belgianwaffle

Ireland

Ceremony of Light


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Princess

A couple of weeks ago by way of preparation for the Confirmation, we had the ceremony of light. As Mr. Waffle observed, sardonically, there was no ceremony of light when we were children but there didn’t seem to be any difficulty in confirming us in its absence.

Nevertheless, we dutifully trooped in to the church for our ceremony. The children’s teacher had them drilled to within an inch of their lives and they were absolutely brilliant. Even children who I know to have been consummate messers for the past seven years, totally delivered the goods. This is also a tribute to their ruthless but effective teacher.

Normally all religious ceremonies for the school are carried out by the same priest who is a saint and speaks excellent Irish. Unfortunately, he had to withdraw and another Irish speaking priest had to be found which is no joke at short notice. A priest was found (he was a Capuchin and to the delight of younger members of the congregation, he remarked that he was in his Jedi robes) and he confessed that his Irish was ropey. He wasn’t joking and it was very decent of him to step into the breach but it served to further underline how really excellent the children were at their lines and how comfortable they were with their Irish.

All very gratifying.

In the mildly amusing, secular Ireland goes to mass category, I offer you the following:

Herself baffled her classmates by genuflecting in the church. They had never seen anyone do this before (really, really?)

I overheard one of the other children describe the priest as the Pope. I think not.

Easter Holidays – Part 2


Posted in: Family, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

We drove back from Cork late afternoon on Holy Saturday and arrived back at about 7 with everybody tired, cranky and hungry. It was in this joyous mood that we made our way up to the Easter vigil in the Church at 9 that evening.

The vigil mass is a really beautiful service but spectacularly lengthy. The church was in darkness and we all went outside to light candles from a brazier. As we filed in to the dark, neo-gothic church with only our candles lit, it was really spectacular. Mr. Waffle, clearly feeling the weight of his role as chair of the residents’ committee, hissed to me, “Who’s taking in the brazier? Some of the locals could do real damage with that.” In the other ear, Michael sighed, “Mass isn’t even started yet, is it?” I was forced to confess, it was not. The music was really beautiful but it was hard to enjoy the service until Mr. Waffle peeled off with the two boys about 10. The Princess and I stayed until it ended at 11 but all in all probably not an experience I would repeat for a while.

On Easter Sunday we had my parents-in-law around for lunch and it all passed off relatively well although my father-in-law had left his lights on and there was some fun with jump leads before they could leave.

Easter Monday was a beautiful day and we decided to go into town to look at the various activities associated with commemorating the 99th anniversary of the Easter Rising. Town was heaving and O’Connell Street boasted a number of attractions which would have been all fine and dandy if there hadn’t been huge queues and a constant fear of losing a child.

Untitled

Untitled

In the afternoon, we decided to take a drive to somewhere quieter and went to walk up the Hill of Slane. We discovered that there is no walk up to the Hill of Slane. The car park is about 200 metres from the site but it was tranquil and relatively empty after the chaos of the morning.

2015-04-06 16.42.20

Untitled

We went into the town looking for a cup of tea and ended up having dinner in the Conyngham Arms which was lovely. We sat outside in the walled garden in the sunshine feeling very pleased with ourselves. On the wall, the hotel is described as having the best service in Leinster and I’m not surprised. Our waitress was a heroine meeting our endless ketchup demands with extraordinary cheerfulness.

More soon. Maybe.

Easter Holiday Round-Up – Part 1


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland

Mr. Waffle is a shadow of his former self. As the self-employed parent, he tends to do a lot of the childminding during the holidays. As it happened, these holidays he was very busy and it was all a bit tense. Not for the children, but for him.

At the start of the holidays, I took the children down to Cork for a couple of days. Having been to Kinsale so recently, the children avoided a trip to Charles Fort. Other improving activities included a trip to the ever popular Blackrock Observatory and a visit to the Cork City Gaol Museum which was moderately successful.

Untitled

Undoubtedly, a highlight of the trip was a walk on the Marina. This was the subject of much unhappiness. A deal was brokered whereby we would walk 10 minutes from the car and 10 minutes back. In those 20 minutes, the children spotted that there was a funfair and begged to be let go.

I yielded. I felt mildly bad that on Good Friday while their 90 year old grandfather was up in the church doing the stations, they were flying through the air on a variety of dangerous machines. I also bought the obligatory fairground goodies.

