Family

Michael at 17

25 January, 2023
Posted in: Family, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Michael was 17 on September 27 last year. Another late birthday post, alas.

Heâ€™s still reading away. Lots of everything; fact, fiction, science fiction. He’s also often first with the political and economic news which he catches up with online. His sister got him a book of archaic words for his birthday and it was hands down his favourite present and he still quotes us little snippets from memory.

He’s a big fan of dungeons and dragons type games which seem to involve writing out long scenarios in advance of play. He went to his first Comic Con recently and found it a bit dull. “Just full of stands selling things,” he said glumly although his fellow participants’ costumes were impressive.

He is in his last year of French conversation and I think he rejoices. Still he found it useful enough when he was on a school trip to Brussels in December. I think that if he ever goes to live in a Francophone country (which is not impossible) he will thank me, at least I hope he will because he is definitely not thanking me at the moment.

He enjoys a quiet breakfast alone at the weekend but is almost never granted this particular indulgence. He sticks his head round the door and then retreats precipitously when he sees everyone gathered. “The watering hole is full again,” sympathises his father.

He is interested in museums and happy to trail around them for hours. Actually, long after I have given up in exhaustion. I mean, good, I suppose. It’s funny because he is not a fan of travel and new places in general but he is enthusiastic about museums in particular.

Last summer with me off work and his brother and sister off on their own adventures, he and I spent a lot of time exploring the country. In many ways we had a good time and we have a great playlist for the car – but I can’t help feeling he would have been better off going away with friends his own age.

He’s been growing his hair, a process I found unsatisfactory but it is pretty cool, I suppose. Just not the short back and sides that I love.

Heâ€™s still extremely skinny and I find it a small miracle that he is growing. In fact, he might actually be taller than his brother now. He has, however, made a concerted effort to eat more things which I really appreciate since he clearly hates it.

We finally retired the Gap anorak which he had been wearing for years as the sleeves were almost unbearably short. He is adapting to the new coat but I wouldn’t call him delighted. He has no real interest in clothes except for warmth and comfort.

He still cycles to and from school which he does not love – who would? – but is resigned to. As it’s really the only exercise he gets, I am keen that he keep it up. Also, it is pretty practical and he is a young man who like practicality.

He continues to get on well with his brother. They have a lot in common and play cards together and talk about school and internet fads.

He and his sister are a bit like ships passing in the night. I have been pushing both boys – jointly or severally – to visit her in England but none of the parties seem very keen. I do think it would be fun for him to visit and good for him to travel on his own but this year is a bit full for Michael. Maybe next year.

He loves his mother and has no hesitation in saying so or in giving her a hug in public. Does his mother love this? Oh yes she does.

He has no interest in things and more money than he knows what to do with so he is very difficult to buy presents for. While I applaud his lack of interest in material things, it can be a bit trying for Santa.

He continues to be a wonderfully engaging public speaker and great at reading aloud, if called upon. Stage fright is utterly unknown to him. He’ll hop up and ask a question in front of 20 people or 2000 with equal insouciance. They love this in school, of course.

He has lots of opinions which he declaims with great certainty and he is utterly convincing even when wrong. This is a gift that will serve him in good stead in the long term.

Here he is “Seeking the bubble reputation/Even in the cannon’s mouth” [I did “As You Like It” in school, this is the first opportunity I’ve had to wield this line since I was 15, sue me].

He is very soft hearted and hates to see anyone upset. He loves small furry animals and cute things in general.

This academic year is a hard one and he does worry. He was a very happy-go-lucky child so I am a bit confused that he seems to be an anxious teenager. But so it is; perhaps the Leaving Cert is enough to make anyone anxious. He doesn’t really need to be anxious as he’s bright and hard working but here we are. I think he will really enjoy college when he gets there and the emphasis on doing your own research and the absence of teaching to the test will suit him. We will see.

He is extremely punctual and law abiding. The latter is definitely from me but I take no responsibility for the former.

I feel that he still has a lot of growing up to do – the period of suspended animation that was the pandemic has made things a bit strange for this generation of teenagers.

I find him a joy to be around: helpful, easy to talk to, cheerful, undemanding. Long may it continue.

