belgianwaffle

Family

Our House in the Middle of our Street


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland

We moved into our new house on April 5, 2013.

Almost every day since, I have thought, how very lucky I am to be living in such a lovely house. As well as that, we have so much more room which has been great for all of us. We can be at home together yet apart.

This is what it was like when we went to view it for the first time:

The boys in what is now their sister’s room. Even as I look at this, I can hear her outraged voice in my head: “People in my room!”

This shot of the garden confirms that we are no good as gardeners. The garden definitely looked much better before we got our hands on it.

This is what it was like in April 2013:

Note cardboard representing utterly futile attempt to save the varnish. Top tip, let the varnish on your floorboards dry before you move in:

Note absence of curtains:

Boxes of books to be unloaded onto already full bookshelves. An issue which remains unresolved. All bookshelves are two books deep and consequently it’s impossible to find anything.

As we got used to living in the house, we found that the views of the garden were delightful. There are three apple trees in the back garden and a large spreading plum tree in the neighbours’ front garden which we get the benefit of.

The Princess and I firmly believed that after our first Christmas in the house it would really be ours. This was proved when Michael visited our old house, which he had left with the greatest reluctance and after half an hour on the premises began to ask when he was going home.

The house was built in 1895 and has all sorts of lovely details like the brass handle on the front door:

The brass stair rods on the stairs (30 euros a riser to buy the carpet fitter told me – you are looking at our retirement fund here):

Needless to say, no brass polishing of any description has taken place. See how the brass fails to glow.

The porcelain door handles:

The pattern on the side of the stairs:

The cornice on a roll and the ceiling roses which are in the main reception rooms and the hall as well as the scary but, frankly delightful light fitting which the builders nearly threw out:

The fantastic fireplaces in the reception rooms downstairs and the master bedroom:

These appear to have been used in lots of houses. To my knowledge, there are several of them on our road. I was surprised, however, to see a picture in the paper of Garret Fitzgerald apparently sitting in front of our fireplace. Obviously, these fireplaces were in use on the other side of the city also.

The quarry tiles in the kitchen which are laid directly on earth and about which, alas, something may yet have to be done.

Obviously, there are things that need to be done (downstairs bathroom, kitchen, utility room, re-varnishing – I’m looking at you for starters) but overall, I love the house and it is delightful to live there. It has increased the sum of my happiness to be in a place which is so appealing and has loads of room for all of us. If you are hoping to move, take heart, the process is quite dreadful but the results are worth it.

You ask what would I like to change? Well, last month I got this text from my husband in relation to the gas bill: “Are you sitting down, it’s €829.05 to be paid by direct debit on 4 March.” It turns out that when the company estimates your bill for a year based on what it cost to heat an empty house or a house with a sole occupant, when they check the actual reading for the year, it can be slightly terrifying. Never mind; summer is coming.

You Will Always Find Me in the Kitchen at Parties


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Twins, Youngest Child

I had Michael in Cork for the weekend recently. One evening he, my father and I sat down to dinner together. My father is quite deaf. Michael was anxious to return to the iPad. But we were sitting at the dinner table. I was sitting in my mother’s place and perhaps something of her spirit infused me as I strained my (I like to think) not inconsiderable skills as a conversationalist to breaking point.

Me: Michael, ask Granddad what it was like at school when he was a little boy?
Michael (dutiful but indifferent): What was it like at school when you were a little boy, Granddad?
My father: What?
Me (loudly and in the face of Michael’s manifest indifference): He wants to know what it was like at school when you were a little boy.
My father (testily): I can’t remember, it was years ago.
Me (loudly): Michael, you like school, don’t you.
Michael (quietly): No.
My father: What’s that?
Me (loudly): Nothing.
[Several more minutes pass in vain attempts to promote conversation on my part – the other protagonists remain largely indifferent]
Me: Will we excuse Michael?
My father and Michael (in tones of considerable relief): Yes.

This Week’s Forced March


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Twins

The children and I were in Cork this weekend. We went from Kinsale out to Summercove. We visited Charles Fort. This was greeted with reasonable levels of enthusiasm. The nice man at the entrance gave the children a cannon ball to lift and explained in some detail how to load and light a cannon which they enjoyed.

And then we went to the Bulman for lunch. All very satisfactory. Note soulful expression while herself waits for mussels.