2015-04-03 17.37.11

It being Good Friday, I did not have anything to eat myself which, frankly, did not improve my enjoyment of the whole experience. When I got back to my parents’ house, I was ravenous for my dinner. My brother who regards my eating regime with a sardonic eye (he believes firmly that people and women, in particular, should watch what they eat, I do not watch what I eat, we have had spirited exchanges of views on this point in the past) commented, “It’s harder for your mother as she is so unused to deprivation.” Quite.

I can’t quite recall what else we did. I do remember a trip to the park and overhearing my daughter and my brother having the following conversation:
Him: How did your day go?
Her: Terrible, don’t ask her or she’ll kill us all.

So, you know, only good in parts. Michael dropped my father’s iPad and I attempted to repair it by banging it on my knee as advised by the internet. This did not work and I managed to break the screen. The repair of our combined depredations cost a fortune.

Maybe more tomorrow.

Palm Sunday


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Twins, Youngest Child

Today is Palm Sunday. A fact I had forgotten until I entered the church this morning and Michael began loudly complaining when he saw the size of the missalette. “It’s three times longer than normal,” he hissed. “That means mass will last three hours.”

While it didn’t last three hours, it certainly was grand and long. The priest read the first gospel (which I think is not compulsory), he read the longer version of the long gospel (you know the one, it’s the miniature passion play) and then, crowning indignity, he gave a sermon which is normally unheard of on Passion Sunday. The elderly lady in the pew in front fainted. A group of older mentally handicapped people who were behind us made noise throughout the mass much of it mournful. One could hardly blame them. At communion, one of them ran up to the altar scattering pensioners in her wake; it was a difficult Sunday for the pensioners.

As our neighbour’s teenage daughter came down from communion, Mr. Waffle asked whether I thought her top was entirely appropriate for mass. She was wearing a pink hoodie and it was only when she passed me that I saw that the legend on the back was: “Hockey is my religion.”

It was that kind of Sunday. How was your own weekend?

Happy St. Patrick’s Day (belated)


Posted in: Family, Ireland

On St. Patrick’s Day, I decided that we would all go for a walk. This was greeted with varying levels of enthusiasm (ranging from very little to none at all) but I was adamant. We set off with our picnic at 11.30. By 12.30 we were still not out of Dublin having to skirt the parade route. After that we drove down to Wicklow relatively easily until we came to Glendalough, but it was still 1.30 by the time we arrived.

I thought that we would have the place to ourselves. It turns out not. Every Mammy in Ireland appeared to have had the same idea as me and the place was teeming with families out for grudging walks. Both car parks were full and we had to park on the road and walk for half an hour before we got to our starting point which wasn’t great. It was about this point that Michael and I discovered that we had had a fundamental misunderstanding about the St. Patrick’s Day parade in Dublin. I thought he didn’t want to go. He thought we would be going later. We would not be going later. Cue unhappiness.

In my vision, we were going to have the picnic half way through the walk but it was abundantly clear at this point that we would have to have it before the walk started. Never mind, the picnic was eaten, the incentivising lollipops were distributed and the children took an opportunity to try to get their feet wet before the walk started.

Untitled

We went up to the Spink. It offers a lovely view of the upper lake but it is a bit of a slog up. The children did not enjoy it. There were bitter complaints on the way up. We passed a young child of about 5 coming down when I knew we were very near the top and to encourage the boys, I asked her, “Are we near the top?” and, perfidious child, she replied, “No, it’s ages away, although the views are lovely.” Daniel muttered mutinously, “The only view I like is the one of my x-box.” We did finally get to the top and there were nice views.

I knew that I would be pushing my luck to actually do any walking along the top so, to the children’s huge delight I said we could go back and they went careering back down, leaving Mr. Waffle and me to plod in their wake. As they were sitting waiting for us at the bottom, they ran into some of their classmates who were also on a forced St. Patrick’s Day march.

The next day, I met the classmates on the walk into school and asked how they had enjoyed their trip to Glendalough. “Worst day ever!” announced the younger bitterly.

It is good to know that I am not alone.

Rubbing Salt in the Wound


Posted in: Ireland, Princess

For a combination of reasons we drove to school one day last week and the Princess brought in her phone. This is a bit unusual and she kept trying to tap in to the local wifi and calling out names as we passed (“Dublin bus wifi” “Cafe wifi” and so on).

There is an anarchist squat at the bottom of our road (this is how we roll) and as we passed she said, “Oh ‘squat wifi'” Really? We can’t get a service from eircom and the people in the squat can get wifi? Insert your own jokes in the comments.