A Failure of Imagination

24 January, 2023
Posted in: Family

I have had a cold for the past couple of days and I have been absolutely miserable. I worked my way through a full box of tissues and a Covid test (negative) while mainlining lempsip. When I am sick I completely fail to remember what it is like to be well and I think that I will be in the slough of despond forever. However, today I am much improved and the weather is a bit springy and I think I may survive after all. A corollary of my problem with being sick is that when I am well, I completely forget what it is like to be ill and think, “It would be nice to be in bed sick and just flick through a magazine”. Of course, it’s not nice because you’re sick. Though I have to say, I am quite indignant that I should be sick on my break from work. It’s like being sick on holidays; quite wrong. A further problem with my inability to remember what it is like to be ill is that I am quite unsympathetic when family members are ill. Intellectually, I sympathise but I just can’t remember what it’s really like; I’m sure I would be much more sympathetic if I could remember the pain.

Christmas Round Up

31 December, 2022
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

Christmas Eve

We went to midnight mass on Christmas Eve (9 o’clock, midnight isn’t what it once was, inflation etc.) which was nice and the choir were in great voice. Herself and Daniel got trapped by the elderly priest who mans the side door.

Him: I haven’t seen you for a long time.

Her: I’m in England [as she explained she wanted him to understand that she was abroad and not like the other two pagans she was with].

Him: There are great Catholics in England. Look at Cardinal Newman, you can be like him.

Big ask.

Anyway, when we got home, the children disappeared up to bed and Santa got to work. At 11.30 herself arrived down looking for a snack in the kitchen which was Santa’s centre of operations. Who comes down hungry at 11.30 on Christmas Eve? Anyhow, Santa finished the present wrapping and brought herself out a snack to boot. What a saint.

I cracked open the After Eights at 11.55 and who could blame me?

Christmas Day

Santa was very tense this year but in fact, did a very good job, the children were broadly pleased.

Herself made brunch for us all. It was excellent.

We visited Mr. Waffle’s mother in the nursing home and then had a brief – though pleasant – walk.

Then we went home to make our very complex dinner. I had put the turkey in the oven before we went out. In fairness, the aga came into its own and overall dinner was v elaborate and v successful [my next door neighbour cooked for 18 and they had to drive to her daughter’s place to do some of the food as her oven was not big enough – the stress!]. However, our turkey was, alas, like ashes. To paraphrase Paul Hollywood, “very dry in the mouth.” But is that not what gravy and cranberry sauce are there for?

I spoke to my brother in France. Over the course of Christmas Eve the gas in his airbnb had got feebler and feebler. It ran out about 7 which was not a great time to ring the owner and explain the problem. Himself and his friend S were looking at charcuterie and cheese for their Christmas day lunch. However, they went for a walk around the town and found an open restaurant with a festive menu. My brother wanted to see what other options there were (this is so typical of him) but S insisted that they go there (my brother always characterises S as his pleasant but slightly dim friend from college but my sister says this is not so, it is just what my brother believes and S’s PhD from Cambridge and post-doc from MIT are strong arguments for S’s smarts but nothing has been as convincing as his bundling my brother into the restaurant there and then). Apparently dinner was delicious.

St. Stephen’s Day

The washing machine broke down again. We went to visit the cousins for lunch bringing with us a full load of damp laundry from the machine (happy Christmas!). The children were glad to see their cousins and lunch was delicious including very good turkey. If I ever have to cook Christmas dinner again and, honestly, my aim is not to, I will ask my sister-in-law for tips.

Daniel made Cajun turkey pizza for dinner which he said was a real success. The rest of us had our leftovers in other forms.

December 27 – 30

We went down to my sister in Cork for a few days. It’s amazing how good the road is now. Just over 3 hours each way which compares very favourably to the five hour trek which was a feature of my youth.

My sister and I did a tour of our relatives in North Cork and Limerick which was broadly successful – though God it is impossible to visit my Limerick relatives at any time of day without getting a full three course meal – v nice in fairness but it does make me think that they must regard my hospitality as well below par. We talked a lot about my father and my sister talked about the day he died. I think, it was a surprise to everyone but my sister felt particularly sorry for the junior doctor in charge.