The only fly in the ointment was the driving rain that accompanied our walk back to the car. We were passed by a couple of tourists who were readily identifiable by their all enveloping rain gear. Locals like ourselves looked damp and unprepared. [What? Rain? Here? In Cork? Who would ever bring an umbrella on a walk?]

Today was the day the clocks went forward. I wish I had realised this earlier. This morning at 10.15, the Princess and I went to visit my mother in the hospital. I breezily assured my father that we would be back for 11.40 to accompany him and the boys to mass. He looked dubious, as well he might, I realised, in retrospect, as it was 11.15 when I left. No one in my family went to mass today and it was all my fault. Alas.

I was going to bring my mother’s sewing table back to Dublin with me but lost my nerve at the prospect of bringing it and children and luggage. I had a quick look through the contents which included my brother’s report for second year in school, lots of thread, a 70s large capital letter still in its packet that had clearly been destined to be appliquéd to something and this school photo of me when I was about the same age as herself. I am always struck by how alike we look though I think I look considerably less sophisticated than she does.

Michael made me a card for Mother’s Day, herself gave me a paper rose (complex to make, I understand) and Daniel wrote me a poem which he sang aloud despite his embarrassment. Herself said bitterly, “The poem won.” Mr. Waffle said to her, “It’s not a competition; I know you and your mother think everything is a competition but it’s not.” Did you know that Mr. Waffle was brought up by hippies?

Here is the poem*:

I think you are nice even it you have head lice,**
I think you are kind, there’s not a nicer mother I can find,
I think you are calm, I won’t find a calmer person in my whole life span,
I think you’re swell, every time I hear your name it rings a bell,
I think you’re funnier than a magic racing bunny,
I think you’re superb, you’re better than Phinneas and Ferb.
That’s my song done, I hope you have fun.
Goodbye.

*Slightly idiosyncratic spelling and grammar amended.
** Not as far as I am aware but I am feeling slightly paranoid after our recent encounter with lice.

The poem was lovely but so were the rose and the card and the flowers and chocolates Mr. Waffle bought. It turns out that not everything is a competition. I hope that you had a lovely mother’s day.

Looking a Gift Piano in the Mouth


Posted in: Family

When we moved to our new house last year, my aunt in Cork very kindly asked whether we would like her old upright piano. I hummed and hawed. Then my brother-in-law generously asked whether we would like his spare piano, currently in storage. Conveniently, the piano was in tune and in Dublin. I said definitely maybe. Then my mother asked me whether we would like my Nana’s old piano currently with my aunt and uncle in Limerick. I kicked to touch.

I kept my options open by not doing anything for the best part of a year. My aunt rang me recently to say that my uncle was coming home from hospital and that they were going to move his bed to Nana’s sitting room and the piano had to go. She confirmed that none of her 6 children (some of whom to my knowledge actually learnt to play the piano) wanted it. I talked to my sister. She suspected that Nana’s piano was probably a good one. I sent in a man to assess it (based on my, admittedly partial, research, piano tuners in Munster seem to be German or American men). I reassured Mr. Waffle that if it turned out to be not particularly good or very expensive to repair we would go with the perfectly good piano (in Dublin) which his brother was offering us.

The man called me. “It’s a really lovely old piano,” he said. “You could pay up to €10,000 for a new piano like this.” That was a really good line because it persuaded me to part with €100 to “weatherise” it so that it will be safe in my aunt’s shed while I make up my mind whether I want to spend €850 on repairing and another €200 at least on transporting it to Dublin. I have six months. But I think I am committed; my Nana’s piano, after all, and I loved my Nana. It’s the piano my mother learnt to play on; mind you, she absolutely hated learning the piano, but still.

Incidentally, I have discovered that I am not the only person to experience the whole, you have a new house, would you like a piano phenomenon. It seems that almost everyone my age had piano lessons growing up but very few children now seem to be interested and there are far more pianos than pianists about.

Anyhow, did I mention that no one in this house can actually play the piano? If we go ahead, all of the children will have to have lessons.

More Birthdays


Posted in: Family

My father is 89 today. I feel about 89. So we have that in common. He is unimpressed by having reached this vast age. “If you live long enough, it will happen.” I’m a bit impressed all the same. Happy birthday, Daddy.