Mr. Waffle

Princess is taken from the bath. “Fish, fish” she says to me. “Where’s that plastic fish?” I ask her father. “Don’t know”. “Poisson, poisson” she says to him in increasingly unhappy tones. “Look” I say “have this”.� It’s a little container. “It’s not a fish” says Mr. Waffle. “No but it has a picture of a fish on the bottom” I say. “No, it hasn’t” he says. I point to the picture of a whale on the bottom. “Yes, I know” he says “but that isn’t a fish, it’s a cetacean”. “A what?” I say. Princess�claws for the container. “You know, a mammal. Whales are mammals, like dolphins”. Princess looks at him with an arrested look and he says to her “une baleine est un grand mammifère”. “Maifer” she says to me solemnly, pointing at the whale.

In the toy shop.

Princess identifies Disney toy doll “Sow Ite, Sow Ite”.

Me to Mr. Waffle “Look, that’s the first brand she’s recognised”.

Mr. Waffle “Snow White isn’t a brand she’s the heroine of a popular fairy tale”.

Who’s he trying to kid here?

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Romance

Mr. Waffle and I went out to dinner last night in our favourite restaurant in Brussels.  It is small and full of velvet and mirrors and the food is fabulous.  It was cold and wet outside.  It was warm and candlelit inside. We held hands.  We stopped talking about the Princess for minutes at a time.

Glamour

For the night that was in it, I wore a rather daring (but subtle) outfit that I haven’t donned in a while. The babysitter (a middle aged Polish lady) raised her eyebrows, Mr. Waffle admired and the rather older gentlemen sitting on either side of us in the restaurant peered.

Excitement

When we came home, herself was up and playing with the babysitter. I took her into my arms and Mr. Waffle drove the babysitter home. I hadn’t even had time to take off my coat when the Princess vomited all over me – getting coat, outfit and, for good measure, boots.  Pausing only briefly to consider how many florets of broccoli she had swallowed whole, I began to mop up. When Mr. Waffle returned, it was to find his wife clad in a distinctly unglamourous dressing gown and playing with a wide-awake baby in the marital bed. Although she had been a bit upset at vomiting, within minutes she was her usual chirpy self. As a vomit veteran, she bounces back quickly.

Attempts to persuade madam that she might be better off in her own bed were unavailing, so the next hour was spent picking up doggy from the floor and passing the Princess from parent to parent before, finally, we all collapsed from exhaustion.

Mr. Waffle says it’s dodo not do do, so now you know, just in case it ever arises. Dodo in French is one of those false friends.

He further points out that her first sentence was a French one.  She said “Meunier tu dors“. In fact she says “Meunier tu dors” a lot. This is the first line of a French song her papa sings to her. It means “Miller, you sleep”. It goes on to describe the terrible consequences to his windmill.  I’m guessing here, but I suspect that she doesn’t know precisely what it means, so I’m not sure that counts. I therefore submit that the jury is still out on the first sentence.