The boys spent most of their time playing Magic with my sister’s partner. She says he enjoys it. I hope so for his sake.

Herself and myself went out for breakfast in Cork (difficult, many places closed, queues everywhere and the indignity of a queuing app nearly broke me). We had an unsatisfactory breakfast but a good trip to the Crawford gallery.

Then the boys joined us in town and we went up on the Ferris wheel. Mr. Waffle had met a friend for lunch but we met him in Waterstone’s after where as a Christmas treat he bought each child a book and then we went for tea and a bun. Where will it all end?

I thought my 93 year old aunt was in good nick. I got her a book of poems about cats (you’d be very surprised how many poets have penned cat verses) for Christmas and she was delighted. Honestly, I think it was the most popular Christmas present I gave anyone this year.

After our disastrous effort earlier in the week, I booked breakfast for myself, Mr. Waffle and herself (no one else wanted to come). Options were few. I booked Sophie’s at the Dean for 9 in the morning which was earlier than I would have liked but beggars can’t be choosers etc. The Dean is a new hotel beside the station part of the ubiquitous Press Up group which is basically a Dublin franchise. I see they are doing what they can to ingratiate themselves with the locals.

The views were really good but the food was only alright. The decor was odd, ski chalet meets marble palazzo. I remain on the hunt for a good Cork breakfast venue.

Herself expressed interest in a very nice but profoundly uncomfortable antique sofa and armchairs my mother bought at auction sometime in the 60s (the sofa is very like this but with fewer legs – it’s a two seater rather than a three seater). My sister was going to get rid of them and I was resigned (because although nice they are, see above, uncomfortable). I was delighted when herself said she wanted them (she said that if you weigh less – like her – they are less uncomfortable). But now I realise that I will move them to Dublin and by the time she comes to have her own flat, she won’t like them any more and I will have them forever. I am not sure that I am as pleased as I thought I was.

New Year’s Eve

Notwithstanding the thrills of Cork, it was nice to be home. The boys filled in their CAO forms today – a procedure which is more open to error than you might think. However, having seen how the English system operates, courtesy of herself, it could be a lot worse.

Herself went to Scotland to stay with a friend for new year’s. I spent the day doing jigsaws and eating stem ginger.

The new washing machine arrived at 8 in the morning and the men said we hadn’t paid for installation (no, but we would have, we would have, if we had known this was optional) and left us to our own devices. Mr. Waffle spent a happy time wrestling with it but it is now working, we are pleased. Michael audibly gasped when he saw it in all its glory when he came down for breakfast.

Lads, we are 2023 ready. May I join in the already deafening whatsapp chorus from the people on the road and wish you a very happy new year?

Pre-Christmas Round Up

20 December, 2022
Posted in: Belgium, Dublin, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

Herself is home. Rejoice. Michael has returned from his school trip to Brussels. I think it was a good, if not always enjoyable experience for him.

I have been re-inventing myself. I went for my annual haircut and the hairdresser gave me layers. I now have the exact same haircut I had when I started college in 1986. I went on a very enjoyable shopping trip with herself looking for something for me to wear to our Christmas party. We were unsuccessful but I did get a striped chunky jumper which together with the haircut is giving strong 17 year old me energy. All I need is a pair of Docs.

Herself and myself went to the Messiah in St Patrick’s Cathedral It was nice but, it is long. Also we drove in which was extremely stressful. Christmas traffic is definitely back.

My brother has moved to France for a a couple of months. He is still alive after the drive down to the Alps, so good. He says that I should come skiing. The physio who is treating my wretched knee says that is something to aim for. I was hoping for better, more like “Of course!”

I had afternoon tea in the Westbury Hotel with my Sunday book club which is an experience I would truly recommend. However, I would not recommend it on the day that you yourself are having Christmas drinks in your house from 4.30 to 6.30. I also would not recommend having those drinks on the day of the World Cup final which goes to extra time and penalties. However.

