At 2.30 this morning, Daniel woke up. I went blearily downstairs to get him a bottle (no advice please). Near the microwave, I felt something squishy under my naked foot. There were two slugs disporting themselves on my kitchen floor. Tell me would it have been better or worse had I been wearing my scholl sandals? Also, how did they get there?
Dublin
Disapproving musings
There was an article in the paper recently on free range kids, something I’ve seen knocking around the internet over the past couple of months (am I the last person to notice how many things in the papers seem to be stale versions of what has been on the internet for ages?). It was a Dublin version of what everyone has been saying – our children have no freedom because we’re too scared to let them take any risks.
Since our return to Ireland, we have been struck by the suicidal behaviour of Irish pedestrians who throw themselves across the road whenever they get a chance. This is particularly noteworthy as in the 5 years since we last lived in this country, everyone has acquired an enormous American SUV. And we do not have American roads and infrastructure and these cars are ludicrously enormous on our small streets. (These two paragraphs are connected, bear with me). The other morning, Mr. Waffle passed a private boys secondary school near his parents’ house and he saw a fleet of these vehicles dropping off their precious passengers to school. He said it looked absurdly like an army of mercenaries had decided to take over South County Dublin and were rolling up to the school to make it their headquarters: “The revolution storts* here”.
*This is not a typo, there is a nasty Dublin accent where the “a” sound is substituted by an “o”, I live in fear of my children picking it up but given where we will be living, they are much more likely to pick up a different nasty Dublin accent. It’s hard to know whether to be glad or sorry.
North Side/South Side
Cork has a north/south divide but it is as nothing to the chasm in Dublin. The river Liffey separates the largely affluent south from the largely less affluent north. My husband’s family are from one of the most prosperous southside suburbs. We will be living in the north inner city. A 30 minute drive (off-peak), the river and a whole world separate these locations. May I share some sample conversations? Of course I may, it’s my blog.
Relative (you know who you are): You must join the [local] library, it’s wonderful for the children.
Me: But it’s miles away [for me].
Her: Of course [smiling encouragingly] they must have libraries on the Northside too.
I took myself off to the house of my new friend from the cafe along with herself and Daniel. She was charming and delightful but disappointed that we would be living so far away.
Me: It’s not that far, really.
Her: Mmm.
Me: Honestly, we move back to Dublin and it’s like the Northside is further away than Brussels.
Her: Of course, in many ways, psychologically, it is.
This weekend we are very Southside as I have taken the children to Cork while Mr. Waffle wraps things up in Brussels. Maybe he will be able to sell the car (hollow laugh).
I heard the Princess explain earnestly to her brothers: “Now we are in Dublin, Ireland but we are going to take the train to another country, Cork.” Clever girl.
The train ride was rendered less hideous by the charm of the teenager opposite who shared crisps and buttons with my offspring. She was travelling with her mother and several siblings. Her mother was a large lady with an IRA tattoo (and, people, I don’t think that this is an individual retirement account), so it just goes to show – you should never, never get a tattoo.
Confusion in Multicultural Ireland
Non-Irish Trader in organic, right on market: These sardines come from Latvia.
Mother-in-law: From Latvia. Goodness. Tell me, how do you say ‘thank you’ in your language?
Trader: Merci.
Mother-in-law: That’s not Latvian, that’s French.
Trader: I am French.
Magnate
I was talking to my friend the tax lawyer recently. “How many houses have you got now?” I asked. “Only two” she said defensively. “Really?” “Well, surely the one I live in doesn’Â’t count?
Oh good Lord.
Comments
belgianwaffle
on 02 March 2006 at 22:04
And yet, I can’t quite sympathise Ms. Mortgage free.
Logistics
This came from my father-in-law: “Trust all well: [logistics for getting from Dublin airport to the in-laws’ house at Christmas] have gotten a bit complicated as, on the day, Granny is working and brother/sister-in-law are at a christening, of all things. Granny and I have come up with the following. I go to airport with the Opel, with room for all luggage, Parent A and 3 kiddies securely strapped in rear, In the meanwhile whilst car is heading back to Monkstown, Parent B (sans luggage) takes the Aircoach to a south-side destination (say the Raddisson) where said Parent B will be picked up by me after depositing Parent A and threesome in Monkstown. If this seems workable, all you need to do is decide on who A and B are.”
At present, we are trying to persuade my poor father-in-law that it might be appropriate for us to get a cab.
Comments
on 06 December 2005 at 15:40
From the sound of it, one cab each would be the best bet.
0Friar Tuck
on 06 December 2005 at 16:16
Charter a coach. It will impress the hell out of the neighbors.kristin
(Homepage)
on 06 December 2005 at 16:32
I hate to ask, but are car seats a concern? Good Lord, three car seats. I can barely manage Lucy’s, let alone those for two infants and a princess.on 07 December 2005 at 09:28
Oh yes, Kristin, car seats are a serious concern. I’d rather not discuss,it’s just too complex.FT, good thought.
WP, or maybe 3?
HJB, quite.
0on 07 December 2005 at 15:39
or grandparents can take all 3 children and parents A and B go off gallavanting!!on 08 December 2005 at 15:09
Hmm, is that a bit overoptimistic?