoped it would be Le Senza or Knickerbox or somewhere a bit more that-ish…. 😉
on 21 June 2005 at 23:41
Yes of course, I forgot. In that case, for the love of God, we should ditch the trackies and cover the bump. A beautiful thing and all that, but our neighbours and co-workers don’t need to see that much detail.Also, I’m glad I/you/us/we agree that jack’s pervy nudie-related comment was highly uncalled for. The bare-faced cheek of it all…..as it were.
on 25 June 2005 at 20:14
Jack, you will remember that I am Locotes in drag, of course he can get away with anything. Locotes, the bump is not exposed. Do not panic.
Bobble, you know you’re only encouraging him.
Fun, fun, fun
The publishing exec is over for the weekend. The Princess is beside herself with glee. We have all snaffled a range of exciting books. It’s just marvellous. Let me tell you about the wonderful weekend she’s been having.
By the time the pub exec arrived at the station to greet her welcoming party on Friday, I was in a somewhat frazzled state for the following reasons:
1. My glasses had broken so every time I looked around to see what the Princess was doing, they went flying across the car.
2. Hop Hop has sealed his reputation for unreliability. He came unstuck at the creche. He is filled with tiny marble like things and one of the other children had got some stuck up her
nose and given herself a nose bleed. In the back of the car, the Princess painstakingly unpicked the network of clips holding Hop Hop together and proceeded to eat them. Then she started on the marbles. I stopped the car and took him, the marbles and the clips from her. Much wailing.
3. To deal with the Hop Hop problem, I gave her the Father’s Day present she had created to mind. She unwrapped it and
threw the mug around the car.
4. The station car park is really complicated.
5. I ran into a work contact at the station who insisted on chatting about work while the Princess clapped my hands together and ran round the station.
So then, when we got home the electricity had gone so we sent Mr. Waffle out for chips for dinner and spent the evening doing a jigsaw of the London underground by candlelight. I
think I may have mentioned before that I see these weekends in Brussels as a kind of calming retreat for the publishing exec.; when in London she and her film producer and ad exec housemates go to parties featuring famous people, it must make a nice change for her to do jigsaws. The rest of the weekend she spent entertaining the Princess, doing some mild shopping and cooking and cleaning for us. Her days began promptly at 7.30 with the Princess banging on her bedroom door looking for a story. She’s just gone off with her brother to get a video for this evening. You can really see why she loves her visits to Brussels. Ahem.
Meanwhile up to date illness report. The one mosquito in Belgium this Summer (it’s a bit chilly) has lodged in the Princess’s room and taken great chunks out of her little hands
which, in reaction, have swollen up like the Michelin man’s. Oh
dear.
on 13 June 2005 at 17:01
(
Comment Modified) I have nothing other than that a famous glam cookery writer is very glam in the flesh but wears a lot of make up…hardly earth shattering.
on 13 June 2005 at 17:23
Is it the childrens cookery writer? She also wears cakeloads of the stuff and her hair is made of wire wool.
*Minks then discovers that children’s cookery writer is best friend of Belg and blushes furiously*
on 14 June 2005 at 21:17
No, no, even more famous than children’s cookery writer…though is mother of a number of sprogs.
Two things
1. Received the following text message from my husband “got a call asking whether you would like to go election monitoring in Burundi, said no”.
2. Despite arriving at the Ryanair bus stop 10 minutes before the bus’s due departure time, my unfortunate mother in law discovered that it had already left and ended up having to get a taxi to Charleroi (she could have phoned her son for a lift, but she has an independent stubborn streak which her son has inherited). She will clearly never visit us again. 6 days of intensive babysitting followed by a traumatic taxi ride. Am gutted. On the plus side, you will be surprised to hear that we have the kind of contacts in Ryanair which mean that any complaints will be thoroughly followed up.
on 27 May 2005 at 04:11
What’s so bad about a taxi? The drivers in Brussels are so charming.
on 27 May 2005 at 11:44
ps if you can get anyone in RyanAir to follow up anything, you deserve some kind of recognition as a national treasure.
on 29 May 2005 at 13:48
Visage, Beth, I bet Burundi is lovely this time of year, but in this patriarchal household, my chance to visit was cruelly turned down. Sigh.
Bobble, no chance, I fear. Jack, I know. Guilt. Good point FT.
Scholl sandals – why?
I went to buy new slippers at the weekend. I know, my life is full of thrills. I decided that thought I would buy Scholl sandals rather than slippers so that if I had to go out to put out the bins I wouldn’t look quite so weird. Why has nobody ever told me how profoundly uncomfortable these yokes are? And also that they are very noisy. And quite expensive. I am bitter.
In other news, Princess continues a bit unwell and her saintly grandmother is staying for an extra couple of days to tend to her. Doctor today pronounced himself satisfied that she is on the mend, though baffled as to what might have been wrong. Am informed by my husband that Princess wailed convulsively for the entire appointment despite sustaining no injury whatsoever except, one assumes, to her dignity.
Royal grandparents have flooded the house with newsprint and I am fully up to speed with Jools Oliver’s new book which the Guardian described as like a “common or garden baby blog”. Have realised to my horror that I am the owner of a common or garden baby blog and I thought that there was so much more to me.
The Princess is speaking far more English following her grandparents’ visit as evidenced by the following exchange.
Princess (shouting from the bathroom where she is sitting on her pot): Je fais caca, Papa, tu veux faire caca?
Her father: Non merci.
Princess: Mummy, you want to go poo?
Me: Thanks, I’m ok.
And finally, I am off on a work trip tomorrow, so blogging for the remainder of the week may be somewhat limited as I labour in a distant land.
Comments
poggle Those scholls will feel comfortable if you persevered, waffley – they’re kind of like acupressure and take a bit of getting used to. Your feet will thank you for it eventually. But, sadly, the loud clacking is par for the course.
Princess has a bit of a poo fixation at the moment, doesn’t she? I foresee a lucrative future as a stand-up comedienne …..
beachhutman >on 24 May 2005 at 17:24 Ah, so she’s twigged her mama is Monolingual…..
belgianwaffle on 25 May 2005 at 11:12 >Oh, Jojo, if only you knew, you would laugh cruelly.
Pog, thank you for both these pieces of information. Will persevere with deeply uncomfy Scholls.
BHM, well, only temporarily, I suspect. JoJo Birmingham? Calais? Bognor? Bradford???
Even sexier than Bradford…