The party – our first post-Covid – was reasonably successful. We had hoped that the young French student (who does conversation with the children) and his friends who live nearby would come and give out drinks and take coats. Sadly, due to the inability of Morocco to defeat France in the World Cup semis, they were not available (if France had not been in the final they would have been, try to keep up). We managed between the five of us but it was a bit stressful. Michael was particularly bitter having essentially spent the afternoon running up and down the stairs with coats. Dan had made a playlist for the party on Spotify which worked really well and we all cleaned like mad in advance and prepped cocktail sausages, mince pies, mulled wine and lots of beer. We encouraged people to bring their children. This worked pretty well when everyone’s children were primary school age but now that most of them are teenagers it’s a bit less successful. I felt particularly sorry for the 13 year old daughter of friends who moped on the sofa throughout. More successful was a friend’s 10 year old who ruled the roost over the assembled smaller children who had been sent to the utility room with the x-box and a large tub of sweets. Positively the best compliment I got all afternoon was from the adorable six year old daughter of a colleague of Mr. Waffle’s who told me that it was the best grown-up party she had ever been to. The children really enjoyed talking to the guests and, in particular, a gentle and charming friend of Mr Waffle’s who they found very entertaining. I am glad we went to the trouble of having it when they could all be there which was not easy. We’ll see if we can improve on the timing for next year.

Last night Mr. Waffle and I went to a carol service in the local church. Somewhat to my surprise, Michael joined us; the other two firmly refused – as Dan said in horror “What now, on a Monday?” I thought it was lovely and the church choir were really good. Mr. Waffle couldn’t get over, however, the amateur strings who joined them and were, um, less than perfect though greeted with great enthusiasm by the punters.

I have bought all the Christmas presents I am going to buy. I still have to buy food for Christmas dinner (and, curve ball, get a new inner tube for the back wheel of my bicycle which punctured on my epic trip to the physio this morning) but I am broadly ready. And yourself?

Home

20 November, 2022
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Siblings

Regular readers will be aware that I am from Cork and although I have now lived for longer out of Cork than I did in it, it will probably always be home to me. When my father died in December 2020, I remember thinking that for the first time I had no home in Cork. Your parents’ house is your house, it is, as my mother-in-law used to say, “where they always have to take you in”. A slightly grudging formulation I always felt, I mean surely home is where they always want to take you in?

I was delighted when my sister said that she wanted to buy my parents’ house. It was the best possible option for me. The house would stay in the family and someone else would, realistically, have to go through the lifetime’s worth of stuff accumulated by my parents. Probate took a while and so did the conveyancing process but now the house is finally my sister’s. The sale closed in early November. I am pretty sure I will always be welcome to stay with my sister but, of course, it’s no longer my parents’ house. She has lots of plans for renovations (very much needed) and changes. It is lovely to think of the house being looked after again as it was when my mother was well. She was the most competent person I ever met, she took upholstery lessons and re-upholstered the sofa, she painted, she moved furniture with abandon. She really had endless confidence that she could do anything and mostly she could. So this is completely a good news story but still I feel a bit sad. Another door closed, the end of an era.

On the One Hand, On the Other Hand

17 November, 2022
Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle

My Covid wheeze has finally gone (you will recall that I had Covid in June so it’s definitely taken a while). The pretty much constant cold I had for October has cleared up. I can travel outside without a packet of tissues for what feels like the first time in months. I rejoice in my lung and general otorhinolaryngological* health.

However, last week, I hurt my knee. It felt a bit like I’d pulled something. I have no recollection of anything in particular happening and I have been just waiting for it to get better. I thought about getting my skiing knee brace out of the shed but that just seemed defeatist. It hasn’t been improving but until the last couple of days, it hasn’t been getting worse either. However, this morning, I was pushing my bike across the road and had to scurry to get out of the way of an oncoming vehicle. Did my knee like the scurry? It did not. Cycling and walking are both a little bit sore. I was with Mr. Waffle when crossing the road. He has an appointment with the physio for next Tuesday to look at his sore back. It took so long to get the appointment that it is no longer sore, so he offered me the appointment instead. I think I will give it a go. Sigh.

*Many years ago, my father was offered a post working in otorhinolaryngology. He decided not to take it up and sent a telegram, “Regret cannot accept post otorhinolaryngology”. The woman in the post office refused to believe it was a real word and accused him of trying to dodge paying the proper per word fee. And my father’s story is the only reason I know the word but, you must concede, it’s a good word that deserves more publicity.